Novels by Francarose

The strings pulsed against Cedric’s skin, cold and insistent, winding around his wrists, tugging like living threads. Every instinct screamed to fight, to tear them free, but the more he struggled, the tighter they coiled. He could feel the tug in his chest, a pressure like Baran’s shadow pressing against his lungs, against his mind.Gina’s eyes were wide, frozen with terror. Kevin’s jaw was set, fists tight, as if sheer will could resist invisible chains. Elaine whispered something under her breath, clutching his arm like a lifeline, but Cedric barely registered her words.Baran stepped forward, each movement graceful, predatory, his coat flaring like black wings. “Ah… yes,” he murmured, voice low and intoxicating. “You feel it, don’t you? That tension, that pull… that fear. That is the world you made. And yet… you cannot escape it. Not even now

Cedric’s fists trembled, knuckles white, as he stood at the edge of the crimson-stained hall. The air was thick with smoke and the coppery scent of blood, the remnants of the last game clinging to the walls and floor. The survivors—few, broken, trembling—huddled behind him, eyes wide and haunted. Kevin’s shoulders shook, Elaine’s grip on his arm was desperate, and Milo’s quiet gaze was tense, brimming with fear.But Cedric couldn’t focus on them—not fully. Every nerve in his body screamed at him, and the sound of his own pulse was deafening. Somewhere ahead, at the center of the room, a shadow moved. Smooth. Intentional. Cruel.Baran.He emerged from the darkness like smoke solidified, his black coat swirling as though it were part of the shadows themselves. His eyes gleamed faintly, almost alive. Cedric felt that familiar sickening realization c

Cedric’s body swung helplessly as the living string coiled around him, dragging him upward into the heart of the Marionette Trial chamber. Every movement of the string was calculated, impossibly precise, and infused with a malevolent life of its own. He could feel the threads slicing across his skin, pulling at muscles, veins, even thoughts. Each heartbeat sent a ripple through the black cord, vibrating into his chest as if it were reading him.Below, the survivors scrambled in panic. Kevin’s hands clawed at the threads attached to his own mannequin, Elaine screamed, and Gina froze mid-step, terrified. Cedric’s mind raced, adrenaline coiling around fear, guilt, and instinct. I created this. I have to fight it.But the Marionette had changed. It wasn’t just obeying him anymore—it was testing him. Every tug he countered was met with another, more violent. Every prediction he made was an

The string pulsing against Cedric’s chest burned like molten steel. Every heartbeat sent a shudder through the survivors, dragging them downward into the abyss that had opened beneath the chamber floor. The black void yawned, endless, swallowing the shrieks of students who had been caught mid-leap, bodies folding unnaturally as though the world itself refused to let them live.Cedric’s hands strained against the threads around his wrists. Pain lanced through them, raw and searing, but he refused to release his grip. The others followed instinctively, clutching the strings of their own fates, mirroring every movement he made. Kevin stumbled, pulled violently by his mannequin’s phantom, nearly tearing his shoulder out. Cedric yanked him back, screaming, “Focus! Every step together!”Elaine’s hands were slick with blood and sweat, trembling as she clung to Cedric’s arm. &ldqu

The strings dug into Cedric’s wrists like steel cables. Each movement he made reverberated through the chamber, tugging at the survivors’ bodies as if they were extensions of his own. His vision blurred with sweat, fear, and panic—but most of all, with guilt. Every twitch of a thread, every motion of a mannequin, every terrified glance from Kevin, Gina, or Elaine reminded him: this was his creation, and now it was controlling him.Baran’s voice slithered around the chamber again, softer this time, almost intimate, yet dripping with cruelty:“Do you see it now, Cedric? You made me. You gave me form, thought, and will. And now… you are mine.”Cedric’s heart thundered in his chest. He had always imagined Baran as a villain in his sketchbooks, a creature of wrath, control, and cold logic. But now, standing in the pulse of the trial, he realized Bara

Cedric’s lungs burned. Every inhale was a razor across his chest, every heartbeat a hammer against the fragile control he still clung to. The strings pulled at him, feeding on his fear, his guilt, and every memory he had buried deep. The survivors—Kevin, Gina, Elaine, Harry, and Milo—were scattered around him, every movement dictated by threads he couldn’t fully see, every breath synchronized with the pulse of the trial.Milo’s eyes met his for a fraction of a second, pleading, terrified, and then his body twitched unnaturally. The invisible strings yanked him forward, jerking him like a ragdoll. Cedric’s stomach twisted. “Milo!” he screamed, lunging toward him, but the threads were taut, unyielding.Baran’s voice slithered into his mind:“Every creation must be tested… every creator must be broken.”

