The Edition Austin

Two exes—who haven’t spoken in years—are forced to swap apartments for a month due to a housing mix-up caused by a mutual friend. She moves into his stylish city loft; he ends up in her cozy small-town house. At first, they leave petty notes criticizing each other’s lifestyle (like “Who needs this many candles?!” and “Why do you own a sword?!”). But soon, they start rediscovering each other—through texts, video calls, and unexpected visits.

When impulsive artist Eve Daniels lands an internship at Paris’s notorious Musée de l’Érotisme, she expects to lose herself in centuries of forbidden beauty. Instead, she finds herself unraveling. Surrounded by raw erotic art, interactive BDSM exhibits, and the museum’s most secret room — known only as The Valley — Eve’s curiosity turns into an all-consuming hunger she can no longer deny. But nothing prepares her for Alex Thompson, the museum’s intense, methodical director. Cold, controlled, and dangerously magnetic, Alex sees straight through her carefully built walls. As he pushes her to confront the limits of pleasure, pain, and surrender, Eve realizes the real exhibit isn’t on the walls. It’s her. In the city of light and shadow, Eve must decide how much of herself she’s willing to bare — and whether the man guiding her deepest desires will ultimately set her free… or consume her completely.

When life turns its back at you, all you can do is turn your back and run. Emerald Dubrow did that just well, choosing a university far from home, but life’s more than a decision. All effort seems aborted when she meets an obnoxious ex in the same school just when she's putting herself out there. What’s worse; he wants her back. Caught in between a hot, sorry ex and shiny brown eyes that rolled his jeans way up to his ankles, Emerald must make a quick decision.

Ephemeral -- A Modern Love Story revolves around a woman named Soleil navigating through the annals of life as it coincides with the concept of love that was taught to her by her Uncle: that love can be written on sticky notes, baked into the burned edges of brownies, or found in the triplet progressions in a jazz song. A story in which she will realize that love goes beyond the scattered pieces of a puzzle or the bruised skin of apples.

Eidolon Avenue: Where the secretly guilty go to die. One building. Five floors. Five doors per floor. Twenty-five nightmares feeding the hunger lurking between the bricks and waiting beneath the boards. The sequel to Eidolon Avenue: The First Feast (“a great read...powerful and jarring” - Cemetery Dance) returns to the voracious Eidolon as it savors The Second Feast. A narcoleptic man in apartment 2A battles a vengeful past determined to rob him of everything as he runs from the barbaric disaster of a delusional love. A woman in 2B, reinventing herself to please a callous boyfriend, discovers the horrors that wait in the shadows of her self-renovation. The man in 2C, a teacher at the nearby Catholic girl’s school, collapses beneath the brutal consequences of his lecherous desires. An older woman in 2D, after decades dedicated to the church, is cornered at last by the grisly carnage beating at the hollow center of her faith. And a college student in 2E, hungry to escape an ignored life of invisible anonymity, finds herself captured between the pages of a ravenous book. All thrown into their own private hell as every cruel choice, every drop of spilled blood, every silent, complicit moment of cowardice is remembered, resurrected and relived to feed the ancient evil that lives on Eidolon Avenue. ©️ Crystal Lake Publishing

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.