Jaja Lolia
2 Published Stories
Jaja Lolia's Books and Stories
whisper Beneath the silk
Fantasy
---
Whispers Beneath the Silk
A romantic thriller steeped in secrets, shadows, and seduction.
---
When Evelyn Roth, a gifted textile restorer with a hidden past, receives a mysterious commission to restore an estate's vintage gowns, she sees it as the opportunity of a lifetime. The request arrives with no sender's name, only a location: Silkenmoor, a manor whispered about in London's underground arts circles like a myth cloaked in velvet and blood. The job promises wealth, seclusion, and a chance to escape the echoes of her own carefully buried secrets.
But Silkenmoor is no ordinary estate.
Tucked away in the mist-laden cliffs of the English coast, the mansion looms like a memory lost in time. Its architecture is breathtaking-gothic arches, crimson silk drapes, and candlelit halls-but the atmosphere is suffocating. Whispers float down the corridors like perfume, and Evelyn quickly learns that the house hasn't quite moved on from its most tragic occupant: Lady Isadora Thorne, the glamorous and scandalous mistress of the estate who died in unexplained circumstances nearly a decade ago.
And then there's Lord Alaric Thorne-Isadora's widower, and the enigmatic master of the house. Cold, refined, and devastatingly handsome, Alaric is every bit the haunted figure the rumors suggested. Townsfolk believe he drove his wife to madness, or worse. Alaric insists Evelyn is here merely to preserve the gowns for archival purposes, but he watches her too closely. Their tension is instant. Electric. Dangerous.
The gowns-dozens of them, preserved in a sealed dressing room-are exquisite. But as Evelyn begins to work, she discovers more than frayed threads and forgotten lace. Hidden in hems are tiny slips of paper: love letters, warnings, confessions. Bloodstains have been washed but not erased. One bodice holds a lock of auburn hair that doesn't belong to Isadora at all. Someone, Evelyn realizes, tried to sew their story into the seams.
Each dress whispers something new-and Evelyn, despite herself, begins to listen.
Drawn deeper into the tangled history of the house, she uncovers a love triangle gone wrong, a possible pregnancy covered up, and an affair that may have led to blackmail-or murder. She finds herself caught between two men: the alluring but dangerous Alaric, and Julian Mercer, the charming solicitor who claims to be investigating the estate's secrets. Julian warns her that Alaric is not to be trusted. Alaric insists Julian is the true manipulator. As Evelyn spirals into obsession, she can't tell which of them is lying-or if they both are.
The closer she gets to the truth, the more the estate begins to shift around her. Mirrors show people who aren't there. The silk feels alive against her skin. And every time she wears one of Isadora's gowns, she feels less like herself and more like the woman whose ghost she may be embodying. Is she unraveling a mystery-or being rewritten by it?
When a hidden vault is discovered beneath the estate-filled with a final, unfinished gown, and a stitched confession from Isadora herself-Evelyn must make a devastating choice: expose the truth and destroy what's left of the Thorne legacy, or bury it forever to protect a man she may be falling in love with... even if he's guilty.
But some secrets refuse to stay dead. And some love stories are written not in ink-but in blood, silk, and silence.
---
Whispers Beneath the Silk is a gothic romance for fans of Rebecca, Verity, and Crimson Peak-a story of forbidden love, psychological suspense, and the ways we stitch ourselves into history. Evelyn's journey from forgotten seamstress to the author of her own story will leave readers breathless until the final, shattering reveal.
---
You might like
Reborn To Swap Husbands With My Sister
Culprit The sensation of falling wasn't like flying; it was heavy, violent, and smelled of burning flesh. Above us, on the crumbling balcony of the Sears manor, Duke Cato Sears turned his back, shielding his cousin Bianca from the smoke as he walked away, leaving my sister Blossom and me to drop into the abyss.
As the darkness slammed shut like an iron door, I realized my entire life had been a cruel script written by the people I called family.
In my first life, I was the sacrificial lamb of the Dawson manor, sold to a man who eventually watched me die without blinking. My sister Blossom had pushed me into Cato's arms to avoid his rumors, only to laugh when the fire finally consumed us both. My father had measured my value like a piece of livestock, and my step-grandmother didn't even acknowledge my existence while I was being led to the slaughter.
I died in that fire, feeling the heat scorch my skin and the weight of a hatred so potent it tasted like bile. I spent twenty years being the weak, manipulated shadow of a girl, only to end up as nothing more than a phantom scorch mark on a "hero's" estate.
