Novels by Frostlyn Kate

Blake sat in the back corner of Morrison's Diner, Sam and four security guards positioned strategically around the room.Carter walked in looking like a corpse that forgot to die. His clothes hung loose, like he'd lost twenty pounds. Stubble covered his face. His eyes were hollow, darting, the look of someone who'd learned what desperation tasted like and couldn't stop choking on it.He spotted Blake, hurried over. Sam intercepted him halfway."Arms up."Carter submitted to the pat-down without protest, which told Blake everything about how broken he was. The old Carter would've complained, made it about his dignity. This Carter just wanted whatever Blake was offering.Sam nodded. Carter approached the booth, slid in across from Blake."Thank you for meeting me," Carter said, voice rough. "I know you have no reason to trust me—""I don't. So make this fast."Carter leaned forward, urgent. "Lillian and Vincent are planning to have Emma killed. I overheard them discussing it at a wareho

Emma's hands moved mechanically, folding clothes she didn't remember unpacking.The guest room at Sterling estate felt like a museum exhibit now—beautiful, expensive, and completely wrong. Every item she touched reminded her that this wasn't her home. This was Blake's world, and she'd been foolish to think she belonged in it.Her phone buzzed. Blake's name lit up the screen. She declined the call.A knock on the door. "Emma, please. Can we talk?"Emma zipped her suitcase closed. "There's nothing to talk about.""I made a mistake. Let me explain—""You made several mistakes, Blake. The biggest one was thinking I needed you to manage my life." Emma opened the door, bag in hand. Blake stood there, looking wrecked, and she hated that part of her wanted to comfort him. "I'm going back to the penthouse.""Emma, you're not safe there. Ivan Kozlov is still—""I'll take the security team. But I'm leaving." Emma moved past him. Blake didn't try to physically stop her, and somehow that made it w

Blake's silence stretched too long.Emma watched the joy drain from his face, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like guilt. Her excitement curdled in her stomach, turning sour and heavy."Blake?" Her voice came out smaller than she intended. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy for me."Blake seemed to physically shake himself, forcing his expression into something resembling a smile. But it was wrong. Too stiff. Too careful. "I am happy for you. You deserve this position.""Then why do you look like I just told you someone died?"Blake exhaled slowly, and Emma felt dread creeping up her spine. She knew that look. That's the look of someone about to confess something they'd been hiding."There's something you should know about Stratton Industries," Blake said carefully. "Something I should have told you before you applied."Emma's hands clenched in her lap. "What?""It's mine. Stratton Industries belongs to me. It was my mother's company. Her legacy." Blake met her ey

Michael Torres's hands wouldn't stop shaking.He sat in a corner booth at Murphy's Coffee, watching the door, wondering if he was about to make the worst decision of his life or the smartest. Twenty-five thousand dollars. That number kept looping through his head, drowning out the voice that said this was wrong.Three years at CloudPeak. Three years of sixty-hour weeks, of sacrificing his personal life, of proving himself over and over. And when the VP position opened up—the position he'd earned—Emma brought in some outsider with a fancy degree and better connections. Didn't even give Michael an interview. Just a polite email thanking him for his "continued dedication."The bitterness tasted like copper in his mouth.A man entered the coffee shop, scanned the room, locked eyes with Michael. Mid-forties, expensive suit that tried to look casual, the kind of face that belonged in courtrooms and backroom deals. He approached Michael's table without asking permission."Mr. Torres?" The ma

Lillian leaned forward in the visiting room, every word Vincent spoke landing like salvation."Sterling family trusts always have marriage clauses," Vincent continued, voice low and conspiratorial. "Old money families are obsessed with legitimate heirs. They require marriages to be real—not business arrangements, not fraudulent contracts. Actual, functioning marriages.""And you think Blake's marriage to Emma is fake?" Lillian's heart was racing. This was it. The weapon she'd been searching for."I don't just think. I know for sure." Vincent pulled out his phone, showed her a timeline. "They've known each other for what, two months? Three? And suddenly they're married? Right when Blake needs to secure his inheritance? That's not love, Lillian. That's transaction."Lillian studied the timeline, mind spinning. Blake had always been calculating. Always three steps ahead. Of course he'd marry someone purely for strategic reasons. Emma was broke, desperate, easily manipulated. The perfect

Emma was drowning in fear, and Blake could see it eating her alive.She sat in the Sterling estate library, staring at nothing, jumping at every sound. The note from Ivan had broken something in her—not her courage, but her sense of safety. She couldn't sleep without nightmares. Couldn't relax without checking over her shoulder.Blake needed to give her something else to think about. Something that engaged the part of her brain that built companies instead of the part that calculated survival odds."I have a proposition," Blake said, sitting across from her.Emma looked up, eyes hollow. "Unless it involves leaving the country, I'm not interested.""Stratton Industries. You've heard of them?""Semiconductor manufacturer. Mid-tier market share, strong patents, underperforming for the last three years." Emma's response was automatic, CEO brain engaging despite herself. "Why?""They're opening up competitive bidding for new leadership. The board wants fresh vision, someone who can turn th