A Thousand Suns Novels & Stories

Six years ago, my sister and I fell for the same man, Edmund. But he only had eyes for Rosalie, the sweet, innocent type. With them, I was always the third wheel. They got married, of course. And on their wedding day, I overheard my parents whispering. "The company's strapped for cash," my father said. "What if we marry Corinne off to our business partner? That'd solve our problem..." This "partner" was over fifty and twice divorced. So I ran. I fled to Sicily with the only five thousand dollars to my name. I ran on pure bitterness. In four years, I brought dozens of small-time Sicilian crews to heel and forged my own family: Vexille. In another two, I came back to New York and quietly became the most powerful woman in the North American underworld. By then, Edmund's power was crumbling, hit hard by a rival family. That's when my mother called, her voice full of that same old entitlement. "Your brother-in-law's in some trouble. Figure out a way to help him." Then a text from my sister, Rosalie, dripping with contempt: "Sister, I remember you have a little casino in Sicily, right? So you must know something about that Vexille family." "Edmund needs their help. See what you can dig up." They still don't know. I'm the Don of the Vexille family. I glanced at the schedule my advisor had prepared. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. A sit-down with some minor family looking for a handout. The name on the file: Edmund.

At the wedding, I immediately recognized that the woman under the veil wasn't Selene, but an impostor. But I still went through with the ceremony as if nothing was wrong. In my previous life, Selene had been forced to return and complete the wedding with me after I exposed the fake bride in front of everyone. That very night, however, her childhood sweetheart was rushed to the ICU with acute alcohol poisoning. When Selene heard the news, she didn't shed a tear. Instead, she cursed him, saying he got what he deserved. … After we married, Selene and I appeared to be a loving couple on the surface. I kept funneling money from my family to save her family business from collapse. But on our first anniversary, my wife—with not even a sliver of warmth in her eyes—tied me to a helicopter with her own hands. "If you hadn't forced me to come back and marry you that day, Chase wouldn't have ended up like that," she snarled. "What right do you have to live so happily? I'll make sure you feel the pain he went through before he died." She threw me from ten thousand yards up, and I hit the ground as nothing more than a broken heap of flesh. So, this time, I pretended to know nothing and went through with the wedding alongside the fake bride. I wanted to see just how Selene would manage to save the crumbling Liraine Co. without the Schreiber family's support.

04:00 AM. JFK International Airport. I switched off airplane mode, and my phone lit up. The first notification was an Instagram story from my husband, Donovan Valentino, Don of the Valentino family, posted at 3:30 AM: a photo of Seraphina Moretti’s back, captioned, “Run 50 completed. Package delivered safe.” An hour before that, my flight had hit catastrophic clear-air turbulence, dropping two thousand feet in seconds. I’d clung to my seatbelt until my knuckles turned white, the crumpled threat letter from a rival crew pressed like a blade against my ribs. In those blind, falling seconds, one thought burned through the panic: If I live through this—if Donovan is waiting at arrivals—I’ll tear up my transfer papers to Dubai and stay. But there were no missed calls. No messages. He’d been too busy collecting Seraphina. He knew my flight details. He just didn’t care. Four years of marriage. 50 fully armed security details for Seraphina. For my 112 long-haul flights over those same four years? The most I ever got was a driver in an unmarked sedan. Even the night Gambino’s crew tailed me from Manhattan, and I spent six hours locked in a diner bathroom. He didn’t pick up until dawn, after the twelfth try. My transfer to Dubai was confirmed. The signed divorce settlement was in my bag. This was the last time I’d ever come back for him.

