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Scars You Can’t See
Tanggal publikasi:
2025-06-16 21:06:55
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Married to My Stalker To Cut Off the Head
The fire snapped in the stone hearth, throwing restless shadows across the safe house walls. A weathered map covered most of the rough-hewn table, its corners pinned beneath a dagger and a smooth river stone. Red ink marked Lazăr’s confirmed safe houses. Gray traced territories controlled by men whose loyalties remained uncertain. Blue marked the scattered remains of the Drăghici loyalists. Damian stood over it shirtless, fresh bandages wrapped around his ribs. A glass of plum brandy sat untouched near his elbow.Across from him, Lieras leaned forward with both hands braced against the table. Tarian lounged on the bench beside him, one boot hooked over the edge while a throwing knife turned lazily between his fingers. Nova watched from an oversized armchair near the hearth. The sweater she wore slipped from one bruised shoulder. Her body still hurt in places she hadn’t known could hurt, but the worst of the fog had lifted. A mug of broth warmed her palms as she listened. They spoke lik
Married to My Stalker Even Wolves Tremble
Nova surfaced from darkness slowly, like rising through deep water. Warmth surrounded her, soft wool blankets, the low hiss of a fire. The air smelled like pine resin, smoke, and the faint tang of old stone. Her body ached in too many places to count. Every breath tugged at her ribs. Her lip throbbed. Her wrists felt raw but clean. The ceiling above her was timbered, curved in a vaulted arch. Not a hotel. Not a cell. Somewhere else entirely. Safe. A gentle hand brushed her forehead. Nova turned her head, wincing, and found a woman seated beside the bed. She was older, with hair twisted into a long gray braid and a face lined by weather and worry. Dressed all in black, she smelled of lavender and smoke. The woman didn't speak, only dipped a cloth in a basin and dabbed it against Nova's temple. Her touch was tender. Skilled. Nova's voice cracked out, no louder than a breath. "Damian?" The woman didn't answer. But she nodded toward the heavy curtains near the hearth. Nova's l
Married to My Stalker The Night He Became His Father’s Son
The night air was razor-thin, the forest around the compound blanketed in a skin of frost. Damian crouched behind a felled log, a black blade slick in his palm. Beside him, Tarian gave a silent nod. Lieras flanked right. His oldest friends were blood brothers. Sons of the men who once served his father as right-hand and left-hand men. They had trained together in these woods. Bled on this soil. And now they returned to complete what their fathers had begun. Tarian, taller and broader than the rest, kept his rifle low but his eyes sharp. Lieras, leaner with twitchy fingers and a scar curling under his jaw, PSS pistol on him. They moved like shadows, no wasted steps, no words. Only breath, steel, and purpose. The first guard didn’t even get a scream out. Tarian’s knife slid beneath his chin, twisted once. Blood steamed as it hit the snow. A second guard rounded the path with a cigarette in hand. Lieras fired once, throat shot, clean, silent. They dragged the bodies out of sight.
Married to My Stalker The Prince Returns
The jet sliced through a sky bruised with dawn. No words passed as Damian stepped aboard, just curt nods exchanged between men who already knew. The Drăghici heir had returned to Romania, and blood would follow. The interior of the plane was opulence forged in shadow: dark mahogany panels carved with the wolf crest, embossed leather seats stitched in burgundy thread, and gold accents dulled with age and legacy. Beneath one seat rested a locked weapons case; he didn't need the key. He broke the latch open with his boot and dragged it into the aisle. Damian pulled out a combat blade wrapped in an oilcloth, unsheathed it with care, and then pricked the edge into his palm until blood welled up. No hiss. No wince. Just an old rite: Drăghici steel drank from its master before it hunted. The red smeared along the spine of the blade like war paint as he whispered something low and guttural in Romanian, an oath of vengeance passed down from his grandfather's grandfather. One of thre
Married to My Stalker Blood Paid the Bills
Nova didn’t open the envelope until Sweetgum & Spine was locked, the blinds were drawn, and Sadie-Rae had checked the back door twice and then a third time. “I still think we should call the police.”Nova sat behind the register with the envelope resting on the counter in front of her. “And tell them what?”“That a man has been sitting outside the bookstore for almost two weeks, let himself in through the back, and handed you a letter from your dead father.”Nova rubbed her thumb over the edge of the envelope. “When you say it like that, it sounds terrible.”Sadie-Rae stared at her. “There is no version where it sounds good.”Nova barely heard her. Her attention stayed fixed on the handwriting across the front of the envelope.Nova Lawson.Her father had always written her name carefully, as though even putting it on paper deserved his full attention. Six years had passed since she’d heard his laugh coming from the back room or found his coffee abandoned beside the register because som
Married to My Stalker The Black Maybach
Nova Lawson knew exactly three things about the man across the street. He drove a black car that was too expensive for the neighborhood. He never seemed to be in a hurry, and he had been watching her for eleven days. She noticed him the first Tuesday after closing. Sweetgum & Spine had emptied an hour earlier, leaving behind the familiar smells of old paper, furniture polish, and the cinnamon tea Sadie-Rae insisted on brewing every afternoon. Nova had been alone behind the counter, balancing receipts and pretending the numbers weren’t as ugly as they looked, when movement beyond the front windows caught her attention.A black Maybach sat beneath the streetlamp. Nothing strange about that, at least not until Nova noticed the driver in front and the man seated quietly in the back, looking directly at her. Nova looked away first, and she hated that he had made her do it. By Thursday, the black Maybach was back. It returned again on Saturday, then Monday, always parked close enough for her
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