Obsidian Veil
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Jennifer, a fiercely independent entrepreneur, never imagined that running her company would put her in the orbit of Joseph, a reclusive billionaire with a dangerous agenda. Their professional clashes ignite a forbidden attraction, drawing them into a passionate affair that threatens to unravel everything Jennifer has built. As corporate sabotage, hidden heirs, and dark secrets from Joseph's past begin to surface, Jennifer's world spirals into a web of betrayal, desire, and moral peril. In a story where power and love collide, nothing is as it seems and every choice could be lethal.
Obsidian Veil Chapter 1
The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lagos skyscraper, cutting sharp angles across the polished mahogany boardroom table. Jennifer adjusted her tailored navy blazer and smoothed the silk blouse beneath it, a small ritual that calmed the storm of nerves in her chest. Today's meeting was crucial. Investors, board members, and department heads crowded the room, their collective murmurs and the tapping of laptop keys a subtle percussion that set Jennifer's heartbeat in rhythm with the corporate stakes she carried.
"Let's begin," she said, her voice calm but authoritative, carrying the weight of her position as CEO. Her eyes scanned the room, noting expressions, subtle gestures the slightest twitch of a finger, a frown, the tension in a clenched jaw. Jennifer's father had always said that business was like chess: the pieces moved slowly, but every action carried consequences.
Joseph Obinna was already seated near the head of the table. His presence always drew her attention. There was something about the way he occupied space confident without arrogance, observing without intruding that made Jennifer both curious and unsettled. She had met him briefly during the board's last quarterly review, but today, he lingered longer, studying her with an intensity she couldn't quite read.
She forced herself to focus. "We're here to discuss the latest acquisition proposals," Jennifer continued, spreading several printed charts across the table. "I want a full assessment of risks, potential returns, and any internal discrepancies. Transparency is non-negotiable."
A hand rose immediately. Mr. Adewale, head of finance, adjusted his glasses. "Jennifer, there's a minor issue with the projected cash flow in Division B. Some of the numbers don't match the quarterly projections.
Jennifer's eyes narrowed, not in frustration but in calculation. Small errors could snowball if left unchecked. She thrived on these moments - the delicate balance between pressure and precision. "Show me the details," she said, voice soft but firm. "We need to address this immediately. I want root causes, not just surface-level fixes."
Joseph leaned forward slightly, a hand brushing the table. "Sometimes the discrepancy isn't in the numbers," he said quietly, his gaze locking with hers for a fraction longer than expected. "It's in what people overlook. Details too small to notice become critical later."
Jennifer felt a subtle flutter in her chest, but she didn't allow it to show. She had no room for distraction - and yet, something about the way he said it, the quiet authority, made her ears prick for every word. "Noted," she replied smoothly. "We'll audit everything down to the last transaction."
The meeting continued, a rhythm of presentations, questions, and clarifications. Jennifer navigated it like a conductor guiding an orchestra, each note precise, each tempo deliberate. And through it all, Joseph watched, occasionally making comments that were sharp yet almost invisible, guiding her without overt interference.
Halfway through the meeting, Chidera, her newest trainee, hesitated before raising a question. "Jennifer, the data from the Lagos branch... the patterns seem slightly off compared to the projections," he said carefully. "I might be mistaken, but the trends don't match last quarter's metrics."
Jennifer turned her gaze on him. Chidera was observant - too observant for someone so new. "Show me," she said. His hands moved confidently across his tablet, highlighting inconsistencies she hadn't noticed. A minor error, easily dismissed by someone else, but she recognized it instantly for the red flag it was.
Joseph's eyes flickered briefly toward hers, and she caught a glimpse of subtle approval, almost imperceptible. She suppressed the curiosity in her chest. She couldn't afford distractions, even small ones. "Good work, Chidera. Keep an eye on the pattern and update me immediately if there's anything else."
The boardroom tension shifted as the meeting neared its end. Jennifer's mind raced, not with panic, but with the steady calculation that had always defined her leadership. The company was strong, but the market was unpredictable, investors impatient, and her competitors ruthless. Every decision she made now could ripple outward in ways she couldn't control.
Joseph excused himself just before the final wrap-up, giving her a polite nod. She felt an unexpected pang, a mix of curiosity and irritation that he could leave the room while her thoughts lingered on him.
When the last executive had departed, Jennifer finally allowed herself a breath. Her office, normally quiet except for the hum of air conditioning and faint city noises, felt suffocatingly still. She moved to the window and watched the Lagos skyline glitter in the sunlight. There was a clarity to these moments alone, a chance to gather her thoughts before the next storm.
Her reflection in the glass looked composed, but her mind was anything but. The minor discrepancies in Division B nagged at her, a subtle sign that all was not as it seemed. And then almost instinctively her eyes fell to the small gap under the door. A folded note had been slipped inside, its presence startling in the quiet room.
