Novels by Nico

(Leah’s POV)The phone sits in my palm, the screen illuminated with a single voicemail notification.Dad.My thumb hovers over the play button, hesitating, even though I know I have no choice but to listen. There’s a quiet, sinking feeling in my chest as I prepare myself for what’s coming. My father never leaves voicemails. If he calls and I don’t pick up, he simply moves on—because Felix Carrington does not repeat himself.But this time, he did.I press play.Static crackles for a moment before his voice comes through, deep and controlled, but unmistakably tight."Leah."He pauses."Call me back when you get this."Another pause. A sharp exhale. His next words are quieter, rougher around the edges."I need to know you’re alright."And then, the voicemail ends.I sit there, frozen, the weight of those five words sinking into me. I need to know you’re alright.It’s not an order. Not a command. It’s something else. Something I’m not used to hearing from him.Something close to worry.My

Felix’s POVThe house is silent. Too silent.I sit in the dimly lit study, a half-empty glass of whiskey resting on the desk beside me. The amber liquid catches the glow of the desk lamp, flickering like dying embers, but it does nothing to warm me. Nothing does. Not anymore.The air in here feels stale, the kind of stillness that settles when a place has been left untouched for too long. I don’t remember the last time I had company in this house. Not real company. Not the kind that fills a place with laughter, movement, life.My fingers tighten around the glass. I take a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol cutting through the numbness creeping into my bones. I used to hate whiskey. Now, it keeps me company more than anyone else.I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face, my mind spiraling in one direction, over and over again.Leah.Where is she? Is she safe? Is she thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her?The thought of anything happening to her sends ice through my veins. The ki

Dwight’s POVThe hum of the jet is steady, a low vibration that fills the silence. But Dwight isn’t listening to it. He’s gripping his phone so tightly that his knuckles turn white.Two workshops. Gone.The first call had been bad enough—a fire, a total loss. But the second? That was no accident. He knows it deep in his gut.He leans back in his seat, staring at the glass of whiskey untouched on the table before him. His mind is racing, threading through every possibility, every enemy he’s made over the years.This wasn’t some random misfortune. Someone did this.The problem is, he doesn’t know who.Glimmr has competitors, plenty of them. People who’d love to see him fail, even if they don’t know he’s the one pulling the strings behind the brand. But outright sabotage? Arson? That’s a different level of hostility.And whoever did it made sure there was nothing left behind. No trace. No evidence of arson. No trails.Scrubbed clean.Dwight exhales sharply and presses the call button. He

Ethan’s POV“Is it done?”“Yes, sir.”“Good,” I mutter.The world sees chaos as an accident. A tragic, unfortunate event.I see it as strategy.My glass rests against my lips, the whiskey burning down my throat as I watch the city below. A storm of lights flickers through the skyline, but my mind is elsewhere—on a different kind of fire. One that has already turned a part of Dwight’s empire to ash.I set the glass down with a quiet clink, my pulse steady, my satisfaction quiet but absolute.This moment should feel like victory. And in many ways, it is. The first strike has been made. A calculated, well-executed move that no one will suspect. By morning, the news will break—one of Glimmr’s major workshops, up in flames, reduced to nothing but ash and twisted metal.A tragic accident, they’ll call it.An unfortunate loss.And Dwight?He’ll know better.That’s the beauty of it. No one will point fingers. There will be no investigations, no trails leading back to me. Just whispers. Just u

Dwight’s POVLeah’s words cut through me like a blade, sharp and precise, leaving behind a wound that refuses to close."You never gave me a chance to choose."She’s still looking at me, her eyes burning with hurt, anger, and something else—something unspoken but undeniably there. The weight of it settles in my chest, suffocating, pressing down with the full force of every mistake I’ve made.I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. I had thought leaving had been the hardest thing I’d ever done. But standing here, seeing the pain my absence caused her, knowing that I was the reason she spent years believing she wasn’t enough—it’s unbearable.And yet, even now, with so much standing between us, I can’t stop looking at her.She’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.The silk of her nightwear clings to her in a way that makes it impossible not to notice every curve, every dip of her body. The soft glow from the lamp casts a warm hue across her skin, highlighting the deli

Leah’s POVThe night drags on, stretching endlessly as I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep remains elusive, chased away by the endless cycle of thoughts circling in my head. No matter how much I try to push them away, they keep coming back—Dwight’s words, Cece’s questions, the gnawing uncertainty that refuses to let me rest.I turn onto my side, gripping the sheets. The weight of everything presses down on me. I had spent years believing Dwight had chosen to leave. Years convincing myself that, for some reason, I wasn’t enough to make him stay. And now, with one revelation, the past has been rewritten.I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to slow my racing heart.I had searched for him. After he disappeared, I had called, emailed, even gone to his office. But I had always been met with silence, with a void where he should have been. Eventually, I had stopped searching. I had forced myself to move on.But had I really?If I had, why does it still hurt this much?I exhale sharply and