Novels by I. B Gray

The envelope sat on the desk like a loaded weapon. More like a plague. He wasn't scared of it, just anticipating what would have been sick enough for Francesca to send.Jamie stared at it for a long minute after Dean stormed out, then pressed the intercom.“Send in Mr Hopper.”Tom Hopper; forty-five, ex-Marine, hair still cut like he expected incoming fire, walked in carrying a single legal pad and the calm of a man who had seen every kind of ugly a marriage can produce. He shut the door with his heel.“Morning, Jamie.” He took the chair opposite without waiting to be asked. “We can have her served by Friday and in front of a judge in six weeks if we move aggressively. Massachusetts is no-fault, but we can still make it painful.”Jamie rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I just want it over.”Tom’s pen paused. “You sure? Because I sense you are making this a pie. Like you want to give her the 50% she asked for. Sure that's wise? You want peace?"Jamie’s laugh was soft and bitter. “Peace?

The elevator doors slid open into the penthouse kitchen and Jamie knew, before a word was spoken, that something was wrong. The silence.Guseppe was gone. Gone with his usual chaos —half-eaten pastry on the counter, espresso cup still spinning in the saucer, leather jacket slung over a bar stool like a dead animal—was absent. The air felt too still."Okayyy" Jamie thought aloud.Jamie perched on the marble island, legs dangling, scrolling nothing on his phone while he waited for Kofi to bring the car around. Silas appeared silently, wiping his hands on a towel the colour of storm clouds.“Mr Guseppe left at dawn,” Silas said, voice low. “His father called. Sounded… urgent.”Jamie only nodded. He could already picture the scene in Italy: marble hallways, raised voices, Nonna clutching rosary beads like a weapon. If not that, it could be something at the family company. Both him and Guseppe had been wondering when they wanted him to rake his position as a responsible son, especially

The study smelled of rum and old paper. Jamie sat in the leather chair that had once belonged to his grandfather, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, the crystal tumbler catching the low amber light every time he lifted it. He wasn’t drunk. He was just… tired of tasting nothing.The monitors glowed like cold moons. Stocks. Emails. Headlines he refused to open. He already knew what they said.“Poor little rich boy didn’t even know his wife was sleeping with his father.” "Does Jamie Luther even know he is alive?" “Jamie Luther: the last to know, again.” “Sources close to the couple say he still hasn’t seen Francesca’s post.”He didn’t need to see it. He had lived it.The Al-Zahran wedding had ended three days ago. A triumph. Silk tents shimmering over a frozen lake, gold lanterns floating like fireflies, the bride’s mother crying because the women’s pre-wedding event —officially credited to Fems, quietly executed by Biiite— had been perfect. Jamie had watched the final

Jamie stepped out of the Mercedes in a midnight-blue Tom Ford tuxedo that cost more than most people’s cars. The gala was exactly what his mother had promised: the kind of room where presidents and governors pretended they were just “passing through.” Flashbulbs popped the second he appeared. Kofi, black suit, earpiece, silent mountain, stayed two steps behind.Always two steps behind while he scanned the room. Just precautions, Not like Jamie wasn't scanning the room too Just In case he gets bored early.Eleanor Luther spotted him instantly. She was draped in silver silk, diamonds flashing at her throat like warning lights. She waved him over with the imperial flick of two fingers.At first, Jamie wanted to ignore her but he couldn't. She was his mom and whether he liked it or not, making a scene would not help their ongoing public saga.“Darling,” she said, air-kissing both cheeks, “come.”She steered him toward a silver-haired man in a navy suit. “Jamie, Congressman Hargrove. Richa

The day at the office was hectic. Francesca was just rounding up the Al-Zahran deal, telling herself Fems and Biiite would still do it as planned, when the truth crawled into her mind like a spider: she wasn’t going to get another deal like this. Jamie had made sure the world knows it was his deal.Although he didn't say anything because he doesn't have to. He just had a way of doing things and it always vexed Francesca.'Fred said he would help me'. She tried to calm herself.The door opened. Omanicha walked in holding the big brown envelope.Francesca recognised it instantly. The room shook, could be in her head but it felt like an earthquake.“That shit!” she yelled before Omanicha could even come closer to put it down. “Where did you get it from?”Omanicha jumped, took a few steps back, pressing the parcel to her chest like a shield. She was breathing so hard her shoulders shook. Her eyes roamed around the room. She looked like a frightened skinned chicken.“This? I… I-I got it fr

That same day, late evening, Jamie came down in a dark silk robe, hair still damp from the shower, looking for the only thing that still made sense: the Yogi tea. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard laughter. Real, loud, belly-deep laughter. And it was coming from Silas.Jamie froze. In all the period Silas had worked for him, he had never heard the man laugh like that. Not once. Was it because Guseppe refused to leave him 'alone'? Or was it just the 'Guseppe effect '? Shrugging, he stepped into the kitchen doorway.Guseppe was perched on a bar stool, gesturing wildly, half Italian, half English. “…and then Nonna grabs the wooden spoon like a sword and screams, ‘Guseppeeee, you come here or I come to you!’”Kofi, sitting beside him, actually had tears in his eyes.Jamie’s gaze dropped. Guseppe’s collar had shifted. A dark, unmistakable hickey the size of a euro coin sat just above his clavicle.Guseppe turned, spotted Jamie, and the laughter died into a sheepish grin. He

