Novels by Arthea Edelweis

The ride back was silent. Not because they had nothing to say, but because words felt unnecessary.Elena sat beside Oliver in the car, her fingers resting lightly on her lap. She wasn’t shaking, wasn’t afraid anymore—but the weight of the night still pressed against her.Oliver drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting on the console between them. His presence alone made her feel safe.After a while, Elena exhaled. “You’re too calm.”Oliver glanced at her, smirking. “Would you rather I panic?”She huffed. “I was kidnapped, Oliver.”“I noticed.”“Held hostage.”“I was there.”“Almost had my throat slit.”Oliver’s jaw tightened just slightly. “And I handled it.”Elena turned to him, studying his profile. His sharp jawline, his unwavering expression.“You always do,” she murmured.Oliver didn’t reply, but his fingers—resting between them—twitched.Elena hesitated, then slowly reached out, linking her pinky with his.Oliver’s hand stiffened for a brief moment.Then, he turned hi

"Mr. Roberts, we have a problem."Amelia’s voice was sharp over the phone. Oliver had just finished a business meeting when she called, and from the tension in her tone, he knew it wasn’t a minor issue.Oliver exhaled. "Speak."There was a brief pause before she dropped the bombshell."Elena’s been taken."Oliver stopped walking. His fingers tightened slightly around the phone. “Who?”Amelia hesitated. “A man named Vincent Moreau. French arms dealer. One of the last allies Harrington had left.”Oliver’s jaw clenched, but his voice remained calm. “His demands?”“He wants you to transfer fifty percent of Hoshier’s European assets to his name by midnight.”A mistake.Vincent Moreau had no idea who he was dealing with.Oliver inhaled slowly. “Where is she?”“We traced the call to a warehouse in the East District. It’s heavily guarded.”Oliver didn’t hesitate. “Send me the location.”“Sir, I can mobilize our team—”“No.” Oliver’s voice was sharp. “This is personal.”Amelia hesitated but ob

“You lost the moment you thought you could use her against me, Calloway.”Oliver’s voice was quiet, almost casual, yet every syllable carried the weight of an undeniable truth.Raymond struggled against Oliver’s grip, but it was useless. His body trembled—not from the physical pain, but from the realization sinking into his bones. He had never stood a chance.Oliver loosened his hold just enough for Raymond to breathe, but his next words made the man’s blood run cold.“Tell me, Calloway… how do you want this to end?”Raymond swallowed, his mind racing. He had no moves left. No allies. No escape.His last shred of arrogance faltered, replaced by raw desperation. “I—I was just following Harrington’s lead. He’s the one who—”Oliver let out a quiet exhale, cutting him off with a simple, measured sentence.“Harrington is already handled.”Raymond’s eyes widened. “What?”A soft buzzing noise filled the room. Oliver reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and tilted the screen toward

Raymond’s hands trembled as he scrolled through the endless flood of news reports, each one spelling his doom in bold, damning headlines. His phone buzzed non-stop—calls from investors, board members, and desperate executives, all demanding answers he didn’t have.His breath came in short, sharp gasps. This wasn’t just an attack. This was an execution.His gaze snapped to Elliot Mercer, who remained seated, completely unfazed. The smirk on Elliot’s face sent a wave of rage coursing through Raymond’s veins.“You think this is funny?” Raymond’s voice was hoarse, barely above a growl. “You think I’m just going to sit here and let Oliver destroy me?”Elliot exhaled, setting his drink down with a quiet clink. He leaned back, crossing his legs leisurely. “Oh, you misunderstand, Calloway. It’s not about letting him destroy you. It’s about the fact that you can’t stop him.”Raymond slammed a fist against the bar. The few patrons around them turned to glance, sensing the tension but knowing be

Raymond sat frozen in his chair, his hands clenched into fists as the weight of his downfall pressed down on him like a mountain. His empire, his power—everything he had built over the years had crumbled in mere minutes.His phone buzzed again, and with shaky fingers, he picked it up. A flood of messages from his board members, investors, and executives filled the screen. They were panicking. Some demanded explanations, others threatened to withdraw their support. His assistant sent a message—Mr. Calloway, we need immediate damage control. The media is asking questions.Raymond’s vision blurred as rage bubbled inside him. All because of one man.Oliver Roberts.The name now echoed in his head like a curse.Raymond had underestimated him, just like everyone else had. He had seen Oliver as nothing more than a quiet, unremarkable businessman, someone who got lucky in the corporate world. But now, he understood the truth.Oliver was far from ordinary.Raymond sucked in a sharp breath and f

Raymond’s breath caught in his throat. His palms were damp, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk. Oliver Roberts was here. In his office.He barely had time to compose himself before the door swung open.Oliver walked in with the ease of a man who owned the building, despite the fact that it belonged to Raymond. He was calm, his dark eyes scanning the office without the slightest hint of urgency. He wasn’t here to negotiate. He was here to watch Raymond crumble.Raymond straightened in his chair, masking his nerves with arrogance. “Mr. Roberts,” he greeted coolly, though his voice wavered just enough to betray his unease.Oliver said nothing at first. He merely stepped closer, his gaze locking onto Raymond’s with the weight of something far more dangerous than anger—certainty.“You’ve been quite busy,” Oliver finally said, his tone casual.Raymond forced a smirk. “I like to stay informed about my competitors.”Oliver chuckled, the sound low and unimpressed. “Competitor?” He tilte