I couldn't understand why my own blood treated my life like a game they could discard. The injustice of it all burned hotter than the flames that took my last breath.
Then, I sat up, sucking in air that tasted of lavender and air conditioning, not smoke. I was back in my bedroom, three days before the engagement ball that ruined my life. Blossom stood at the door, her "sweet" mask slipping as she tried to manipulate me into the Duke's path again.
She thought she was the only one who had come back, but she didn't realize that this time, I was going to let her have exactly what she wanted: the Duke, the bankruptcy, and the living hell that awaited her in that house. Stolen Youth, Reclaimed Destiny
Zaccaria Linn The roar of the crowd was the last thing I heard.
I died on a dirty city street, falsely accused, a monster in their eyes.
It all started with a gift for my 25th birthday-an antique smartwatch from Eleanor, my adoptive mother.
It wasn't just a heavy, ornate trinket; it was a life-drainer.
Weeks after I clasped it on, my vibrant youth withered, my hair thinned, my mind fogged.
As I became a frail old woman, Eleanor, terrified of aging, grew younger, radiant with my stolen vitality.
She locked me in the dusty attic, telling the world I' d had a breakdown.
My only hope, Bethany, my ex-boyfriend' s fiancé, found me.
She helped me escape, or so I thought.
She live-streamed my chaotic flight, twisting a narrative: I was a fraud, mentally unstable, stealing from Eleanor.
The crowd, incited by her online posts, saw a villain, not a victim.
They closed in, their rage contorting their faces.
Bethany watched, a triumphant smile on her face, as my life drained away for the second, and final, time.
But death was not the end.
Floating in a void, I saw Eleanor and Bethany toasting with champagne, celebrating my demise.
The injustice burned through me, a rage so pure it could tear the universe apart.
They had taken everything.
Then, I woke up.
Gasping for air, my skin smooth, my hair thick and dark-25 again.
It was my birthday, the day it all started.
This time, the watch wouldn' t be for me.
This time, I was going to offer the "life-drainer" to Bethany.
I would watch Eleanor and Bethany, two predators bound by vanity and greed, tear each other apart.
This time, I would not be the victim. Shattered Legacy: A Woman Reborn
Ola Wilde In the hidden hollows of the Appalachians, my family knew a secret: a spark of life, a whisper of old magic in our blood that could make the barren fruitful. It was just folklore until Eleanor Montgomery arrived, her son Ethan, heir to a sprawling industrial empire, dying. Desperate, my family agreed: I, Sarah-Mae Jenkins, would marry Ethan, save him, and secure our future.
My "gift" worked. I conceived twins, and Ethan recovered, vibrant and strong. But on the day our healthy babies were born, he stood over me, cruel and triumphant, and smothered them. "Mountain trash," he spat, then sealed me alive in their cold family crypt.
To erase all trace, Montgomery Industries orchestrated a chemical spill, annihilating my entire valley, my home, my people. Every hope, every life, gone. Everything I had, destroyed.
Why such monstrous cruelty for a boy' s twisted obsession? Why was my very essence, my gift of life, deemed a curse worthy of such utter annihilation? The pain was a living thing, consuming me.
Then, darkness. Then, light. I gasped awake in my own bed, back in the small cabin, on the very day Eleanor Montgomery' s black car would wind its way up our mountain road. This time, there would be no bargain. This time, Sarah-Mae Jenkins was reborn for one purpose: revenge. The Day I Said No！
Qijia Lady The smell of ozone meant a blizzard, and the buzzing of Tyler's call meant the end of my life.
In my last life, I answered, running to save Ethan, the man I loved, from a Rockies storm.
That rescue shattered my leg, my climbing career, and ultimately, my spirit.
Ethan married me out of pity, our life together a silent torment.
Then came the fire, my bad leg trapping me, choking smoke filling my lungs.
My husband, Ethan, and our teenage son pulled his mistress, Brooke, from the flames first.
The last thing I heard was my own son screaming, "You're a cripple! You ruined Dad's life!"
Why did I sacrifice everything for them, only to be betrayed and left to die?
Why did I have to be the broken one, the victim in my own story?
Then I woke up. Here. Today. The day it all went wrong.
This time, when the phone buzzed, I answered, not to save him, but to save myself. The Price of a False Hero
Clementine Ethan Miller possessed a secret gift: blood that could heal any wound, reverse any sickness.
