Hazel

Hi everyone!
          I know it's a long time since I updated last.
          But the thing is I have an examination going on and I didn't get time to even write down a word.
          
          I'll try to update soon tho!
          
          Love y'll
          Bye<3

Update when????? 

hi, love your story !! Just wanted to ask you something , who does he love the most primrose or leona ? 

Hi everyone
          I am back!
          
          Sorry for make y'll wait but I have been busy lately but finally I am here n you will start receiving noyifications soon. I just need 2 says to write n edit. 
          
          Thankyou for your patience!
          Bye <3

          SNEAKPEAK
          To Pluck a Primrose
          
          He huffed a low laugh, shaking his head. “You’re tempting me,” he said, voice rough—but there was restraint in it, an edge of control he forced himself to keep.
          
          She blinked up at him, genuinely confused. “How?” she asked, then sniffed at herself with a small frown. “I smell like spices and vegetables. And sweat.” She tugged at the fabric of her dress. “These clothes are old. I look a mess.”
          
          That did it.
          
          He moved over her, bracing his weight on his arms so he didn’t actually press down, caging her in without trapping her. His shadow fell across her face. He reached up—not to claim, not to take—but to gently pinch her nose.
          
          “You have no idea,” he said quietly, eyes dark but steady, “how wrong you are.”
          
          She squirmed, more embarrassed than afraid, cheeks warming. “Harry—”
          
          He softened instantly. His thumb brushed her cheek, slow and reverent. “You smell like home,” he said. “Like effort. Like someone who worked with her hands and didn’t complain once.”
          
          Her eyes widened, that innocence shining through again. “That’s… tempting?”
          
          “To me?” A corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes.”
          
          He leaned down and pressed a brief, controlled kiss to her forehead—deliberately safe, deliberately restrained—then pulled back, exhaling as if reminding himself of something important.
          
          “Now lie still,” he said, lighter now, teasing again. “Before I decide pinching your nose wasn’t enough punishment for insulting yourself.”
          
          She smiled, small and shy, and obeyed—utterly unaware of how much he was holding back, and how fiercely he chose to.

SNEAKPEAK
          To pluck a Primrose
          
          “Ashcombe.”
          
          The voice froze the air.
          
          The governess jolted, straightening like a soldier caught mid-crime. Primrose turned, confused and tear-blurred—and saw Harry standing at the doorway.
          
          Not storming. Not shouting. Not even breathing loudly.
          
          Just looking.
          
          But Harry Styles looking was more terrifying than most men screaming.
          
          He took in the scene:
          Primrose’s shaking hands, the raised ruler, the tear-streaked cheeks, the red welts forming across her skin.
          
          Something ancient and cold tightened in his face.
          
          Ashcombe cleared her throat, suddenly pale.
          “Lord Styles—it is merely a lesson. She refused to focus—”
          
          Harry’s eyes flicked to her once.
          
          The woman’s voice died instantly.
          
          He walked forward, slow and silent, boots tapping against the polished floor. Primrose felt her heart pound—not in fear of him, but fear of what he might do. Harry stopped beside her, his shadow falling over her small figure curled on the bench.
          
          He reached for her hands.
          
          She winced—but he didn’t grab them.
          He lifted them, gently, turning them so he could see the marks.
          A muscle twitched in his jaw.
          
          “A simple sum?” he asked softly, dangerously.
          
          Primrose sniffled, ashamed. “I… I did it wrong.”
          
          Harry exhaled through his nose. “So she hit you.”
          
          “It is the standard corrective method for discipline,” Ashcombe stammered.
          
          Harry did not even look at her this time.
          
          He kept staring at Primrose’s trembling knuckles as if memorizing each bruise. Then, very slowly, he folded her hands into his larger ones and set them safely on her lap.
          
          When he finally turned to the governess, his voice was calm.
          
          Too calm.
          
          “Touch her again,” he said, “and I will break every finger in your hand. One a day, so you can learn slowly.”
          
          Ashcombe went white.
          
          “My lord—there are customs—proper training—”
          
          “She is my wife,” Harry said, eyes narrowing with a predator’s softness. “Not your prisoner.”
          
          

I'm a sucker for character development specially with ML. 
          
          That's why my ML's are down right assholes and emotionally constipated at the starting of my books.
          
          But men in my life shows no development coz they don't have a chatacter to start with (personal experience) lmao
          
          *triggered men assemble* 

SNEAKPEAK
          Honey:
          
          Harry’s forehead rests against hers, his breath shaky against her lips.
          
