Novels by I. B Gray

Midnight, December 31. The dawn of a new year. A time for resolutions and regrets. And a time for Francesca to seize control.The Blackwood estate erupted in cheers as the clocks struck twelve. Fireworks burst over the ocean, painting the sky in gold and crimson, a fleeting spectacle of manufactured joy. Champagne corks popped, releasing a torrent of effervescent promises. Laughter echoed through the open French doors, a cacophony of forced merriment.Francesca stood on the terrace, phone in hand, blanket wrapped around her shoulders against the biting chill. The cold seeped into her bones, a reminder of the emptiness within.The family photo from Christmas Eve stared back at her from the screen—perfect smiles, perfect lighting, the epitome of false happiness, posted with the insipid caption New Year, new beginnings.Twelve thousand likes. A pitiful number compared to her former glory.Her last live stream had pulled two million views, a testament to her influence and reach.This phot

30 December , The end of the year. A time for endings and beginnings. And a time for reckoning. Was it though?The Grand Ballroom of the Boston Harbor Hotel glittered like a jewel box—chandeliers dripping crystal, tables draped in midnight blue, the city skyline a silent witness beyond the windows. The end-of-year gala was the kind of event where fortunes were made with a handshake and reputations destroyed with a whisper. A stage for ambition, a playground for power.Eleanor's playground. She practically grew up in such places and sticking Jamie in was a lil way of still apologizing for being a bad mom.Jamie arrived with Eleanor on his arm, their entrance carefully orchestrated for maximum impact. Well, Eleanor did most of the charades. She was somewhat desperate to prove she was back in action and at the same time save her son's name. She might have been a bad mom but Jamie was still her baby and she rather have the media talk about this ball them something else."Thanks for th

"Yooooo! Welcome viewer 'Magestic killer's' and I see you 'Boss master Gee'. Thanks for the crystals" Alita Amerigo sat cross-legged on her bed, ring light casting a soft, almost ethereal glow over her face, headset snug over her dark curls. The stream title blazed across the screen: Alita’s Challenge Run – Day 47 | 250k strong? Let’s hit 300k tonight! The goal was in sight. The pressure was on. Chat scrolled like a waterfall, a torrent of emojis and messages.She leaned into the mic, voice bright, a touch of playful defiance in her tone. “Okay, guys, we’re grinding the boss level again. If I die one more time, I’m blaming the lag, not my skills.” A well-rehearsed line, she was certain to practice that in front of the mirror last night. Knowing the mass already got invisible beef with her, she knew they would call her out for being 'over privileged ' or just a random jobless 'nepo baby'. She just got done with high school and is planning on studying computer science in college.

Boxing day. The day after felt different. Lighter. Jamie sat in the mansion’s home office—dark wood paneling, leather chair, the faint scent of pine from the Christmas tree still lingering in the halls. Morning light slanted through the windows, catching dust motes in the air like tiny, shimmering stars. He wore a simple grey sweater, sleeves pushed up, coffee cooling on the desk. Comfortable. At peace.His phone buzzed. David.Jamie answered on speaker.“Morning, boss. Quick update—Biiite Games & Apps is up another three percent overnight. Steady climb since yesterday.” The numbers spoke for themselves.Success already. Impressive. Jamie knew he haven't even done anything yet.Jamie leaned back, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “The trend?”“Teen streamer—Alita Amerigo. Seventeen, Guseppe’s little sister. She’s got two hundred twenty thousand live viewers right now playing one of our older titles. Chat’s exploding. Hashtag #AlitaChallenge is trending worldwide. Kids are buying in

Christmas morning light poured through the tall windows of the mansion, soft and golden, turning the polished floors into rivers of warmth. The tree in the great hall still glittered with last night’s ornaments, gifts scattered beneath it like colorful wreckage from the staff’s midnight opening tradition. Laughter from the kitchen carried faintly—Mary and Veronica arguing good-naturedly over who made the better cinnamon rolls. A fleeting moment of normalcy in a world of chaos.Although it wasn't his style but Jamie loved it. Well, at least his mom loved it yesterday.Jamie stood in the doorway of the music room, coffee in hand, watching Silas. A silent observer.Silas was wiping down the already-spotless grand piano with a cloth, movements slow, deliberate. Too deliberate. Too studied. Every time a security camera in the corner whirred softly to adjust its angle, Silas shifted—just enough to keep his face out of frame. A practiced evasion.Like he trained just for that.Jamie had noti

The private jet banked gently over the coastline, the late-afternoon sun glinting off the ocean below like fallen stars. Christmas Eve. For the first time it no longer happens to be Francesca's favorite. The cabin was warm, the air scented with the leather seats and Fred’s cologne. Francesca sat by the window, blanket draped over her lap, staring at the clouds as if they might offer answers. A way out. A sign. Anything. The interview was still a strong blow for her. Not literally, but she felt like she had been slowly recovering from a drunken mess.Her phone had been on airplane mode since takeoff. A brief respite from the chaos. From the now trending and humiliating hashtags. From the clips or her last update of crying on social media. From her videos in general. All mocking her.Damn it! Damn her stupid plan.She switched it back now, heart already thudding. Anticipating the storm.Notifications flooded the screen. Something caught her eyes.Ten missed calls from Omalicha—yesterd

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 face 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.