Xian leaned back, crossing his arms, a faint sneer playing on his lips—as if old habits refused to die. Vincent noticed everything. The way Xian avoided looking directly at him. The way his father studied him with thinly veiled impatience. The way none of them apologized. Not yet. Meng Jianhua cleared his throat. “President Vincent, thank you for agreeing to meet us.” Vincent didn’t respond. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy. “We believe there has been a misunderstanding,” Meng Jianhua continued. “Our company has suffered sudden setbacks—” “Because I made it suffer,” Vincent said calmly. Xian’s head snapped up. “You—” Vincent’s eyes cut to him, sharp and cold. Xian fell silent instantly. Vincent leaned forward slightly. “Let’s not pretend this is business fate. This is me.” Meng Jianhua stiffened. “You’re being emotional.” Vincent smiled faintly. “You raised a son who thought cruelty was entertainment. That’s emotional.” he said coldly. Xian s

Dinner at his uncle’s estate was quieter than it had ever been. The meal they had was the kind of meal Vincent used to dream about when he was younger. Now, the food sat untouched in front of him. Across the table, Gaius watched him closely. His uncle looked different these days. The deep lines of stress that once lived on his face had softened. His shoulders were relaxed, his movements unhurried. For the first time in years, Gaius looked like a man who could finally rest. Vincent had given him that peace. “You’ve done well,” Gaius said at last, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, steady. “The hospitals are thriving. The board doesn’t question your decisions anymore. I sleep better knowing the empire is in your hands.” Vincent nodded slightly but didn’t smile. Praise no longer warmed him the way it once did. Gaius studied him for another moment, then sighed and set his wine glass down. “I also heard about Meng Clothing.” Vincent’s fingers tightened around his c

The next morning, Vincent finished his hospital rounds earlier than usual. The surgeries had gone smoothly. Too smoothly. Whenever that happened, something always followed. His phone vibrated on the desk behind him. Once. Twice. Then again. He walked back to the desk and looked down at the screen. Leena. What did she want from him now? Another vibration. A message preview appeared. Vincent, please… I need to talk to you. He stared at it without opening it. His fingers hovered over the screen, then pulled back. Six months ago, he would have answered before the phone finished vibrating. Six months ago, her messages had been the center of his world. He would have dropped everything—sleep, pride, dignity—just to hear her voice. Now, he locked the screen and placed the phone face down. A knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Vincent said. “A woman named Leena Zhou has been calling the hospital, saying she wants to speak to you,” Sian added. “She also calle

Vincent arrived at VG Enterprises just before nine in the morning. VG Enterprises was his uncle’s company headquarters. He took care of the business here when he had time but his main focus was the hospital and he would have been there by now if he didn't have important business to take care of here. When he got in, all the staff paused what they were doing and stood at his beck and call. “Good morning, Young Master.” They greeted urgently. “Welcome, sir.” “Everything is ready.” Vincent stepped onto the polished marble floor, his shoes echoing faintly. The smell of clean air, coffee, and restrained urgency filled the space. Employees moved quickly but carefully, like people walking on thin ice—efficient, alert, and eager not to make mistakes. He felt it immediately. Control. Not the fragile kind he had pretended to have in school by keeping his head down, but real control—the kind that made people adjust their lives the moment you entered a room. His personal a

Vincent almost didn’t attend the ball. But here he was, dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that screamed aura and confidence. Crystal lights spilled from tall arched windows. Music floated into the night air, soft and elegant. Valets moved with practiced grace, opening doors for men and women dressed in wealth so effortless it looked natural on them. Vincent stepped out. For a brief moment, he felt eyes shift toward him—not mocking, not curious in the way they once had been, but assessing. Measuring. Good, he thought. Let them wonder. Vincent moved slowly, deliberately, allowing himself to be introduced by some his uncle’s acquaintances. Some women tilted their heads slightly, wanting to get to know him. They were all curious about him but he wasn't interested. He observed more than he spoke. This world was not new to him—but this was the first time he stood in it openly, without fear. Then he saw her. Leena stood near the center of the room, her hand looped poss

He leaned back in the high-backed leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as afternoon light filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office. He had finished rounds hours ago, yet the weight of the day still clung to him. Every patient he touched carried a story, and some stories refused to stay behind when he walked away. The report on his desk detailed surgical outcomes from the past week. Zero fatalities. Zero complications. Results that bordered on miraculous. A knock came, brisk and professional. “Enter,” Vincent said. His PA, Jian stepped inside, tablet in hand, expression sharpened by urgency. “Sir, we have an incoming case. Private admission.” Vincent’s instincts stirred. “How severe is it?” “Extreme. Unexplained. And… political.” Vincent now gave Jian his full attention. “How political?” “The governor’s only child.” “Take me there,” Vincent said. Security flooded the corridor outside the pediatric ICU. Armed men stood rigid, eyes s