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How to Read Free Chapters

Welcome to your cozy corner for all things books, stories, and the strange magic of imagination.

You can read the first 4 chapters of every single book I’ve written—right now, for free.

How to Get Started:

  1. Pick the book you want to read from the highlighted blocks
  2. Use the "Sort by" dropdown (near the top) to select "Oldest to Newest"
  3. Chapter One now appears at the top—and you can read straight through with easy links to the next chapter

Thank you so much for supporting my stories. I hope this space becomes your favourite cozy corner for reading.

💛 Lynette / Rosaline / Stephen 


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Welcome!

Whether you’ve been reading my stories for years or you’ve just found your way here, welcome to my cozy corner for all things books. 

I write under three different pen names, each one a reflection of a different kind of story I love to tell:

Lynette Ferreira – Sweet, sometimes strange, always emotional. These are YA love stories with a touch of the unexpected—bittersweet, gentle, and real. Read free first chapters to see if what I write is what you like to read.

Rosaline Saul – Paranormal romance and YA fantasy with magic, mystery, and soul-deep connections. For readers who believe love and destiny go hand in hand. Read free first chapters to try it out.

Stephen Simpson – YA horror with heart. These stories dig deep into fear, but always leave space for hope, friendship, and the strange beauty of the human experience. Read free first chapters - if you dare.

I'm excited for the future! There’s so much more to come.

💛 Lynette / Rosaline / Stephen 

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CATCHING FEELINGS: CHAPTER THREE

The music throbbed through the club like a relentless pulse, alive with an electric energy that thickened the air, heavy with anticipation. Ibiza’s nightlife was always breathtaking, chaotic, a perfect storm of sound, light, and raw heat. It was in this frenetic energy that Christopher felt most at home, even if that home was a carefully constructed lie. To everyone in the room, he was simply another DJ, a master behind the decks, transforming tracks into magic but he knew better. He was not just a DJ, he was Cupid, the god of love in disguise.

Tonight, he worked the room like a conductor orchestrating a symphony of human desires. His fingers danced across the equipment, effortless, adjusting beats, layering rhythms, and controlling the night's flow. It was not merely music that guided him, it was the subtle power of his otherworldly influence. Each note he dropped, each transition he made, served a purpose beyond sound alone. It was for love.

Christopher could feel the connections yearning to happen, the unspoken sparks waiting to ignite. It was his gift, his divine purpose, to ensure those sparks found kindling in the hearts of those who sought it. His eyes swept across the dance floor, where bodies moved in unison to the driving pulse of reggaeton. Couples danced close, their hands exploring one another as if drawn by the music and in a way, they were. The dembow rhythm, the steady, syncopated backbone of reggaeton, pounded through the speakers, connecting people, allowing them to lose themselves and, sometimes, to find each other.

As the music swelled, Christopher shifted the energy. He transitioned into a slower, sensual beat, something that curled through the room like smoke. His heart swelled with a familiar, bittersweet pride as he watched the magic unfold. There, a couple locked eyes for the very first time. Another pair, dancing on the edge of flirtation, suddenly moved closer, drawn in by the subtle shift in the song.

For him, it was all so agonizingly familiar. He had done this for centuries. He had helped humans find love, forged connections, mended hearts, yet he had never known it himself. As he wove invisible threads between those who danced, the old frustration bubbled up again. A yearning he could not quite shake, a desperate desire to know what these people felt. To be free to experience the very love he bestowed upon others so effortlessly.

He glanced toward a young woman perched by the bar, her gaze lingering on a man across the room. She quickly looked away, as if embarrassed by her own attraction. Christopher sensed her hesitation, the spark just waiting to flare, and he leaned into the music. He built up the tempo, letting the rhythm guide her, pushing her past her doubts. The man noticed her now, drawn in by the beat, by the subtle influence of Christopher’s power as Cupid.

It was always like this. Simple. Effortless.

For a moment, he allowed his mind to wander, even as his fingers instinctively worked the console. He thought of the woman he had seen just days ago. She had crossed his mind more than once since then, and that alone unsettled him. He was Cupid, the god of love. His job was to guide others, not to become entangled himself. Yet, this woman was different. There had been something about her sadness that called to him, a wound in her heart so deep that even he, a god, had felt it. Though it was foolish, he had wondered what it would be like to heal that wound, not with divine intervention, but with something real, something human.

