The party hall was lavishly decorated with every imaginable detail. Men and women were laughing, drinking, talking, and displaying their status. Mr. and Mrs. Stone cut the huge cake, while holding each other's hands and smiling affectionately. Music played and couples danced. Only one man was leaning against the railing of the balcony watching everything with his colourless beautiful orbs. To put straight his hawk-like eyes searching for someone. People were perplexed by his presence today, much like he was. He was not a partygoer. The world knew that no one could make Mr. Iden Ruan attends their personal parties. Not even his immediate family. He never understood the concept of broadcasting their special day to the world and wasting the most expensive thing. Time. And despises wasting his time on such frivolous pursuits. But today, he was here to spend his most important time. BORED. He was smoking while leaning against the balcony. Men attempted to approach him but were turned aw
“Sing with me, everybody!” Her voice rang out, electrifying the crowd. “Rock on!” they roared back, their energy palpable. “Rock the world!” she sang with fierce conviction, her microphone extended toward the audience. The masses erupted, their synchronized chants reverberating through the packed concert hall. “Rock the world!” The words bounced off the walls, amplified by the sea of voices. Ellaya leapt onto the stage, the black leather of her pants glinting under the vibrant lights. Her halter tank top, adorned with shimmering belts and jewels, caught every beam, turning her into a dazzling force of nature. Her long, multi-colored hair whipped through the air like brushstrokes on a blank canvas, adding to the chaos of her commanding presence. She moved as though she owned the world, her confidence radiating in waves that made the audience lose themselves in her rhythm. The group of dancers flanking her moved in perfect harmony, their glittering outfits catching the light as they
“You recently returned from France and successfully took over your hometown’s business. I am very proud of you, my son,” Devid Ruan said, his voice carrying the weight of both pride and expectation. Iden sat across from his father, his posture straight yet subtly tense. His father was behind his grand oak study table, the pipe in his hand a reminder of his habit of filling moments with purposeful gestures. “As mayor, my duty is not just to serve the nation but to inspire young people to step into politics,” Devid continued, his tone firm yet inviting. “Every citizen’s primary duty should be to their country. Politics isn’t just a realm for retirees—it is a stage for the young and driven. And I need your support in the upcoming elections to spread this message.” Devid puffed on his pipe, exhaling calmly, as though his argument was undeniable. His eyes gleamed with pride, sweeping over his son like a silent applause. Iden had proven himself as a businessman, taking Ruan Industries to
"Thanks, Aaron. I am not sure what I would have done without you." Eva shut the car door and bent over to thank the man in the driver's seat. "Anything for you, sweetie". He winks at her with a silly smile on his lips. "By the way, what happened to your rock star?"He inquired, looking at the woman walking towards the entrance. "Nahh! Nothing really, just met someone," she said, turning back to face her exciting figure. "May be more cavalier than she." They both laughed. "I need to leave now and see you later." She left. "I think we should hold a press conference before releasing the video album 'broken,' what do you think, Ellaya?" Eva inquired as she viewed the newly edited footage. "Yeh! of course , why don’t you ask the model of yours to deal with her controversies first. Or I will hold her accountable for the losses." Ellay spoke while typing something on her laptop. "Ohh!! Come on, Ellaya, she is just a model; nothing will happen just because she enjoys being in controvers
With the annoying sound of his cellphone Iden tossed aside the duvet and sat on the edge of his bed. Raking his hand through his dark black hair, he turned slightly to see a woman sleeping naked. He frowned slightly and pursed his lips.Last night, even after taking a cold bath, he could not get the women hunting out of his mind. He could not stop thinking about her purple eyes. He ended up drinking at the bar and bringing the woman to one of his hotels' suites. The woman approached him and told him her name, which he could not recall now. She introduced herself as a supermodel or actress, but he did not remember and did not care; all he remembered was thrusting her hard, thinking of a certain purple-eyed girl.He still had no idea who the girl was. Where did she come from? She appears to be insane, as no sane man would jump in front of a speeding car to save an errant dog. He stopped himself from sending his people to drag her into his office, fuck her hard, and then throw her out of
Hi everyone,I hope everyone is doing well. As I mentioned in the epilogue, the story revolves around an innocent, angelic girl and a devil reincarnated man.The story will soon take a turn because the past has begun to be revealed. I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far.I would appreciate it if you could devote more time to yours, share your thoughts, and rate the book. Only readers possess the true soul of a book and the strength of an author. Your thoughts and comments keep me motivated and confirm that I am on the right track in working hard to keep you entertained. I am working very hard to create a good plot with strong ML and FL.Thank you for your encouragement. Miss M
"Good morning, Miss. Here's your black coffee without sugar." "Thanks, Martha," Ellaya said, taking a sip from her coffee. She moved out of the kitchen, holding a coffee in one hand and a book in the other, her full attention on her book. It was her habit to read her favorite novels with a cup of coffee. She loved to read romance novels and was adamant that fairytales come true, love is real, and one day she would meet her prince just like all those girls in books. The ceramic mug radiated warmth against her trembling hands as she cradled it. The dark liquid swirled with each step she took, its faint aroma rising to meet her nose. In her other hand, a book rested slightly askew, her fingers gripping its spine a little too tightly. Her eyes skimmed over the printed words. The quiet creak of her steps dissolved into a sudden cacophony of muffled sounds. She halted mid-stride, her heart quickening at the sharp contrast. A high-pitched cry, followed by a low, guttural grunt, spilled