Vivienne Duarte had spent her youth supporting her husband, pouring all her time and dreams into his ambitions. Married for years and neglecting her own life and career, she believed everything would be fine as long as she remained the dutiful wife. But she was wrong. She wasn’t enough. When Vivienne discovered her husband, Marco, was cheating on her with his first love, the same woman who had once left him for another man, her world shattered. And when she confronted him, Marco didn’t even deny it; instead, he coldly suggested a divorce, breaking her heart into a thousand pieces. Devastated and numb, Vivienne drowned her sorrows at a bar, where a single reckless night led her into the arms of a stranger. And by morning, she vanished without a trace. Five years later, she returned no longer the fragile woman she once was, but a brilliant, mysterious doctor with a new name and a heart hardened by betrayal. She came back for revenge. Yet fate dealt her a cruel twist, because the stranger from that night turned out to be Marco’s uncle… the very man who had been searching for her ever since. Now, Vivienne vows to stay away from him at all costs, for she has something that belongs to him, something he must never find out. But her plans spiral into chaos when Marco reappears, claiming the same thing as his own. Can Vivienne outsmart them both in this dangerous game of love, power, and vengeance, or will she become the pawn in their deadly game of chess?

“You’re nothing but a slut who crawled into my bed for money—worth less than braille to me.” Nich’s voice was flat, cold, and utterly void of emotion, every word a sharp blade straight to my heart. “N… Nich!” I clung to him from behind, desperate to believe he didn’t mean it—only for him to pry my arms away and shove me aside roughly. “You’re a whore… the most disgusting woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” The slap cracked against my cheek, hard and stinging. Alongside it, he tossed a cheque—half a million pesos—right at my feet. “Get out of my life. Don’t ever let me see your face again.” A bitter, broken laugh bubbled up my throat. I tore the cheque into tiny pieces without a second thought. Tears streamed down my face, but I forced a sharp, unyielding smile. “Fine. I’m leaving. Keep your money. You think as a big-shot CEO you can buy anything you want? You’re wrong. My dignity isn’t for sale—not to a fool, and certainly not to a man as blind and stupid as you.” “From this moment on… we never knew each other.” Every beat of my heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand needles. I once hoped there was goodness even among the wealthy—but I was wrong. Today I learned the cruel truth: for people like him, money is the only law, and wealth is the only justice that matters.

After graduation, I struggle to find a job, while my girlfriend easily lands a position at a major company. She has been with me for two years, and to cheer me up, she even lets me hold onto her payroll card. Once I finally start working, she worries about my long commute and immediately buys me a car. Everyone around us envies me for having such a thoughtful girlfriend. To save up for a house, I secretly deposit my salary into her account. A year later, we decide to get married. Excited, she grabs my hand and says, "I know you don't have much saved. I don't need any wedding gift. All I want is your love." I am deeply touched by her consideration. But on our engagement day, she pulls out photos of me with a dozen women and accuses me of cheating. I look closely and realize I have never even met any of them. Then she shows me my card's transaction history, filled with charges at the notorious Solara Club. "You had my payroll card, and you used my money to indulge yourself!" she cries. "I'm not marrying you. Return my car and all the money you spent over the years. It adds up to 800 thousand dollars." I calmly place the payroll card she gave me on the table and say with a smirk, "Fine, let's settle this properly." When I present the detailed account prepared by my top lawyer, she is stunned.

A dark and gloomy villa stood in the middle of the barren landscape, hidden from sight by a perched hedge. It was phenomenal and spectacular, but it makes it appear to have succumbed to a sullen and ominous atmosphere, both inside and out. A lanky hedge and gnarled shrubs give off the impression that the house has indeed been overlooked. The rainstorm seeping from the sewer pipes made the place appear miserable and dispirited. Needless to say, the house appeared razed to the ground and devoid of life. The house was made of rune stone that had been smeared darker in spots by downpours, sending it an insidious demeanor even during the day. The window frames were all padlocked and bricked up in steel frames and woods, as if what was inside would have been too grotesque to see, trying to give the impression that someone must have attempted to prevent something horrible from escaping. People have claimed that the residence was plagued by the witch who died there, but there has been no tangible evidence to substantiate their claims. It was even widely speculated that the villa was venomous and mowed down the leaves of trees that come into direct contact with its concrete pillars. People also construed a terrifying presumption that whoever tries to enter the house will never make it out alive because there is something inside that you would never dare to see with your very own eyes. Whatever was real or not, it was unmistakably foreshadowing, exponentially cold and savage at a hundredth of a thousand glances. A breathtaking doll sat competently on a rocking chair inside the house. Waiting complacently for someone brave and heroic enough to unravel the abominable and ghoulish mystery and paradox behind her enchanting, spine-chilling smile.

