All Chapters of Stolen Victory: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I stared at the shrimp for two seconds, then picked it up and ate it.Within minutes, my neck started itching. A red rash spread across my skin.Flynn gasped, and tears immediately spilled down his cheeks. "I didn't know Cullen was really allergic... I thought he just didn't want anything from me..."Mom quickly pulled him into her arms and rubbed his back. Then she turned and glared at me. "If you're really allergic, why didn't you say something sooner? Did you deliberately let Flynn get upset?"I touched the rash on my neck. "I did tell you. None of you believed me."With that, I stood up. Without looking at anyone else, I turned and went back to my room.Less than thirty seconds after I closed the door, Sloan pushed her way inside. Her expression was ice-cold, her voice low."Watch what you say. Don't breathe a word about what happened between us. You know perfectly well all we ever did was chat online to pass the time. Flynn is the only man worthy of being my husband."I lo

"The Davidsons' long-lost older son is actually pretty handsome. He's got that cool, reserved look."The tips of my ears burned.My social anxiety nearly kicked in again. I had to clench the hem of my jacket just to keep myself composed as I continued into the ballroom, my expression carefully neutral.Flynn immediately came over and threw an arm around my shoulders, smiling warmly. "Cullen, you're here. Come on, I'll introduce you to a few senior members of the Writers' Association. That way, when you join someday, you'll already know people who can look out for you."He led me over to several men in suits, his voice deliberately soft and sweet. "Cullen posts some stories online. He isn't very well-known yet, so I hope you'll all give him some guidance."Several board members looked me up and down before giving dismissive smiles."Getting into the association takes real talent. Good looks won't get you very far.""Exactly. You can't scribble a few stories online and expect to b

I stood in front of the airport windows, staring at the stretch of runway where my plane had just taken off.My phone vibrated in my pocket for the thirty-fourth time. Sloan's name lit up the screen.I turned it off.French and English announcements alternated over the speakers as I followed the crowd toward the exit.The air in Paris was colder than back home, carrying the mingled scent of fresh bread and coffee.I hailed a cab and stumbled through the name of the hotel near the school.The driver was a heavyset middle-aged man who asked in heavily accented English whether I'd come to Paris to study.I said yes.He smiled. "Bienvenue." Welcome.I leaned against the window and watched unfamiliar streets and buildings glide past, as though I were watching a movie set in someone else's life.After checking into the hotel, I lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling for a long time.My phone was silent. No one was looking for me.I rolled over and slept more deeply than I had i

As I passed her, I stopped."Sloan, you were never really in love with me. You loved Midnight Ember, the guy behind a screen who could make you laugh. The one who created worlds for you from behind a keyboard."You never even cared enough to really see the person behind all of that."I didn't wait for an answer. I swiped my key card and went inside.As the door closed behind me, I heard a faint whisper from outside."I'm sorry."I went upstairs and glanced out the window. Sloan was still standing beneath the bare tree, her head lowered, and her shoulders slumped.I closed the curtains.Sloan came back the next day. This time, she left a bouquet of red roses outside the entrance. I saw them on my way out and walked around them.On the third day, the roses were white. The card said, "I'm sorry."I bent down, picked up the card, folded it twice, and dropped it into the nearest trash can. I left the flowers where they were.On the fourth day, she came back.Then the fifth.Eve

The suit was charcoal-gray satin, with a silver night-blooming flower embroidered at the waist. It was from the same collection as the one I'd worn to the Davidson party.Adrian and Dominic were sitting one row behind me, gripping each other's hands. Somehow, they looked even more nervous than I felt.The host spoke at length in Swedish. I couldn't understand most of it, but I heard my name.When I stood, the hem of my jacket brushed the chair. I took a deep breath. My palms were drenched in sweat.The walk to the stage felt impossibly long. Camera flashes were so bright I could barely keep my eyes open.I stopped in front of the microphone. The room fell silent. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on me.My social anxiety had never gone away. My heart was pounding so hard my chest ached, but I spoke anyway."This book is called Dark River." My voice carried through the microphone with the slightest tremor. "The title refers to a river flowing quietly underground. You can't see it, but