Christopher forced his attention back to the present. He could not afford to be distracted. He had a job to do, and tonight, like every other night, was about the people in front of him, not the woman who occupied too much of his thoughts. The crowd surged with renewed energy as he dropped the next track—a reggaeton beat that seemed to set the room ablaze. Bodies moved closer. The air grew thick with the unspoken language of desire. Couples paired off, some clumsy and new, others with an ease that suggested a more intimate familiarity. All of them were guided by him, whether they knew it or not.

Still, the ache gnawed at him.

The gods had warned him centuries ago of what happened when immortals coveted human desires. Love was not meant for him, not in the way humans experienced it. His role was to create it, to foster it, but never to indulge. That was the eternal curse of being Cupid.

Long ago, he had been Eros, the God of Desire, child of Aphrodite and Chaos, an immortal born of longing itself. The ancient world had worshipped him, painted his likeness on urns and temple walls, praying for his golden arrows to strike true. However, immortality came with conditions. The Olympians feared what might happen if Eros, the very spark of love, ever kindled a flame for himself. When he dared to ask what it might feel like to love, not as a god, but as a man, they stripped him of his name, his wings, and his place among the divine.

He became Cupid. Unseen, eternal, condemned to walk among mortals and stir hearts with unseen hands, never to feel the warmth of love returned. To fall in love with a mortal woman would not only shatter the laws of Olympus, but it would also destroy him.

The punishment was brutally clear. If he gave in to that most human of temptations, he would be erased. Not killed but forgotten. His name, his essence, his mark on history would vanish like smoke in the wind. The mortals he had once touched would no longer remember the subtle flutter of his influence. He would be unmade.

And the mortal he loved? She would be left with a hollow ache she could not explain, haunted by the absence of something beautiful, something true. Something she would never even remember having.

That was the price. That was the warning.

And still, despite everything, Christopher—Cupid—was beginning to wonder if a single moment of love, truly felt and freely given, might be worth the fall.

He watched as the couple by the bar began to talk, their connection forming as easily as breathing. A small, sad smile tugged at his lips. This was what he was meant for, yet the satisfaction felt hollow. The more he gave love to others, the more his own loneliness became a silent, unbearable weight. The music surged, the room exploding with energy as he hit the climax of the set, but inside, Christopher felt the familiar emptiness.

He stepped back for a moment, letting the music ride on autopilot as his gaze swept over the crowd. The human connections he fostered were so pure, so raw, and yet they were not for him. He had accepted that long ago, or at least he thought he had. Lately, it had become harder to ignore. Being in Ibiza only amplified it. This place was full of passion, of fleeting love, of endless possibilities, but Christopher stood on the outside, always the orchestrator but never the participant.

His thoughts drifted back to the woman once again. He had felt something stir when they crossed paths. It was something he had never allowed himself to feel before. She was vulnerable, bruised by love, and perhaps that was what drew him in. He wanted to heal, to protect her in a way that was not purely divine. That curiosity was dangerous. The gods would never allow it. His heart was not his to give, not to her, not to anyone.

The next track kicked in, and the room moved with it. The dembow beat thudded steadily beneath his fingertips as Christopher forced himself back into the present. Whatever the woman had awakened in him would have to remain buried. He could never be more than what he was. The DJ spinning love for others, the invisible hand that made hearts collide.

However, tonight, as the music soared and the crowd pulsed with connection, the weight of his isolation felt heavier than ever.

CONTINUE READING

CATCHING FEELINGS: CHAPTER TWO

Ibiza was meant to be an escape. Isabel had chosen it precisely because it was a world away from everything she knew. Her hometown, her ex, and the shattered remnants of the life she had believed was hers. The flight had been long, but even the exhaustion could not dull the persistent ache in her chest. Her mind remained cluttered, echoing with the final, painful months of her relationship with Jason.

She stared out the airplane window as it began its descent over the sparkling Mediterranean waters. The island shimmered like a postcard paradise. White beaches, crystal-clear blue seas, and a vibrant world where the sun seemed to orchestrate an endless party. It was exactly what she needed. At least, that was what she kept telling herself.