Ellaya sat motionless, her fingertips brushing the edge of the vanity. The mirror reflected a face she knew too well—hers, yet not quite. The woman staring back was a carefully constructed illusion, a version of herself she had spent years perfecting to fit into a world that always made her feel like an outsider. But no amount of effort could fill the hollow ache in her chest. Her purple eyes shimmered under the soft glow of the vanity lights, their double rings catching the light like rare jewels. But as she leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass, her mother’s voice sliced through her thoughts. *"Do you realize how awful your eyes look? You should cover them up, or else people will be afraid of you and leave you alone."* Her hands trembled as she reached for the dark brown lenses. The cool plastic pressed against her fingertips as she carefully placed the first lens. She blinked, her lashes fluttering against the discomfort, and tilted her head to inspect the transformation. T
The room was breathtaking—paneled in dark mahogany, steeped in the scent of old paper and aged wood. Floor-to-ceiling shelves held leather-bound books, their spines gilded and cracked with time. But it was the massive oil painting that stole Ellaya’s breath. A woman with wild purple hair and luminous skin smiled down at them. Her eyes—familiar, haunting—seemed to follow Ellaya across the room. She froze. The resemblance was undeniable. Same striking bone structure. Same purple irises. But the woman in the painting looked lighter—freer. Her smile held none of the weight Ellaya carried. None of the pain. Photos cluttered every surface. In one, the woman stood beside a tall, devastatingly handsome man—mid-laugh, hand wrapped around her waist. Their wedding photo. They looked hopelessly in love. Another showed them cradling a baby. The man's eyes brimmed with pride. The woman’s arms curled around the infant like a shield. The baby… was her. There was no mistaking it. Ellaya stagge
Ellaya didn’t remember when they moved her. One moment, she was in her cell—cracked walls, the stench of sweat and rusted iron, a tray of untouched food rotting in the corner. The next, she woke in hell. Not the metaphorical kind. The real one. The kind where screaming and silence existed in the same breath. Where punishment wasn’t given for madness—it was fed to it. You weren’t treated. You were drowned. The asylum was never quiet. Men laughed at the ceiling. Women whispered to the walls. Eyes followed her—hungry, hollow. Human only in name. She didn’t scream. Didn’t fight. She just watched. Watched them drag limp bodies behind rusted doors marked “TREATMENT.” Watched them come back quieter. Emptier. Sometimes not at all. They said she was dangerous. Deranged. A monster in a pretty shell. She didn’t correct them. Let them think she was mad. Let them forget she existed. At least then, no one expected her to survive. She’d already buried herself inside. What was left to
The room hummed with tension. Blue light from dozens of monitors painted ghostly shapes across Angelo’s office. Cables tangled like veins across the floor, machines blinked like they were breathing. The sharp scent of hot metal, sweat, and cigarette smoke hung thick in the air. “Everything’s set,” Kai reported, voice clipped. “Cameras, medics, chopper in the air. Our men are spread across the asylum. She's walking into the lion’s mouth.” Iden stepped into the room, slow and silent. This was the war room. It looked like one. A place where lives were traded, decisions signed in blood. He moved to the center of the chaos, eyes drawn to the wall of screens. Every angle of the massive asylum flickered in shaky grain. Corridors lined with flickering lights. Rooms filled with twitching shadows—patients, doctors, ghosts. The asylum was a tomb disguised as a hospital. Built on illegal records and rotting experiments. A hellhole. A cover for human trafficking, organ harvesting, un
It had been a week. And their plan—cold, calculated, inhumane—was working.The medication laced into her system had done more than sedate her. It blurred the edges of time, pulling her into hallucinations stitched from trauma and shadows. She saw things that never happened. Heard voices that whispered lies in familiar tones. Faces from the past flickered before her eyes, only to vanish like smoke. And when she spoke, it was to people long gone.Kai gave the daily reports, short and clinical. “She’s deteriorating. Fast. The hallucinations are getting worse.”But Iden, arms folded and gaze fixed on the monitor, wasn’t convinced the drugs were fully to blame. “Or maybe it’s not the meds,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s just her past… clawing its way out.”“Does it matter?” Kai muttered. “She’s breaking. That’s the goal.”It didn’t sit right with Iden. Nothing about this did. But the truth was, it was working.His eyes locked on the screen in front of him. There she was—sitting on the cold
*If she chooses never to return to your life… you’ll let her go.* The words dug into Iden’s chest like nails, each syllable burrowing beneath skin and bone until all that remained was a hollow ache. His mother's voice echoed long after she was gone, like a ghost haunting the edges of his sanity. He collapsed backward onto the bed, limbs flung carelessly like a marionette with severed strings. His arm dangled limply off the edge. The bedsheet twisted under him, bunching like the knots in his chest. His eyes didn’t move. Not even to blink. "Princess..." The word escaped his lips in a breathless rasp—more of a ghost than a name. *You are my knight in shining armor, my hero.* "I'm not," he choked, barely above a whisper. "I never was." His throat tightened. He swallowed hard, but it didn’t help—the guilt still rose like bile. "I’m the fucking monster, Laaya," he muttered, fist tightening in the bedsheet. "You should’ve avoided me. Hid from me. Run as far as you could."