The news of what happened in the antique shop spread like wildfire.Within twenty-four hours, everyone in the city — from the corporate towers to the underworld alleys — was whispering one name again:Javier Everhart.The man who had vanished from the spotlight years ago, now reemerging quietly, effortlessly crushing those who mocked him.But power had consequences. And this time, his silence didn’t just command fear — it provoked envy.Two nights later, the Everhart Tower stood bathed in silver light, its glass walls reflecting the restless storm clouds above. The air inside buzzed with tension. Security had been tightened, and the boardroom was alive with murmurs from shareholders and partners, all summoned to an emergency meeting.Valeria sat near the end of the long mahogany table, her posture composed but her expression sharp. She noticed how Javier stood by the window, his back turned to everyone. His reflection — calm, unreadable, dangerous — loomed larger than life against the

The city never rested after Javier Everhart’s latest move. His quiet domination of the Continental Club became the headline across every major outlet — not just because of what he had done, but how he had done it.The footage leaked — the way Evelyn Kincaid’s face had turned pale, how Marcus Blackthorne’s smirk had collapsed, and how Adrian had sat there trembling, realizing too late that the celebration had taken place on Javier’s own property.But power had a scent — and it drew vultures.By the end of the week, a new name began to circulate among whispered conversations and encrypted channels: The Syndicate of Helios.A shadow consortium. Not corporate rivals this time — but power brokers, arms of old money and foreign investment, men and women who lived behind masks of respectability. They didn’t care about business or prestige. They cared about control.And Javier Everhart had disrupted the balance.It started subtly.His suppliers began pulling out of contracts without warning.

Screens in glass towers, cheap cafés, and luxury penthouses all flashed with the same breaking headline:“JAVIER EVERHART DESTROYS THE VAUGHN DYNASTY IN LIVE CONFERENCE.”Beneath it, videos replayed endlessly — the calmness in his tone, the terror in the Vaughns’ faces, the stillness that followed his last words.Some called it poetic. Others called it ruthless.But every man who had ever mocked him, every executive who had once whispered that Javier Everhart was just a name without power — felt the same thing that night.Fear.At Blackthorne Holdings, the conference room was dimly lit, tension thick enough to choke on.Marcus Blackthorne paced in front of the panoramic window, his reflection a dark blur in the glass. “He’s becoming a monster,” he muttered, voice low but trembling with fury. “Every humiliation, every attack — he turns it into power. He feeds on it.”Adrian sat silently at the table, staring at his untouched drink. “We were supposed to break him,” he whispered. “But no

Every major news network had cameras pointed at the Vaughn Industries press conference, broadcasting live across the city. The air buzzed with speculation—rumors of Javier Everhart’s so-called “collapse,” of illegal dealings, of hidden crimes waiting to be uncovered.It was all orchestrated. All loud. All desperate.Elias Vaughn took the stage first, his face carefully arranged into an expression of cold authority, though the slight tremor in his hands betrayed his nerves. Behind him stood his father, Richard, flanked by a handful of executives whose loyalties had begun to waver.“Ladies and gentlemen,” Elias began, his voice amplified through the hall. “We stand here today not as competitors, but as defenders of integrity. The recent actions of Everhart Group have raised serious ethical and financial concerns—”He paused dramatically, letting the cameras flash. “Mr. Javier Everhart has been manipulating markets, coercing smaller businesses, and consolidating illegal power under the g

At Everhart Tower, the headquarters of his empire, Javier stood by the window of his top-floor office. The city stretched endlessly before him — his city, his battlefield. The glass reflected the early sunlight across his sharp features, but his expression was unreadable.Behind him, his assistant, Miles, stood cautiously. “Sir, the press has been relentless since dawn,” Miles said, voice low. “They’re calling you the ‘Silent Tycoon.’ Vaughn Industries’ stock dropped fifteen percent overnight. Their board is in panic mode.”Javier didn’t turn. His eyes followed the distant movement of traffic below, the heartbeat of the city. “Let them panic,” he said finally, his tone calm but final. “Fear is a useful motivator.”Miles hesitated bef

The murmurs had barely faded when a heavy silence swept through the room. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on Javier Everhart — the man who had just humiliated their so-called elites without breaking a sweat. Yet, just as the tension seemed to settle, a voice rose above the crowd.“So this is the great Javier Everhart?” The mocking tone sliced through the air like a blade.Heads turned. A tall man stepped forward from the far end of the hall. He was broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit with a golden pocket square that shimmered beneath the chandelier. His name rippled across the murmuring crowd — Elias Vaughn, heir of Vaughn Industries, one of the Everhart Group’s most vocal rivals.Javier’s gaze flicked toward him, his face unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t speak