Jennifer's fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up. The handwriting was neat, almost clinical, but the message sent a shiver down her spine:
"Someone's watching your every move."
Her pulse quickened. Was it a prank? An investor? Or something far more personal? She glanced over her shoulder, eyes darting to the door, to the window, to the empty hallway beyond. The silence offered no answers, only the heavy weight of possibility.
A part of her wanted to dismiss it, shove it into the desk drawer and move on. But another part the part that had learned to trust her instincts over appearances told her to pay attention. The timing, the subtlety... someone knew more than they should.
Jennifer sat down, the note clutched in her hand, and allowed herself a moment of reflection. Her company was a battlefield, her boardroom a chessboard, and every move mattered. She could feel the edges of danger brushing against her, invisible yet unmistakable.
Then her phone buzzed on the desk. A message from Ifeanyi: "Dinner tonight? I miss you."
She stared at it, and a wave of conflicting emotions hit her. Safe. Familiar. Warm. That was Ifeanyi. And yet... Joseph. Joseph, who lingered in her thoughts more than she cared to admit, who made the edges of her controlled world feel electric, unpredictable.
Jennifer pressed her lips together. Choices, decisions, distractions they all seemed to collide in this single moment. And as she looked back at the note, she felt it: the first real stirrings of a storm that would sweep through her life, unrelenting, reshaping everything she thought she understood.
The city outside continued its relentless pulse, indifferent to the quiet chaos unfolding in her office. Jennifer folded the note carefully, placing it in her blazer pocket. She would investigate tomorrow. Tonight... she had other battles to face. The kind that came with loyalty, love, and ambition pulling her in different directions.
One thing was certain: the boardroom was no longer just a place of strategy and numbers. It was a place where secrets began to move, where every glance, every gesture, and every carefully spoken word could carry consequences far beyond what she could see.
And someone was watching.
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Obsidian Veil of Contents
New Release Novels
8.6
In my past life, the Cerberus strain leaked, turning the world into a blood-soaked hell of rotting flesh and mutated monsters.
I thought my boyfriend Declan and my best friend Hailee would have my back as we fled the quarantine zone.
Instead, when the surging crowd of the infected cornered us, they didn't hesitate.
They shoved me backward into the horde just to buy themselves three seconds to run.
As I fell into the mud, I saw them fleeing without a single backward glance.
"She's dead weight anyway!" Hailee screamed.
"Just keep running, she'll distract them!" Declan yelled back.
I was torn apart, feeling the agonizing tear of rotting teeth sinking into my neck and the hot spray of my own blood.
Before the apocalypse, my greedy uncle had locked away my ten-million-dollar trust fund, leaving me with nothing but a fake boyfriend who only wanted me for my money.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand how the people I loved most could trade my life for a head start.
Why did I blindly trust them? Why didn't I see through their perfectly choreographed lies?
Opening my eyes again, the stench of decaying flesh vanished, replaced by the sterile smell of my college dorm room.
Hailee and Declan were standing over my bed, faking tears of concern over my meningitis fever.
I was back exactly seven days before the world ended, and my spatial vault ability had come back with me.
This time, I'm extorting my uncle for every cent, hoarding the city's supplies, and leaving them all to rot.
8.7
For seven years, I was Alpha Zane’s Chosen Mate, suppressing my warrior instincts to be the docile, supportive partner he demanded.
On our seventh anniversary, while I waited by a candlelit table, I accidentally overheard his mind-link with another woman.
"Seven years is a habit, my dear, not love. She's docile, she'll understand."
He told Seraphina, his new political ally, laughing as he dismissed my entire existence.
I didn't scream or cry. I scraped the anniversary cake into the trash, drafted a formal rejection letter, and walked out of the packhouse.
But Zane didn't even notice my departure. He was so consumed by his new lover that my rejection letter was treated as garbage and tossed into the incinerator.
He paraded Seraphina around the pack, even handing my hard-earned strategic command over to her—a woman who knew absolutely nothing about war.
When my loyal subordinates protested, he violently suppressed them, declaring my absence a "childish tantrum" and framing me as the bitter obstacle to his destined romance.
He honestly thought I was just hiding in my room, waiting to beg for his charity and accept a humiliating demotion.
He had no idea that I had already crossed the border into enemy territory.
Tonight, I am attending his grand celebration.
Not as the heartbroken mate he discarded, but as the newly appointed Gamma of his deadliest rival, the Sterling Pack.
7.6
I was the fiancée of the Chicago Outfit’s heir, a bond sealed by blood and eighteen years of history.
But when his mistress pushed me into the freezing pool at our engagement gala, Jax didn’t swim toward me.