Ibiza had not been her first choice. In fact, she had not planned this trip at all, not until the night everything fell apart. After months of gnawing suspicion, months of second-guessing her own instincts, Jason’s affair had finally come to light. The betrayal was a gut punch, but it was the insidious way he had manipulated her, always twisting her reality to fit his lies, that had left her feeling utterly destroyed.

"Are you sure you’re not imagining things? You always overreact. Why can’t you just trust me?" His voice still echoed in her head, his gaslighting a lingering poison. Even now, a part of her yearned to believe it was her fault. That if only she had been more loving, more forgiving, maybe things would not have ended this way. Yet, deep down, Isabel knew better. She knew what Jason did was wrong, but the scars he left had burrowed deep into her heart.

The landing was smooth, a stark contrast to the turbulence in her heart. As the plane touched down, Isabel felt a knot of anxiety tighten inside her. She had run all the way to Ibiza, only to find herself still nursing the very wounds she had hoped to leave behind.

The drive from the airport to her hotel was a blur of swaying palm trees, whitewashed buildings, and carefree tourists spilling onto the streets. Isabel watched it all through the taxi window, her own faint reflection superimposed against a world she felt utterly disconnected from. The driver attempted small talk, asking where she was from, how long she would be staying, but she could barely summon the energy to respond. Her answers were curt, clipped. Her mind was too consumed by Jason’s lies and the constant replay of their last argument. As the taxi sped along the coastline, the ocean stretched endlessly to her right, yet even the breathtaking views could not dispel the heaviness that had settled in her chest. The island buzzed with excitement and joyful abandon, but all Isabel felt was a profound numbness.

Ibiza was supposed to be a place to forget and to heal, but how could she when everything inside her felt so broken?

The sun had just begun its slow dip below the horizon when Isabel arrived at her hotel, its fading rays casting long, dramatic shadows across the island. Her room was small but cozy, a private sanctuary where she could hide from the world for a while. She tossed her suitcase onto the bed and sat beside it, letting the quiet envelop her.

It had been her sister's idea to come here. "Get away from it all," she had urged.

At the time, Isabel had readily agreed. She desperately needed distance from the toxicity Jason had left in his wake, and Ibiza seemed like a place where the chaos of her emotions might be drowned out by the island's ceaseless energy but now, sitting alone in this unfamiliar room, the stark reality of being so far from home, from everything she knew, felt overwhelming. A part of her wondered if she had made the right choice.

She pulled out her phone and called her sister.

"Izzy?" The voice answered almost immediately.

"Hey. I just... I needed to talk."

"Did you land safely? How are you feeling?"

Isabel hesitated. "Like I made a mistake. Like I ran halfway across the world only to bring all the pain with me."

Her sister was quiet for a beat. "It’s going to take time. You’re not going to feel better overnight."

"I keep thinking about the little things," Isabel whispered, her voice cracking. "How he used to hide my keys so I wouldn’t leave when we argued. How he made me feel guilty for going out without him."

"That’s control, Izzy. That’s not love."

She swallowed hard. "But he said it was because he loved me so much that he couldn't bear to lose me. He cried when I left."

"Because manipulators cry when they lose control, not when they lose love."

Her sister’s words hit deep, shaking something loose inside her. Tears burned at the corners of Isabel’s eyes. She remembered how Jason had once deleted a message from her best friend, claiming it was to protect her from "negativity." How he insisted she quit her job because "they didn’t appreciate her." How he convinced her that her family just did not understand "them." Every memory was another crack in the foundation she had built with him. It was all a house made of shadows and lies.

"I don’t even know who I am without him," Isabel admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

"You’re someone brave enough to leave."

Isabel clutched the phone tighter. "I don’t feel brave. I feel scared. And alone. Like I’ve stepped into a void, and I don’t know which way is forward."

"That’s part of healing, Izzy. It’s messy and confusing and terrifying, but you are not alone."

Isabel nodded, even though her sister could not see her. "Thank you. I just needed to hear your voice."

After they hung up, Isabel lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The sounds of the city grew louder outside. Music, laughter, life. Part of her longed to lose herself in it, to forget everything for a few hours but the other part, the bigger part, craved stillness.

Her phone buzzed. A message from Jason.

I hope you’re happy. You always were good at running away.

Her stomach twisted. The manipulation was still there, even in text. Still trying to reel her back in. She deleted the message without replying.