In a past life, he used it to save Bree Vanderbilt, a beautiful socialite paralyzed from the waist down.
The Vanderbilts had promised him immense wealth and marriage, but Bree, fixated on her "hero" boyfriend, Chad Kensington, turned her back on Ethan once healed.
When Chad supposedly died searching for a cure, Bree, consumed by twisted grief, forced Ethan to try and revive him, draining him relentlessly.
Ethan died right there, exhausted from the futile attempt, unmourned by Bree, who only had eyes for her lost Chad.
It was only after his death that the bitter truth emerged: Chad wasn't a hero or a martyr; he was a cheat, murdered by a jealous husband.
Ethan had died for nothing, for a woman who mourned a liar and a scoundrel.
The betrayal, the pain, the utterly pointless sacrifice-every agonizing detail burned into his soul.
Then, with a gasping breath, he woke up, the sterile scent of his family' s hidden clinic sharp in his nostrils.
It was the exact day Eleanor Vanderbilt was scheduled to bring her paralyzed daughter, Bree, for his assessment.
This time, things would be different. The Comatose Heir's Unwanted Wife
Gu Mumu The humid Southern air always brought back the dread. Today was the day-the day the two proposals would arrive, sealing my fate.
My sister, Sabrina, burst in, her eyes manic, declaring she' d marry Brian Hughes, the charming mechanic, and I would marry Andrew Lester, the comatose heir.
This wasn't how it happened before. In my first life, Sabrina scheme her way into marrying Andrew, condemning me to Brian' s terrifying abuse – the beatings, the broken bones, the eventual fire she set to kill me because she thought my brokenness was a form of happiness.
Now, reincarnated, she remembers only Brian' s public devotion, oblivious to the monster beneath. She wanted my nightmare.
As a wave of dizzying relief washed over me, I realized… my tormentor, the man who destroyed me, was her desperate prize.
My mother, always favoring Sabrina, quickly agreed. They thought they were pushing me into a living widowhood, a quiet misery.
They had no idea they were finally setting me free. Second Life, New Rules
Jin Yi My first life ended with the smell of cheap whiskey, a throbbing leg, and the bitter irony of my ex-wife' s golden boy getting the scholarship that should have been mine. I died alone, broke, and knowing I was a failure in the eyes of my kids and the woman I' d sacrificed everything for.
Then, I woke up. The sun was hot on my face, the air thick with popcorn, and I was nineteen again, in my football uniform, standing on the side of the road. It was the homecoming parade, the exact moment my life had been destroyed.
I saw Sabrina Johns, the town' s golden girl, laughing on the wobbly float. In my past life, I' d heroically saved her from that collapsing monstrosity, letting it crush my leg and shatter my future. That act of self-sacrifice led to a lifetime of misery, a marriage fueled by her guilt and my ruined dreams. She' d always despised me, painting me as a cripple who trapped her.
To my dying breath, I thought saving her was the beginning of our tragic story. I never knew my future was already stolen, my dreams already dead, long before the float ever fell. Did my sacrifice even matter? What twisted game was this?
This time, as the float lurched and the giant hornet head tilted, I didn't move forward. I stepped back. I was back, and this time, things would be different. 
/0/79825/coverorgin.jpg?v=31a03b2a4e0d281379efc00c02882a2f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/79639/coverorgin.jpg?v=d120edfc595220e29f599bab7a546f88&imageMogr2/format/webp)
0
TOP UP
Reading History
Sign out
Get the APP
/1/109587/coverorgin.jpg?v=e4454a5222826da45fe5c78f89a5b8ee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/105182/coverorgin.jpg?v=5cb742553ef3839db915d1d5dae6596c&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/20129/coverorgin.jpg?v=e9a9b486f04a5907435d1df2bc2c5556&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/85759/coverorgin.jpg?v=c1666acb2b7e80198011cbdfdd4f42e9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82600/coverorgin.jpg?v=cd88009cbb0c2c489b954ebc8fd163b9&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83911/coverorgin.jpg?v=2880c82ef3f55db1cf672151bedeb85e&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/82708/coverorgin.jpg?v=85d423139f641ccfe35c74d60ce76f02&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/83953/coverorgin.jpg?v=ebf393f686a52754e8f472dd41f236c1&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/84152/coverorgin.jpg?v=5fc1addcbb633c16b1c6dcb5629399fb&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/22973/coverorgin.jpg?v=a734d8344d3405f3eb278406d178b5b5&imageMogr2/format/webp)