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SIXTY ONE
Last Updated:
2025-05-21 23:08:34
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WRECK ME QUIETLY AUTHOR’S NOTE – COMPLETED
From the very beginning, I knew I wanted Sam and Mason’s story to be more than just a love story. I wanted fire and tenderness. I wanted you to feel the ache of longing and the softness of forever, all in one breath.This book was my first attempt at blending intense passion with deep emotional connection. A love that burned yet healed. A story where the smut wasn’t just for spice, but for depth, for the kind of intimacy that tells you two people aren’t just in love… they belong to each other.💍 Thank you for riding with them to the very end.This book is now COMPLETED. But their love? That will always live on.With all my heart, Thank you.O.J🖤
WRECK ME QUIETLY 106
SAMANTHATWO AND HALF YEARS LATERAzalea was crying again.Not loud, just that soft, broken little whimper that tugged something primal in my chest.The kind of sound that made me blink twice, sit up too fast, and whisper, “Shh, mama’s here, sweetheart,” even though I’d barely had three hours of sleep.Technically, I was already awake.I hadn’t really slept. Just laid there listening to her little tosses and sleepy sighs, wrapped in my favorite robe, the one Mason bought me when I was six months pregnant and miserable and swollen and convinced I was going to explode.He’d held it up in the store like it was some sacred relic. “It’s like hugging a cloud,” he said. “And you’re not allowed to exist without comfort, baby.”He was right. It was cloud-soft. Still smelled faintly like lavender detergent and something else, something warmer, deeper. Like home.I padded across the nursery barefoot, lifting Azalea from her crib and holding her to my chest.She settled almost instantly, just like
WRECK ME QUIETLY HI, AGAIN
Before I upload the last chapter, I just want to say this... From the deepest, rawest, most emotional part of me… Thank you. Thank you for reading. Thank you for staying. Thank you for choosing this story. When I started writing this book, I honestly didn’t expect much. It wasn’t your typical fairytale. There were no perfect meet-cutes. No flowers-in-the-rain, cliché movie moments. Just two broken people, meeting in the middle of chaos. And still… You read. You stayed. You felt the pain, the love, the obsession, the healing, and you didn’t look away. I cried to my friend just yesterday. Because I didn’t think anyone would care this deeply. But you all proved me wrong. You showed up. You supported. You reviewed, commented, shared. You made me feel seen as a writer. As a person. You gave this messy, emotional, imperfect love story a place in your hearts. I wish I didn’t have to stop here. I wish the story could go on forever. But every book has its ending. And thi
WRECK ME QUIETLY 105
SAMANTHAI couldn’t move.I was frozen, utterly, completely frozen, staring at Mason down on one knee like I was dreaming or hallucinating or maybe just not breathing.The entire room glowed with soft golden light. Candles flickered gently on every table. Roses curled across the floor like someone had sprinkled a fairytale.And there he was, my Mason. My impossibly beautiful Mason. In a black suit, hair slightly tousled like he’d run his hands through it a hundred times. Eyes locked on mine. Holding a velvet ring box like he was offering me the whole damn universe.My whole world blurred at the edges, like the air around me had shifted, slowed, become something too fragile to touch.Was this real?Were we really here?After everything we’d been through? All the highs, the wreckage, the heartbreak, the impossible love that refused to go away?“My God…” I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. “What? Mason?”My knees wobbled beneath me. My throat closed up. I reached blindly for Macey’s
WRECK ME QUIETLY 104
MASONI slammed the door to my hotel room shut with more force than necessary and immediately yanked off my tie like it had been choking me for the past twelve hours. It probably had.The suit jacket hit the arm of the couch. I didn’t care where it landed.I collapsed onto the cushions, body aching, brain fried, but somehow still wired like I’d downed five shots of espresso and taken a lap around Manhattan.Two days in New York. Nonstop meetings. Fake smiles. Endless nodding. And then… this.I looked down at the thick envelope in my hand. Inside it was the deed to the house I just bought.A modern beauty in Rye, tucked between trees and silence. Close enough to the city, far enough from the noise. The kind of place where the grass stays green and the neighbors’ wave and babies learn to walk on hardwood floors and sunlight spills through every window.A home.Our home.My assistant had offered to handle the furnishing… said she had a guy who could do the whole thing in a week. Clean, qu
WRECK ME QUIETLY 103
SAMANTHAI slid my phone out of my coat pocket and refreshed our chat for the third time in five minutes.Still nothing.No new texts. No “miss you” voice note. No snarky reel about something stupid that reminded him of me.Just silence.I hated that I was like this, wired into him like an addict. It wasn’t healthy. I knew that. But knowing something doesn’t stop it from being real. I missed him with this sharp, stupid urgency that curled inside my ribs and refused to let go.Mason and I talked all the time. Every day. Practically every hour. It had become our rhythm. Good morning texts. Midday check-ins. “What are you eating?” “Do you miss me yet?” “Send me a photo.” We never ran out of reasons to stay connected.But today… it had been quiet.Too quiet.And I wasn’t handling it well.I tucked the phone back into my pocket with a sigh, trying to focus on where I was—walking across campus, boots clicking on the pavement, my bag slung heavy on my shoulder after a long meeting with my lec
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