In the quiet that followed, Isabel realized something important. Healing was not about forgetting. It was about remembering who she was before someone tried to change her.

And maybe, just maybe, Ibiza could be the beginning of remembering herself before Jason.

CONTINUE READING

CATCHING FEELINGS: CHAPTER ONE

Ibiza's pulsating nightlife was Christopher's perfect disguise. During the summer, its renowned electronic dance music scene thrummed with life, a vibrant chaos of flashing lights and bass so deep it vibrated in your bones. It was the ideal cover, a place where anything, and anyone, could be masked by the sheer energy of the crowd.

Christopher stood behind a massive, ultramodern DJ setup, its glowing LED lights and sleek dials was his domain. The crowd pulsed, a single organism swaying in sync with the beat, eagerly awaiting the next wave of sound to wash over them. Inside the booth, his equipment gleamed: two turntables, a mixer, his headphones, and a laptop with carefully curated tracks lined up for the night. This was not just about technical skill. This was where his divine influence merged with his profound love for music.

He leaned in, one hand adjusting his headphones, the other scrolling through a playlist. He was searching for the perfect reggaeton track, something heavy on the dembow beat. That infectious, danceable rhythm that was the genre's signature. His focus was absolute, but a flicker of something else, an excitement only he understood, danced in his eyes. His fingers hovered over the trackpad, waiting for the precise moment when the crowd's energy would perfectly align with the rhythm in his headphones.

The deep, rolling dembow beat kicked in, steady and hypnotic. Its bass-heavy rhythm instantly ignited the dancefloor. Characterized by a syncopated kick and snare pattern, the dembow formed the primal backbone of every reggaeton track. The music pulsed through Christopher as if his own heartbeat was intrinsically linked to the rhythm. The percussive elements—claves, snares, and electronic hi-hats—formed a hard-hitting, cyclical rhythm that swept the crowd into its wake. Layered synths and Latin melodies soared above it all, creating that perfect fusion of Puerto Rican sound and modern club energy.

With one hand on the fader, Christopher masterfully transitioned between tracks. As the current song began its subtle fade, he expertly built anticipation, introducing a new, low-frequency beat underneath it. The crowd did not consciously realize it, but they were already subconsciously moving to the rhythm of the next track.

Christopher loved to blend variations of reggaeton, infusing classic dembow rhythms with elements of EDM, Afrobeat, and trap. He seamlessly wove the old with the new, carefully adjusting the tempo to ensure a continuous, flowing energy that never allowed the dancefloor to dip.

He turned the filter knob, gradually stripping away the high frequencies of the outgoing track. A collective ripple of anticipation went through the crowd, a brief moment of palpable tension. Then, with a sharp twist of the crossfader, the new track burst through the speakers with full intensity, instantly bringing the energy back to a peak. The crowd roared, and Christopher could not help but smile. He knew exactly which buttons to press—both literally and figuratively—to keep them enthralled.

Using the mixer’s controls, he manipulated the beat, enhancing the performance with stuttering effects, quick reverb hits, and smooth EQ transitions that highlighted crucial beats and vocals. Occasionally, he would loop a catchy section of a song, extending the crowd's favourite moments. He would build tension, playing with the beat, before dropping back into the chorus and unleashing an explosion of movement on the dancefloor.

He lifted his hand from the deck, encouraging the crowd to clap in time with the beat, their hands rising and falling as if guided by invisible strings. The dembow rhythm took over once more, and Christopher leaned into the flow, letting the music speak for itself.

Beyond just playing music, Christopher watched the crowd. He instinctively sensed the ebb and flow of their energy, knowing precisely when to slow things down and when to push for another peak. This was where his divine intuition truly came into play. The slight tilt of someone’s head, the sway of their hips, a fleeting glance between two strangers. He saw it all.

It was not just about the music; it was about connection. He could feel love sparking between two people even before they recognized it themselves. In these moments, he subtly adjusted the music to heighten that sense of euphoria, amplifying the emotional ties forming on the dancefloor.

Christopher was not just a DJ. He was a performer. Between mixing tracks, he raised his hands to hype up the crowd, his charisma radiating throughout the venue. “Let’s go, Ibiza!” he shouted, his voice becoming part of the energy, his words flowing seamlessly into the rhythm of the music. With every beat, he felt the subtle shifts in emotion, the magnetic pull of hearts.

