Novels by Alice Richardson

I walked into the boardroom with Stella right behind me, her presence a steady anchor as I prepared for the inevitable confrontation. The tension in the air was immediate, thick, and suffocating. The board members—men and women who had once feigned neutrality—sat stiffly in their leather chairs, their gazes cold and unreadable. The usual whispers of greeting, the polite nods—gone. Gregory sat at the far end of the long table, his fingers tapping lazily against the polished wood, his expression nothing short of pleased. I pulled my shoulders back and took my seat at the head of the table, locking eyes with each member before finally settling on Gregory. “I’m here to discuss the project I ordered to be shut down,” I said coolly. “Yet, despite my direct orders, it’s still bleeding funds. I’d like an explanation.” Gregory leaned forward, his smirk widening. “Oh, we’ll get to that,” he said smoothly. “But first, we need to address something more pressing.” A man to his left

When I got home, fatigue enveloped me as if it were a second layer of skin. The day had dragged on, packed with lies, control, and a headache that had taken residence behind my eyes like a bothersome visitor. However, as soon as I entered the room, Jason rushed over to me."Mother!" He threw himself into my embrace, holding me closely. I embraced him in return, pressing my face into his gentle hair. "Hello, darling." “Did you act well today?” Jason pulled back and nodded eagerly. “I practiced my handwriting! Granny helped.” I glanced toward the sitting room, where Granny West was seated in her usual chair, a cup of tea in hand. Her sharp eyes were already on me, studying me like she always did—assessing, calculating. I sighed, giving Jason a soft pat on the back. “Go grab your notebook. I want to see your hard work.” Jason beamed and scurried off. I walked over and sank into the chair across from Granny West. The warmth of home did little to ease the tension coiling in my s

The gentle scrape of a crayon on paper resonated in the stillness of my office. Jason sat with his legs crossed on the floor, bent over his newest creation, his tongue just peeking out as he focused. I attempted to concentrate on the figures before me, my fingers moving smoothly over financial statements, yet my thoughts felt sluggish. The dinner that occurred two days prior. Gregory's arrogant expression. The dangers loom over me like a dark storm. “Mommy?” Jason’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Hmm?” I murmured, still scanning the documents. “Why do people keep trying to take your things?” My pen froze mid-stroke. Slowly, I looked up, my heart skipping a beat. Jason wasn’t looking at me—he was still coloring, his small hands carefully shading in the outline of a house. The innocence in his voice made the question hit harder. I swallowed. “What do you mean, sweetheart?” Jason shrugged, still focused on his drawing. “Like Uncle Gregory. And those men who say bad th

I gazed at my image in the mirror, my fingers clutching the chilled marble of the vanity. The face looking back at me was calm, inscrutable—but underneath, I sensed the tempest brewing. The inquiries. The uncertainty. The truth struggling to emerge, insisting on being recognized. Stella sat behind me with one leg crossed over the other, observing me through the reflection in the mirror. Her fingers tapped on the chair's armrest, her irritation barely held back. "This is completely nonsensical," she whispered, looking disapprovingly. “If you’re the daughter of James West, why doesn’t Granny West just say that?” I exhaled deeply, running my fingers through my hair. “I don't know.” Stella leaned in, placing her elbows on her thighs. "You ought to have the right to inherit the business if he is your father." Honestly, you shouldn't need to act like his widow at all.” I let out a humorless laugh. “And yet, here we are.” She huffed. “Maybe it’s Gregory? Maybe they’re afraid if he fin

The quiet hum of the mansion was interrupted by a soft knock on his study door. Lucas barely looked up from his laptop when a maid stepped inside, bowing slightly. “Sir, dinner is ready.” Lucas grunted in recognition, massaging his temples before ultimately closing his laptop. He had devoted the past few hours engulfed in tasks, partly to occupy his mind, partly because there was always additional work awaiting. As he descended the stairs, he sighed as soon as he spotted his mother sitting at the dining table. *Damn it.* If Elizabeth Knight ever sat at the dinner table instead of having her meals brought to her study, it meant *one thing*—she was here to grill him. He barely had time to brace himself before another voice filled the room. “Oh my God, Lucas!” Miranda gasped dramatically, placing a manicured hand over her chest as she looked at him in mock surprise. “When did you get home?” Without looking up, Lucas muttered, “Late last night.” Then, with a pointed glance

Breakfast at the West estate was usually a quiet affair—except when Jason was involved. This morning, he was in full energy mode, bouncing in his seat as he recounted every single detail of last night’s outing. “And then! Then Uncle Ethan let me be the *captain* of the pirate ride! And Lucas—*I mean, Uncle Lucas*—he won me this giant stuffed tiger! And Mommy screamed so loud on the roller coaster, you should’ve heard her, Granny!” I nearly choked on my coffee. “Jason.” Granny West, seated at the head of the long dining table, didn’t even glance at him. No, her sharp, dagger-like gaze was entirely *focused on me*. Mrs. Pat, ever the quiet observer, simply refilled Jason’s glass of orange juice, nodding along to his endless chatter. “Oh, oh! And then the fireworks! They were *so cool*! And—and Uncle Lucas and Uncle Ethan kept fighting! They kept trying to impress Mommy—” I shot up, clamping a hand over his mouth. “Okay, Jason, that’s enough. Finish your breakfast.” He wi