“No. She’s not willing to meet anyone. We tried.”Arthur’s raspy voice hit Iden like another bolt to the ribs—sharp and cold.“If we want this plan to work,” Arthur continued, “we have to pull her to our side. She’s not just sitting in that cell. She’s slipping further every day.”Kai took a long sip from his glass and slammed a stack of photos onto the table. The room dimly buzzed with the hum of old lights, one flickering above the table like it couldn't make up its mind.Iden didn’t speak. His thumb rubbed anxiously over the back of his folded hand, a small movement that betrayed the storm inside him. His eyes locked on the photos.Ellaya.Clad in dull prisoner grays. Knees to her chest. Eyes not looking—just staring.At the wall.At the floor.At food she never touched.Empty. Hollowed out.Always alone.Always in the corner.Always sad.Always broken.A tremor slid through Iden’s spine. He had pulled monsters from holes and made them bleed in ways they didn’t think possible.But
The room was drowned in shadows, lit only by the moonlight filtering through half-parted drapes, dancing like ghosts across the cold wooden floor. The air was still, but heavy—cotton curtains swaying gently in the midnight draft spilling from the cracked window. It should have been a peaceful night. The moon looked soft, radiant—throwing its silver blessings onto the room like scattered pearls. But inside, a storm raged. Iden sat on the floor, back hunched against the edge of the bed, legs sprawled as if the strength had left his body entirely. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers tangled in his hair, tugging—desperate for any sensation that wasn't this gnawing emptiness. His head hung low, shoulders shaking with each labored breath. His eyes—once sharp, unshakable—were now dull and lifeless, buried beneath the weight of sleepless nights and unshed truths. He looked like a man hollowed out from the inside. Like something vital had been scooped from his chest and he hadn’t even
The courtroom was suffocating in its silence, the weight of anticipation pressing against every breath. Even the fluorescent lights seemed sharper, more unforgiving, casting stark shadows across Ellaya Stone’s face. She stood tall—spine straight, chin lifted—but her eyes burned with something beyond defiance. Pain. Exhaustion. Resignation. Then, she uttered those damning words: “I plead guilty.” The gasp wasn’t just a sound—it was a ripple of disbelief, swallowing the room whole. The judge, wrapped in his black robes, leaned forward, his gaze steady but edged with scrutiny. “Ms. Stone, are you absolutely certain you wish to say nothing in your defense?” A sardonic smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Not joy. Not regret. Just a quiet bitterness, something worn thin with time. “I, Ellaya Stone, accept responsibility for all of my crimes.” Her voice was steady, but the sadness beneath it ran deep—like water pressing against cracked glass. “As Mr. Iden Ruan’s persona
The buzz of his phone dragged him from oblivion, sharp and insistent, like a wasp stinging him back to life. He groaned, clutching his pounding head, the taste of regret bitter on his tongue. The screen’s light seared his eyes, but he answered anyway—out of reflex more than intention. “Kai,” he croaked. His voice was shredded. “What is it?” “Where the hell are you, Iden?” Kai’s voice was raw, urgent. “I’ve been calling you all night. What the fuck is going on?” “What could possibly be so important,” Iden growled, voice jagged, “that I can’t have one night to myself?” Kai’s laugh was cold. Dead. “Your wife turned herself in this morning.” The words were simple. But they detonated inside him. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just… broke. His hand tightened around the phone like it might hold him together. “What?” It came out strangled. The forest swayed around him, uncaring. Trees moved with the wind, indifferent to the fracture inside him. The ground shifted, unreliable und