As the music swelled, he grabbed the mic again, leaning in to shout, “Who’s ready to feel the love tonight?” The crowd screamed back, and for a moment, Christopher allowed himself to bask in the rush, the profound connection with them. It was intoxicating, but fleeting—just like everything else in his life.

To them, he was simply Chris, the island's hottest DJ but beneath the perfect smile and smooth charm lay a far more ancient truth. He was Cupid, god of love and desire, forever bound to orchestrate connections for others while knowing he could never experience it himself.

His divine intuition honed in on a spark between two strangers who had just locked eyes across the room. In a matter of moments, a connection would ignite, and there would be another pairing he had facilitated, unseen.

He lived for this. The thrill of aligning hearts, of guiding love to bloom where it might otherwise falter. It was all he had known for centuries, but it was also his curse.

As the track reached its crescendo, Christopher allowed his eyes to drift toward the far corner of the club, where two people sat apart, stealing glances, their hearts on the cusp of something more. He felt the familiar tug of duty pulling him in their direction. With a soft exhale, he adjusted the sound, blending tones that heightened the mood, subtly pushing the pair closer together without them even realizing it. He felt the connection snap into place. Another match. Another love story set in motion.

And yet, as the energy surged through him, the emptiness inside grew deeper. He stepped back from the booth, letting his assistant take over, and retreated to the rooftop lounge. It was his escape from the constant reminder that the love he brought to others could never be his.

The moon hung low over the ocean, casting silver threads across the waves, but even this quiet beauty could not soothe the ache. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Through an ancient messaging system, now conveniently modernized, he was being summoned back to Olympus for a report.

He ignored it, choosing instead to let his thoughts disentangle in the cool breeze.

For centuries, Christopher had avoided temptation. He had been careful, cautious, meticulously abiding by the rules that bound him: Gods could never fall in love with mortals. He was forbidden from feeling the very thing he spent his immortal life creating for others. The gods had warned him long ago of the dangers, of what happened when immortals coveted human desires, of how easily gods could lose themselves in the fleeting passions of mortals.

Was this all there was for him? Pairing strangers, only to retreat to solitude as they embraced the joy he would never know?

He closed his eyes, letting the sea breeze wash over him, trying to remember the words of Aphrodite from long ago. She had warned him, “You are love’s servant, not its beneficiary.” At the time, he had accepted it without question. Now, though, those words haunted him.

A flash of laughter from below drew his attention. Another couple, giggling and twirling under the moonlight, lost in each other’s gaze. He could feel the intensity of their emotions, the palpable heat of the passion swirling between them. Christopher clenched his jaw, forcing himself to ignore the feelings that could never be his. This was the life he had chosen. The life he was bound to. A life without love.

His phone buzzed again, but this time, it was not Olympus. It was a message from Sam, his best friend and assistant. “Club’s packed. You gonna help or what?”

Christopher sighed, knowing his responsibilities called. He could not afford to dwell on his own desires. Not when there were hearts out there waiting to be nudged in the right direction.

As he walked back to the pulsating heart of the club, an unfamiliar feeling gnawed at him. A sense of longing. It was stronger than it had ever been before. Somewhere deep inside, a question began to take root. What if—for once—he did not resist?

CONTINUE READING

THE GIRL NOBODY REMEMBERS: CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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CATCHING FEELINGS

Isabel, a young woman nursing a freshly broken heart, fleeing a toxic relationship with a charismatic bad boy, seeks solace in Ibiza's vibrant party scene. One fateful night, as the moon casts its silver glow upon the Mediterranean, Christopher and Isabel's paths cross on a secluded beach.

For the first time in his immortal existence, Christopher feels the spark of love igniting within him. Confused and exhilarated, he grapples with the foreign emotion, torn between his growing feelings for Isabel and the fear of divine retribution.

As their relationship deepens, Christopher must confront the ultimate dilemma: risk everything for a chance at true love or continue his lonely existence as the facilitator of others' happiness.

CONTINUE READING

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THE GIRL NOBODY REMEMBERS: CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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THE GIRL NOBODY REMEMBERS: CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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THE GIRL NOBODY REMEMBERS: CHAPTER TWELVE

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