We Meet Again, After All These Years
Ten years ago, her family was destroyed.
Alya Rivas broke off her engagement with Archer Garcia and fled without a word.Ten years later, she returns to the capital, hoping to live quietly in the shadows-only to run straight into him, now a man of immense power and influence.
He traps her in his world, his eyes dark with obsession and possession:"You ran for ten years. Now it's time you came back."Old grudges linger, old love burns bright. In this glittering, cold capital, nights will no longer let her rest.
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Chapter 10
The iron gates of the Virginia estate loomed in the darkness, massive and imposing.
Alya rolled down the window of her rental car and handed her BCF press badge to the armed security guard. He checked it against a clipboard and nodded, pressing a button to open the gates.
Alya drove up the long, winding driveway, the headlights cutting through the thick fog.
She parked in front of the sprawling, gothic-style mansion. She grabbed her heavy leather bag, containing her audio recorder and notes, and walked up the stone steps.
The heavy oak door opened before she could knock. An elderly butler in a pristine suit bowed slightly.
"Ms. Rivas. Please, follow me."
Alya followed him down a long, dimly lit corridor lined with oil paintings. The air felt heavy, thick with the smell of old money and secrets.
She mentally rehearsed her opening questions. She needed Sterling to confirm the antitrust violations on the record.
The butler stopped in front of a pair of heavy mahogany doors. He knocked twice, then pushed one door open, gesturing for her to enter.
Alya stepped inside.
The study was massive, lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. The only light came from a roaring fire in the massive stone fireplace.
The air smelled of expensive cigar smoke, aged whiskey, and... cedar.
Alya's footsteps faltered. The scent of cedar triggered a sudden, primal alarm in her brain.
She looked toward the center of the room. A high-backed leather wingchair was turned toward the fire, hiding the occupant.
"Professor Sterling?" Alya asked, her voice echoing slightly in the large room.
The leather chair slowly swiveled around.
The firelight danced across the sharp, ruthless features of Archer Garcia.
He was sitting with his long legs crossed, holding a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand, and Alya's printed data model in the other.
Alya's heart stopped. Literally skipped a beat, sending a painful jolt of electricity through her chest.
Her fingers went numb. The heavy audio recorder slipped from her grasp and hit the thick Persian rug with a dull thud.
She took a step backward, her shoulder blades hitting the heavy mahogany door.
Click.
The electronic lock on the door engaged automatically, sealing her inside.
Archer tossed the data packet onto the desk. He stood up, his massive frame casting a terrifying shadow across the room.
"What are you doing here?" Alya demanded, her voice shaking despite her best efforts to control it. "Where is Sterling?"
Archer walked slowly toward her, moving with the deadly grace of an apex predator.
"Charles Sterling is the chief advisor to my foundation," Archer said, his voice a low, vibrating hum. "He doesn't wipe his own ass without my permission. Your data model came straight to my desk."
Alya felt the blood drain from her face. The humiliation burned in her throat.
"You set me up," she whispered, her hands balling into fists. "You used a fake interview to trap me."
Archer stopped inches from her. He looked down, his eyes dark and obsessive.
"I am trying to keep you alive, you stubborn idiot," Archer growled, his voice raw with a desperation that stunned her. "Kameron Rasmussen isn't some corrupt politician. He runs a cartel. You dig into his concrete business, you end up in a barrel at the bottom of the Potomac. This was the only way I could get you off that story and someplace safe."
Alya shoved her hands against his hard chest, trying to push him away. "I don't need your protection! Let me out of here!"
Archer didn't budge. He reached out and grabbed her by the waist, his large hands easily spanning her sides, and yanked her flush against his body.
"You are not leaving this house," Archer commanded, his breath hot against her ear.
Alya struggled violently, her anger peaking.
But the sudden spike in adrenaline was too much for her ruined heart.
A massive, crushing pain exploded in her chest. It felt like her heart muscle was physically tearing apart.
Alya gasped, her eyes rolling back in her head. All the strength vanished from her limbs.
She collapsed forward, dead weight.
Archer caught her instantly.
"Alya?" he said, his voice tight with annoyance, thinking for a split second she was faking it to escape.
He looked down at her face. Her lips were turning a terrifying shade of blue. Her skin was ice cold, covered in a sickly sweat.
The mask of the cold, calculating billionaire shattered into a million pieces.
Pure, unadulterated terror ripped through Archer's soul.
"Alya!" Archer roared, his voice cracking with panic.
He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring the locked door and spinning on his heel. He slammed a palm against a concealed panel on the bookshelf, which slid open to reveal a sterile, white hallway. He ran screaming down it, "Callum! Get in here now!"
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9.1
I was the orphaned "parasite" of the Tyler family, taken in only to be abused for fifteen years after my parents died in a tragic car crash.
To finally escape their control, I sold my first time to my ruthless billionaire boss, Ellsworth Mosley, for one million dollars.
I thought it was a clean transaction.
But the next morning, covered in severe bruises he left on me, I was handed a brutal contract with a fifty-million-dollar penalty.
He didn't just buy my silence; he bought me.
My nightmare only worsened when my adoptive family found out about my connection to the billionaire.
Instead of disgust, they invited me to a hypocritical family dinner.