The shower had been running too long. The condensate steam could cook him but since he made sure Jo was okay with it, he had to accept. That doesn't mean he wasn't checking up to see why she was using such heat.He’d wanted to join her, had even cracked the bathroom door, but the steam hit him like a wall. Too hot. Felt like his skin was roasting. So he waited.Kage sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, the small velvet box burning a hole in his palm. He turned it over and over, thumb tracing the edge like it might vanish. He was tensed. Franckli, he hadn't been so panicked in his life.Although he made sure to ask before. To know if it was forever but something just never changes.Johanna had been singing in there—some old song, off-key, happy. Then quieter. Then nothing.Footsteps. Soft. Bare on hardwood.The door opened fully.She stood there, naked, skin still damp, hair dripping onto her shoulders. Water traced paths down her collarbone, her stomach, her thighs. She ti

The gates looked different already. Was it the colors to the previous white fence or the facet that it was open.New sign going up—temporary banner for now: **Hope Children’s Home: A New Beginning**. Richard Ho’s name scraped off the old plaque like it had never been there. It should be there, sort of. It had been in the family for generations and getting if off their name seemed.He doesn't know how to be feel about that. Happy to say.Kage stood just inside the fence, hands in his coat pockets, watching workers hammer the frame. Alfie had called that morning with informations about the other members of the boards: arrest warrant served, assets frozen, orphanage officially in receivership. The foundation Kage set up months ago—quietly, through layers of lawyers—was first in line to take over. Legal. Clean. Final. Epic huh. Who doesn't love an happy ending.Least to say, it wasn't perfect without someone.He’d come alone. John was handling something else. Jackson waited by the car

Bridges Hospital 11: 11 amThe automatic doors slid shut behind her with a soft hiss. Clara stood on the cracked sidewalk, coat pulled tight against the mid January chill that had nothing to do with the weather. She stared up at the building—white walls, too many windows, the place that had spat her out after her final psych eval. She used to work there, she used to be a boss here. She used to be the wife of the owner of this place now?Now she was nothing but a nut job.Cleared for discharge. No restrictions. No one waiting outside. She wasn't expecting Matt, not when he was rutting in person. She wasn't expecting the family that vouched to have nothing to do with her or Kage that had made it obvious he wanted her no more.She laughed once—dry, cracked, barely a sound—and reached into her pocket. The aspirin bottle rattled. Only four left. She tipped two into her palm, dry-swallowed them, and waited for the ache in her chest to dull. It didn’t. "Shit..shit.. fucking shit" she

Nothing would ever be able to fix that hole. Whether the person was hated, loved, or never knew, it would always be that face and feeling that could never feel again .The coffin was already in the ground. No body visible. Just a dark brown rectangle casket in the earth, waiting. The sun, shining from it's angle gave the casket a peaceful Golden brown color. The kind of color a person would never complain of.John stood alone at the edge, dressed in black that looked too heavy for the mild January sun. The mid heat, it should be warm but it wasn't. Its job was to melt his heart and bring out those tears.Hands clasped behind his back. Shoulders rigid. Eyes fixed on the empty hole like it might give Miguel back if he stared hard enough.He had known this day was coming. He just hadn’t known it would arrive so soon. Not even when he got his own throat slit to save the same person. Not when he had to point a gun at the same person's head. It felt like foreshadowing, like fate kne

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Would it get easy? Definitely not. Some people said no one knows tomorrow but for her, she knows her tomorrow and even the next five years to come.It definitely continued with Cozy Crib Motel – Room 207. January 14 – 08:47 PMThe carpet smelled of old cigarettes and broken dreams. It still smelled like piss, vomit and bleach but she doesn't care at the point. Not like she had a choice.Clara lay on her back, cheek pressed to the scratchy fibers, phone clutched in both hands like a lifeline that had already snapped.The screen glowed in the dark. Window closed, door locked, she would do anything to avoid other motel people knowing about her still there.A blurry paparazzi shot. Kage leaving the orphanage gates, mahogany-red suit sharp enough to cut glass. It had happened earlier that day, while she was on the floor, wondering if the drug she took was good enough to make her heartache go away or she was just getting to tolerate more."Bitch" She sne

The morning light poured through the penthouse windows and landed on the painting like it had been waiting for this day. There was something different about it, could be the morning January sun, or the look in their eyes.Kage stood in front of it, motionless.Twenty small faces looked up at him from the canvas, eyes wide with the kind of hope that had once felt impossible. Julius’s silver wings spread behind him, huge and ridiculous and perfect. He hadn’t looked at this painting in weeks, but today he couldn’t walk past it.He missed the hospital. Not the old one with the broken people and the gossip, but the version that existed inside these children’s heads: the place where Dr. Kage fixed everything. Where he would run breathless; trying to patch the same broken people. Mostly, it was those children.Footsteps—soft, deliberate. Kage couldn't believe it started as a deal to get property and boom, the kids and health insurance got him wings and something with a tinge of hope.