          He doesn’t answer.
          
          He just holds her face like he’s terrified to let go.
          
          He pulls back just enough to look at her—really look at her—eyes still wet, jaw set with a sudden, wild determination.
          
          “Let’s get married.”
          
          Evelyn freezes.
          
          “…what?”
          
          His breath is still uneven, voice low, hoarse, rushed.
          
          “Let’s end the custody fight. End the drama. Get married. It’ll be good for Winnie. No more complications. No more stupid arguments. No more outsiders. Just—just us. Let’s get married.”
          
          Before she can even process the words, he reaches into his pocket.
          
          And pulls out his ring.
          
          “Here.”
          
          Evelyn blinks.
          
          He isn’t joking.
          
          So she does the only thing her brain can manage—
          
          She starts laughing.
          
          Like full-on, disbelief, borderline hysterical giggles.
          
          She throws her head back on the pillow, clutching her stomach.
          
          Harry stands there, ring in hand, staring like she just slapped him.
          
          “Evelyn.”
          
          She wheezes between laughs. “Harry—Harry—stop—oh god—my seizure wasn’t this shocking—”
          
          “This isn’t funny.”
          
          “YOU—” she points at him, still breathless with laughter, “you kissed me like a guilty golden retriever and then proposed in a hospital gown—are you out of your mind?!”
          
          His jaw tightens, but the panic won’t leave his eyes.
          
          “I’m serious,” he mutters. “I’m dead serious. We should just do it. Fix everything. Right now.”
          
          

SNEANPEAK:
          To Pluck a Primrose
          
          His arm locked around her waist, lifting her clean off the ground.
          
          Primrose’s eyes widened in betrayal—pure horror.
          
          “Easy, little lady,” Andrew hissed in her ear, voice twisted. “Don’t make this worse.”
          
          She fought like a wildcat—kicking, twisting, clawing at his hand—but six shadows burst from the trees, running toward her. Boots pounding the earth. Faces she had never seen—filthy, furious, the kind Harry warned her about.
          
          One grabbed her ankle.
          She fell forward, hitting the leaves. The breath punched out of her.
          
          Another man seized her arm.
          Another fisted her hair, yanking her head back painfully.
          
          “Quiet!” one of them snarled, slapping her sharply across the cheek when she tried to scream again. “You shout again, girl, and I’ll—”
          
          A filthy rag was shoved between her teeth, tied tight behind her head, muffling her cries. She thrashed, but they lifted her roughly to her feet.
          
          “She’s the one,” Andrew said breathlessly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Lord Styles’ wife. Bring her. Quickly.”
          
          Primrose shook her head violently, tears bursting from her eyes. She tried to wrench her arms free—anything—anything—
          
          But they hauled her deeper into the black woods.
          
          And as they dragged her away, the last sound she heard was Gerrard’s faint groan behind her…
          and the pounding of her own terrified heartbeat
          
          Primrose’s feet barely touched the ground as the men yanked her through the trees.
          
          

I don’t usually reread my old works...the moment I finish something and start a new project, I grow, improve, and suddenly my previous writing feels a little… cringe  Who even reads their own book, right?
          
          But today I randomly opened Darlings again and got so emotional ... not because “wow I’m great,” but because this book made me. Those who’ve been here since the beginning know how many concepts I tried that got barely any reads. And then one day I posted the prologue + aesthetics of Darlings and something just clicked. It blew up overnight. People came. People read. Even non-followers found it.
          
          Darlings isn’t extraordinary or out-of-the-box, it’s simple, soft, cliché in the best way. Slow burn, emotional, character-driven. No twists, no sci-fi. Yet somehow it connected, and because of that, I kept writing. My readers grew, my followers grew, and so did my confidence.
          
          I could never choose between Harry and Zayn, so in my head I put Harry, Zayn, and Evelyn in a healthy little triangle, and Harry won because it’s his story. I also wanted Niall to be more than the “funny dumb best friend,” but emotionally mature (rare to see in books). And Louis… is Louis.
          
          Liam was supposed to be the first major character after Niall, but before I could bring him in, the tragedy happened. I was heartbroken and couldn’t shape a character around him. (We love you, always.) 
          
          I have so many unpublished chapters, scenes I loved but couldn’t fit into the final plot. They’re still close to my heart.
          
          And today, Darlings hit 30k reads.
          Maybe not huge to some, but to someone who started with 17 readers, it means everything.
          Thank you for making this little book of mine so special.