"Talk to Mosley, convince him to invest in our failing business," my adoptive father demanded shamelessly.
His son, who had tormented me for years, even grabbed my hand.
"Do this, and we can be officially engaged. You'll finally be a real Tyler."
They wanted me to whore myself out to save the family that had treated me like a stray dog.
I shattered my wine glass, cursed them to go bankrupt, and walked out into the rain.
As I reached the door, my phone vibrated with a terrifying summons from Ellsworth.
But it was the panicked whisper behind me that froze my blood.
"She knows about the brakes on her parents' car. If anyone finds out what we did, we'll go to prison."
They murdered my parents.
I gripped my phone, accepting the devil's call.
Since I was already bound to a monster, I would use his power to drag them all to hell.
8.1
When Amara Nwosu, a broken Nigerian photographer, lands in the vibrant heart of Lumeria, all she wants is silence-
a place to heal, a city to disappear in, and a project to keep her hands busy while her heart stays numb.
But Lumeria has its own plans.
The city hums with color and chaos, music and memory, and somewhere between the rain-soaked markets and golden riverbanks, she crosses paths with Kairo Mbeki - an architect with a past as heavy as hers and eyes that see far too much.
Their worlds collide under the weight of coincidence, and something unspoken sparks between them:
a pull neither of them wants to name, a connection that feels both familiar and forbidden.
As Amara's camera begins to capture the soul of Lumeria, Kairo becomes the part of it she cannot frame - the one thing she can't walk away from. But love in Lumeria isn't simple. Between family expectations, personal scars, and the ghosts of everything they've lost, both must decide whether healing means holding on... or finally letting go.
In a story of second chances, cultural beauty, and quiet resilience, Call Me by Your Name reminds us that sometimes, love doesn't ask for grand gestures -
it just asks to be seen.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
7.5
I thought my best friend Mila and my lover Preston were my only salvation from Essex Langley, the ruthless billionaire who kept me caged in his estate.
I trusted them blindly when they planned my grand escape.
But it was all a cruel setup.
Mila deliberately leaked the plan to Essex's guards to win his favor, and Preston only wanted my family's shares to pay off his massive debts.
When we were caught in the rose garden, Preston shoved me toward the guards and ran for his life.
"You're insane if you think I actually loved a freak like you!"
I was dragged back into the manor, my ribs cracking under heavy boots.
I bled out on the freezing marble floor, staring into Essex’s unhinged, mad eyes as I took my last agonizing breath.
Until the moment I died, I couldn't accept it.
I had ruined my own life, adopting a hideous punk look with fake tattoos and piercings just to make Essex hate me, all for two people who saw me as nothing but a sacrificial lamb.
Why was my blind rebellion rewarded with such a brutal betrayal?
Opening my eyes again, the white-hot pain was gone.
I was back in the freezing bedroom on my eighteenth birthday, the very night Mila would come to orchestrate my ruin.
I looked at the rebellious, smudged stranger in the mirror.
This time, I calmly washed off the black makeup, took out my lip ring, and put on a pristine white dress.
If fighting the devil got me killed, then in this life, I would tame him and make them all pay.
9.1
I’ve spent eighteen hundred days as a silent ghost in the Crawford estate, a place where the air smells of expensive cigars and terror. My father, Senator Jed Bowen, sold me to Alek Crawford to pay off his gambling debts, trading his daughter’s life for a seat in the Senate.
Alek doesn’t just want my service; he wants my complete submission. He tracks my every move through cameras and bruises my skin just to see if I’ll flinch. He thinks he owns me because he holds the contract, and his mother ensures I’m kept in my place with slaps and insults.
When a scandal involving my half-sister and Alek’s brother hit the news, the house turned into a war zone. Alek cornered me in the dark, his hands stained with blood and ink, whispering that I was nothing but a receipt for his family's money. He’s been forcing me to take pills for years, believing they’ve kept me drugged and mute.
"She needs to speak again," he told a surgeon over the phone. "Whatever it takes."
He thinks he’s fixing a broken toy, but he’s actually planning to carve the silence into my throat permanently. He has no idea that I’ve been switching those pills for years, or that I’m more awake and more dangerous than he could ever imagine.
I’ve endured the biting cold and the crushing weight of his obsession, waiting for a single sign that my nightmare could end. Tonight, a secret message reached me in the rain, confirming that the only man I ever loved has finally finished his mission.
Kole is coming back for me.
The contract review is tomorrow, but I’m not planning on signing anything. I’m planning on taking back everything they stole from me, starting with my voice.
8.4
They say marrying Cassian Blackmoor is a death sentence.
Seventeen wives. Seventeen funerals. One widower no one can explain.
They call him cursed. They call him dangerous. Some call him a murderer who hides behind wealth and silence. But no one can prove anything - and no one dares accuse a billionaire who buries his wives with the same calm devotion he once loved them with.
Eloise Laurent knows the rumors. She knows the whispers. She knows the stories about the widower whose brides never live long.
Instead, she falls for him.
For the quiet sadness in his eyes.
For the way his voice softens only for her.
For the way he loves like he's terrified of losing her.
And maybe he should be.
But when she discovers a hidden grave bearing her own name, Eloise realizes something far worse than rumors is waiting for her inside his house.