He swam past me.
He scooped up the girl who pushed me, cradling her like fragile glass, while I struggled against the weight of my gown in the murky water.
When I finally dragged myself out, shivering and humiliated before the entire underworld, Jax didn’t offer a hand. He offered a scowl.
"You’re making a scene, Eliana. Go home."
Later, when that same mistress shoved me down the stairs, shattering my knee and my dance career, Jax stepped over my broken body to comfort her.
I overheard him telling his friends, "I’m just breaking her spirit. She needs to learn she’s property, not a partner. Once she’s desperate enough, she’ll be the perfect obedient wife."
He thought I was a dog that would always return to its master. He thought he could starve me of affection until I begged for scraps.
He was wrong.
While he was busy playing protector to his mistress, I wasn't crying in my room.
I was packing his ring into a cardboard box.
I cancelled my transfer to UCLA and enrolled at NYU instead.
By the time Jax realized his "property" was missing, I was already in New York, standing next to a man who looked at me like a queen, not a possession.
8.2
When our family empire crumbled, my sister and I were sold off as collateral to the Chicago Outfit.
My fierce sister Frankie was forced to marry Damien Moretti, the terrifying Don. I was shackled to his brother Leo, a notorious, degenerate playboy.
I thought my life was over, but the real nightmare began on our wedding night. A terrified maid handed me the wrong room key. Exhausted and numb, I crawled into a dark honeymoon suite, praying my new husband would be too drunk to find me.
Instead, the heavy door opened, and a man fueled by a drug-laced drink stepped in. He was ruthless, punishing, and entirely stripped away my dignity in the pitch black.
When the morning light finally broke, I turned my head, expecting to see Leo's boyish face. Instead, I saw a profile carved from ice.
Damien Moretti. The Don. My sister's husband.
The very man who had previously called me a "liability" and ruined my life. When he realized who I was, his eyes filled with absolute, chilling disgust. He dragged me out of the ruined sheets, threw me onto the floor of a freezing shower, and demanded to know why I had sneaked into his suite.
"You ruined me. How am I supposed to look at Frankie? You should have just killed me. Kill me now, Damien. It would be a mercy compared to this."
I sobbed, the freezing water mingling with my tears. He just stared down at me with cold, unreadable intent. I was now trapped in a house of monsters, carrying the Don's darkest secret, and I had to figure out how to survive without destroying my sister.
9.8
Erica Murphy had spent three years rotting in a freezing prison cell.
She thought she was serving time for a tragic accident, but the truth was much darker. Her husband, Colten, had framed her for his mistress's drunk hit-and-run, stolen her fortune, and left her to take the fall.
The day Erica was finally released, a speeding car intentionally slammed into her, shattering her spine. As she lay dying on the emergency room table, flatlining on the monitor, Colten and his pregnant mistress didn't come to save her. Instead, they tossed a stack of divorce papers onto her bloody hospital blanket. They wanted her to sign away her last remaining shares and take on thirty million dollars of toxic corporate debt.
"Sign it," Colten demanded coldly, looking at her crushed body with utter disgust. "Consider this the last bit of dignity I'm giving you."
The original Erica died right there, suffocating in despair and betrayal, unable to understand how the man she loved could be so monstrous.
But when the flatline on the monitor suddenly spiked and her eyes snapped open, the traumatized victim was gone.
Replaced by the cold, calculating consciousness of a future special ops commander. With microscopic nanobots rapidly fusing her shattered bones together, Erica picked up the pen, preparing to burn Colten's entire empire to ashes.
9.0
Isolde woke up in a freezing, ruined stone house with a splitting headache and only five percent of her life signs remaining.
Before she could even process the mechanical system voice in her head, a flood of violent memories slammed into her.
She had transmigrated into the body of a cruel noblewoman who mercilessly tortured her beastmen husbands with a barbed whip.
And right now, she was lying in a pool of her own blood, having been shoved against the stone floor by one of them.
Outside the rickety door, her husbands were coldly discussing her death.
"Just go in and finish her. One stab, and we're free."
"If she hit her head and died on her own, then it's an accident. We walk out of here as free males."
To test if she was faking her sudden amnesia, the snake beastman Dangelo even ground his heavy military boot into her injured hand, waiting for her to snap so he could legally end her.
She was poisoned, freezing, and entirely at the mercy of the men who deeply despised her.
She was bearing the deadly consequences of a monster she never was, with a red system warning of imminent death flashing in her mind.
But they didn't know the new Isolde had awakened a survival system and Life Magic.
She swore a blood oath to the Beast God to buy herself three months of time.
Then, she turned her sights to the dying wolf beastman chained in the shed, deciding to pull him back from hell to become her very first shield.
