Novels by Esther Ernest

Days passed by very fast with strict routine at Rikers Island which couldn't by bent by any means.The morning count was every 5:30 a.m. followed by the slop for breakfast and then yard time if the weather allowed, showers under lukewarm water that cut off too soon, endless hours in the dorm with nothing but concrete walls and the low hum of male voices. Bradley moved through it all with deliberate calm, his body was becoming stronger now and his senses sharper. The system had turned him into something new, someone patient, watchful and lethal when needed.The assassination attempts had stopped since other inmates were now scared of attacking him, but there were other means to silent a man without the use of brute force.Word had spread through the block like wildfire: the “dead man” who couldn’t be killed. Six professional hitters down in two nights, and he’d walked away without a scratch. Inmates gave him space and nods of respect in the chow line, some even offer extra dessert fro

The Jordan estate glowed like a jewel against the snowy night, every window lit warmly as if in celebration. Inside the drawing room, a fire crackled in the marble hearth, casting dancing shadows across antique furniture and oil paintings of long-dead ancestors. The air smelled of pine from the massive Christmas tree in the corner and the faint, expensive notes of Victoria’s favorite Chanel perfume.Three crystal flutes stood on the silver tray, champagne bubbling gently. Victoria lifted hers first, the diamonds on her wrist catching the firelight.“To the end of an unfortunate chapter,” she said, her voice smooth as silk.Leo clinked his glass against hers eagerly, wincing only slightly from the movement, his ribs still tender, but the sling was mostly for show now. “About damn time. I thought the bastard had nine lives.”Evelyn stood a step behind them, near the window overlooking the snow-covered gardens. She held her flute but hadn’t drunk yet. Her reflection stared back from the

The isolation cell felt different now.Bradley sat cross-legged on the cold slab, eyes closed, the blue glow of the system interface illuminating his mind like a private screen. The pain from the second attack had vanished completely with bruises faded, cuts sealed, ribs no longer tender. Whatever this system was, it wasn’t just giving him strength in the moment. It was rewriting his body.He focused on the translucent panel.**Urban Ascendancy System****Host: Bradley Turner** **Level: 2** **XP: 100/500 to next level** **Health: 100/100** **Strength: 14** **Agility: 12** **Intelligence: 15** **Charisma: 8** **Available Points: 0****Skills Unlocked:** - Basic Combat Module (Level 1): Enhanced reflexes, instinctive knowledge of hand-to-hand techniques, pressure points, and improvised weapons.**Active Quests:** - None**New Notification: Daily Login Reward Available**He mentally selected the notification.[Daily Login Reward claimed: +50 XP, Minor Healing Potion x

The isolation cell was a tomb.Six by eight feet, poured concrete on all sides, a steel door with a narrow slot for food trays. No window. A single fluorescent bulb behind wire mesh buzzed overhead, never turning off. Bradley sat on the bare slab that served as a bed, knees drawn up, staring at the wall. His ribs throbbed with every breath; the cut on his forearm had scabbed over, but the bruises were blooming purple and yellow.Twenty-four hours in seg for “his own protection,” the guard had said with a smirk. Protection from what came next, more likely.He replayed the fight in his mind, the three men, their coordinated attack, the glint of the shiv. They hadn’t been random. Though paid to make it look like a typical prison beating gone fatal. The Jordans’ reach stretched even here, into the bowels of Rikers.He leaned his head back against the cold wall, sleep felt dangerous. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Maya’s face, heard Evelyn’s silence as the cuffs clicked shut.A clan

The clang of metal doors echoed like gunshots as Bradley was escorted into Block C at Rikers Island. The guard, a thick-necked man with a shaved head and a name tag reading “Ortiz” shoved him forward with casual indifference.“Home sweet home, Turner. Bunk 42. Touch nothing that ain’t yours, and maybe you’ll last the week.”Bradley stepped into the dorm, the stench hitting him first: a mix of sweat, bleach, mold, and something sour he didn’t want to identify. Sixty bunks lined the walls in two tiers, most occupied by men who looked up with predatory curiosity. Tattoos crawled up necks and arms; eyes assessed him like fresh meat.He kept his gaze forward, walking the narrow aisle to bunk 42 bottom, near the toilets, as expected. The thin mattress was stained yellow in places, the pillow flat and gray. He dropped his issued bedding roll onto it and began making the bed with mechanical precision, the way he’d learned in the brief intake orientation.Conversations resumed around him, but

The back of the police cruiser smelled like old vinyl, stale coffee, and something faintly metallic, maybe blood from previous passengers. Bradley sat with his hands cuffed behind him, the metal biting into his wrists every time the car hit a pothole. The two officers up front spoke in low murmurs, occasionally glancing at him in the rearview mirror. One was young, fresh-faced, almost apologetic. The older one had the weary eyes of someone who’d seen too many domestic calls in neighborhoods like the Upper East Side.Bradley stared out the window as Manhattan blurred past holiday lights strung across brownstones, doormen hailing cabs, couples in wool coats hurrying toward restaurants. Normal life. A world he’d been part of, but never really belonged to.His mind replayed the scene in the foyer: Victoria’s cold triumph, Leo’s smug grin despite the bruises, and Evelyn… Evelyn turning away. That fleeting look of relief on her face haunted him more than the cuffs. He’d caught it just befor