King Lincoln was just a young man of 28, but he had the strength of a thousand men. His name had been written in the book of records as the youngest ruler of the Most Powerful Kingdom. His Kingdom was the envy of all the 11 Kingdoms. But One day, one of Lincoln's numerous enemies almost won over him. His attack had almost worked as he was able to hit Lincoln with an extremely poisoned arrow during a war. Lincoln didn't die at the battlefield, no. But when he was taken back to the palace, they got to see how badly injured he was. The arrow was poisoned with a rare substance and it's effect was draining the life out of Lincoln - bit by bit. Physicians tried all they could, but couldn't find a cure. His sister was worried, his three brides were paranoid as well. Everyone wanted a solution for their King because the fall of Lincoln would be the fall of the Kingdom. Finally, his sister found a solution. There was a healer - a young lady with special healing abilities who was likely to heal the King. But she was someone that was locked up and restricted from associating with outsiders by her father. Roseline was never permitted to go out for reasons best known to her father and she wondered why. Lincoln's sister was overly worried about her brother's life and figured she had to get the healer by all means to heal her brother. But would that be possible since Roseline's father particularly hated the King? And even if it was possible, there was going to be a little consequence if Roseline succeeded in healing the King. He'd become a sex addict; addicted to her alone.

He whispered her name nine hundred and ninety-nine times in his sleep. Never mine. For five years, I gave everything to Vincent Bonanno—the heir to one of the most powerful mafia dynasties in Europe. I turned his house into a home, remembered every careless detail he let slip, even abandoned my dream of becoming an artist—believing that one day, he would finally choose me. But whenever Alessia appeared, his loyalty bent toward her. The night boiling fondue scarred my arms, he rushed to shield her from a scratch that barely reddened her skin. In public, his gaze never stayed with me—it drifted to her. I was the wife on paper, but never in truth. So I walked away. With nothing but a suitcase, divorce papers he signed without noticing, and a secret I never planned to share—three months pregnant. He discovered too late. The divorce was real. The clinic file was real. And by the time he realized, I had vanished. Now the man who once ruled cities with cold power is tearing the world apart to find us. He has soldiers, money, and a thousand apologies he never gave when I was still his wife. But I’m no longer the woman who begged for affection. I’m a mother. An artist. A survivor. The question isn’t whether Vincent can reach me. It’s whether, when he does, I’ll ever let him back into the life he destroyed.

They threw me away like I was nothing. Divorced me for my younger, prettier, fertile sister. I signed divorce papers while I suspected I was finally pregnant. Smiled while they handed me five thousand dollars and told me to disappear. I disappeared, alright. Off a cliff, Into freezing water. Nearly drowned carrying his twins. Someone wanted me dead. His family buried the investigation before my body was even cold, except there was no body. Because I survived. Ten years later, I walk back into their world as Dr. Scarlett Fox. The surgeon they're begging to save his dying mother. He doesn't recognize me until it's too late. Untill he sees my face and his entire world crumbles. Then he sees my kids, his kids. With his eyes and my fury. Now Nicholas's on his knees. Saying he spent a decade in hell thinking he killed me. Saying he's changed. But someone in his family is guilty, and as I dig deeper, people start watching. The man who saved me, Spencer, wants me to stop. He says it's too dangerous. That I should choose him, let the past stay buried. But I didn't survive murder just to run back scared. I'm Dr. Scarlett Fox now. Elite surgeon. Single mother. And I'm about to perform the most important operation of my life. Cutting out the cancer in the Cruz family. Even if it kills me this time.