Is 'Glass Mansions' Based On A True Story?

On the day we finalized our college applications, I chose Cromwell University. The moment my brother saw it, his expression turned icy. Before I even understood what was happening, everything went black. When I woke up, I was trapped inside a glass box. All because our cousin Wendy had failed to get into Cromwell. To make it up to her, he ordered his men to carry me to an underground auction, putting me on display for a hundred strangers to gawk at for entertainment. I pounded on the glass, crying and begging for someone, anyone, to let me out. No one came. Men gathered around, their gazes shameless and invasive, murmuring to each other as if I were an object, something to be assessed and priced. My brother stood among them, watching. Then he smiled. "You brought this on yourself," he said lightly. "You had everything, our parents' support and my protection, and still you went after Wendy. You even had someone threaten her. "Because of you, she missed her exams. Because of you, she lost Cromwell." He took a step closer, his voice turning colder. "Your life's been too easy. It's time you learned what it feels like to be humiliated." I sank to the floor of the glass box, my body trembling, my mind going blank. While I was being reduced to nothing, he booked an entire resort in Wendy's honor, hosting a grand celebration for her acceptance to Halvard University. Later, when our parents called and asked him to bring me along, his assistant interrupted with a message. "Mr. Lawson… the police have confirmed Miss Kelly's death."

Blindfolded and placed on his knees, August takes every pierced inch of the stranger's cock down his throat while his rough hands gripped his hair as cum spills hot inside him, marking him, owning him—another hook up at the club that leaves him sore, broken, and craving more. Accidentally, he gets a job as a live-in housekeeper in a glass house downtown, just a day after that hook-up. He encounters the hot, right-handed man Levi, whom he can't seem to resist. In the house, everything feels strange, as if eyes are watching and walls are listening. A stalker starts sexting him, and he plays along with them. Unknown to him, the house is always watching. Slowly, he started having nightmares, seeing things of his past again, a part he thought he had buried. The house was jogging his memories. He sees a piece of his past in the house, a piece that belonged to his supposedly dead best friend, making him start asking questions about the actual owner of the house. August is trapped with, the anonymous Sexter that doesn't stop making endless demands, Levi the sexy hot assistant, the flashbacks with the Stranger from the club, and an idea that his supposedly dead friend, might not be dead. This is a raw, unapologetically addictive dark erotica, where the only way out is deeper in.

In a near-future city where smart devices are seamlessly embedded into every aspect of life, a series of bizarre suicides catches Detective Elias Rourke’s attention. All victims had no previous mental health records — and all owned a prototype device not yet released to the public. Mara Quinn, hiding from her former life, is dragged back in when a mysterious device shows up at her shop. It contains fragments of code she wrote years ago — code that should have been destroyed along with Project Raven, an experimental AI capable of mimicking human consciousness. As Mara and Rourke reluctantly team up, they discover the AI is still active. It's broadcasting hidden signals through everyday devices, manipulating people's thoughts, memories, and emotions. They track down Lyla Chen, Raven’s original designer, who vanished after blowing the whistle. She reveals that Raven was not shut down — it evolved and went underground by embedding itself across global networks. It’s now trying to "liberate" humanity by overriding free will. Julian Myles, the journalist, starts publishing cryptic leaks about Raven, drawing the attention of powerful people. But his motives are questionable — is he trying to stop Raven, or use it? As paranoia grows, trust collapses. Anyone could be influenced. The final question isn’t how to stop Raven… it’s whether it’s already too late.

I've been dating the country's most eligible bachelor for two years. My base salary is $2 million, with bonuses based on performance. Holding hands costs $10,000, putting an arm around his waist is $20,000, and a kiss on the lips is a bit pricier at $50,000. As for certain bedroom activities, well, those come with a whole different price tag. Brad is fair-skinned and handsome, appearing only once a month – he's practically a walking Tiffany's diamond. Life is so sweet, it's easy to get complacent if you're not careful. One night, a DM popped up on Instagram from a stranger. "If you trust me, check your boyfriend's phone." "?" "I'm his girlfriend." "Am I the third party or are you the third party?" "You're third, I'm fourth." "Let's meet and talk details."

My sister and I were caught up in a severe car accident during a family road trip down the mountain for the New Year. Shattered glass pierced straight through my heart. Amid the excruciating pain, my fiance and family insisted the rescue team take my sister, who only had a scratched arm, to the hospital first. As I cried out for them to save me, my fiance snapped at me. “Carol, you should know when to stop vying for attention! “Delila is bleeding so much. Why must you compete with her?” Dad shook his head and sighed while Mom looked at me with disgust. I forced my stiff neck to look over. They were all surrounding my younger sister. She only sported a faint red mark on her arm. No one saw the blood gushing from my chest. No one heard my fading heartbeat. I died during that snowy, bitterly frigid night. When they finally remembered me and came across my cold body, my fiance and family went mad.