Romans & histoires Artistic Stained Glass

Everest Quentin, my commander husband, has fallen in love with his dead comrade's widow, Selene Brooks. When I find out about it, I don't bother kicking up a ruckus. Instead, I just turn in my resignation letter at my workplace and trick Everest into signing a divorce agreement. After Everest drops his signature, he falls silent for a very long time. Finally, he speaks up in an extraordinarily warm tone. "If you truly intend to quit your job, can you write a recommendation letter for Selene to work at your school instead? "You know that Selene's husband has sacrificed his life in the war. Life will be very difficult for her if she doesn't secure a job to make ends meet." I nod without turning Everest's request down. Previously, I've donated my own heart to him, only to find out that he has it transplanted into Selene's chest instead. I only have three days to live, so I have nothing else in this life. That's why I've tricked Everest into signing the divorce agreement on the first day. On the second day, my resignation letter officially goes into effect. My position is now Selene's. On the third day, I die right in front of my parents' graves. Unfortunately, that also means I never get to attend the banquet Everest has thrown for Selene. The banquet is so boisterous that one would think it's a wedding instead. Everest scans his surroundings, only to realize that I'm absent. He frowns immediately before admonishing me for throwing a tantrum on Selene's big day. The next thing he knows, a soldier rushes over and announces my death right in front of the guests. For once, Everest, who has always prided himself on being cool-headed all the time, actually drops the wine glass he's holding in his hand.

Lena Marchetti, twenty-eight, operates on fumes. Her father Marco's cancer treatments have swallowed her savings and the final credits of her degree. She interns at Croft Industries, a glass tower engineered to diminish. She is invisible, sweat gluing her blouse to her spine, until she drops Julian Croft's Montblanc pen. The crack on marble halts breath. She scrabbles on cold stone. When she lifts her chin, Julian crouches beside her. He doesn't retrieve the pen. He waits. His gray eyes hold hers, and heat floods her neck, damp and unwelcome. "You break it, you buy it," he says. "And you can't afford it." He leaves her kneeling. At 3:17 AM, her phone blares: Croft. Office. One hour. She goes. His office smells of leather and ozone. He slides a contract across the desk. Six months. Exclusivity. Her compliance. In exchange, her father's debt dissolves. Her signature slants, barely legible. After her best friend Dani labels Julian a sociopath, Lena sobs in the service elevator. He finds her. "Come with me." He escorts her to a 24-hour diner. He orders cherry pie, slides it across formica. She is wrecked—blotched skin, swollen lids. He studies her as if memorizing the topography of her distress. He teaches her to fence. She lunges, jabs his ribs. He laughs in that rusted, startled way that travels up her calves. She registers: I manufactured that sound. Elara Vance, Julian's former mentor who sold his first deal for a board seat, resurfaces. She invites Lena to lunch, offers employment. "He'll never perceive you as an equal. Work for me. Become a threat." The words burrow. Lena's palms dampen at his touch. While Julian travels, she picks the lock of a hidden room. A library.

I see her in his arms. Adrian’s hand is at her waist, and she’s looking up at him like he hasn’t spent years breathing the same air as her without ever earning that look. My fingers curl around my glass. Then he says something. I don’t hear it. I don’t need to. Because Wren… giggles. My world tilts. I’ve heard her laugh before—sharp, defiant. But this was different. And it was not for me. Rage claws up my throat, aimed straight at Adrian. I shouldn’t care. Except I do. I fucking do. Then Wren stumbles. Adrian catches her, pulls her back—and their lips collide. Just a peck. Clearly accidental. But it detonates inside me. Something snaps. The glass slips from my hand, shattering, and all I see is red. My body moves before my mind can catch up. Because suddenly, it all crashes into place. Her silence. The loss. It felt like I’d lost something I didn’t even know I was holding onto. And I was the one who did it. My pranks. My cruelty. I was the reason her scholarship got revoked! God! A bitter taste floods my mouth. She cut me off because she had every right to. Because I deserved it. But that doesn’t mean I can let her go. It doesn’t mean I will. If it takes groveling, I’ll grovel. If it takes begging, I’ll beg. Hell, if it takes dropping to my knees in front of this entire fucking college and tearing my pride apart piece by piece just to earn a fraction of her forgiveness. Because she matters. I don’t care about anything except her slipping out of my reach. And I’m ready to burn everything down for her.

“Did you do as I said?” He murmured darkly, eyes slowly running over me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice laced with shame. Although not enough to stop me from spreading my legs wider before him. His jaw flexed, a low growl escaping his throat as he lowered himself in front of me. “Show me. I want to see how you touched yourself that night.” “Right now?” I hesitated. “Yes. Right now.” He pushed forward. “I want you to take two fingers to your mouth, lick it slowly, take it all the way down there and show me how you made yourself cum. Everything.” I swallowed, my face burning red as images of that unholy night flashed in my mind. I licked two fingers as he said, trailing it all the way down to the already sleek folds between my legs. Then I dug in, the sleeky sensation pushing my eyes close. “Open them. I want to see.” My eyes managed to part, closely followed by my mouth. My folds grew slickier the more I worked my fingers in, drawing low cries from my lips. I had to close my eyes. “Open.” He growled, rising. We locked eyes, as I widened my legs, intensely flicking my wet mound until I began to feel my legs twitch. “Do I stop? Tell me what to do,” I cried. He said nothing, just sipped the wine in his hand while I continued to pound myself deeper, crying and unwilling to get to that point as I wanted him to do it himself. I needed his fingers to replace mine. To show me how a big, bad wolf tamed his prey. Finally, he set his glass aside, leaning downwards. “You really did your assignment. Now let the king give you a fitting reward.” He smirked.

Lena’s voice trembled, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I...I made a mistake.” Grayson’s cold laughter cut through the air. He stepped closer, his towering presence suffocating. “A mistake?” His tone was sharp, dangerous. “Dropping a glass is a mistake. What you did?” He leaned in, his breath brushing her ear. “That was a choice.” Lena flinched, her chest tightening. “I didn’t know...” “You knew exactly what you were doing.” He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his icy gaze. “And now you’re here, begging for something. Redemption? Love?” His lips curled into a cruel smirk. “Don’t insult me.” “I don’t want anything from you,” she shot back, her voice faltering. Grayson’s soft, mocking laugh made her stomach twist. “You always want something, Lena. What is it now? A second chance to ruin me?” Her heart pounded. The man before her was no longer the one she thought she’d left behind...he was powerful, ruthless, and untouchable. And she feared she’d lost him forever. *** Lena married Grayson for his potential, believing she could manipulate him to secure her family’s fortune. Once the deal was done, she discarded him without remorse. But time has changed everything. Grayson has returned, no longer desperate, but a powerful man who has made it clear he wants nothing to do with her. Regret weighs heavy on Lena, but her reasons for seeking him now remain unclear. Is it guilt? Love? Or something far more dangerous? Grayson’s world is ruthless, offering no room for second chances. Yet, beneath his hardened exterior, a question lingers: Can he forgive her, or will he ensure she pays the ultimate price?

BLURB They sold me for five million dollars but two wolves paid ten million, and now I belong to both of them for six months. My name is Beatrice, three days ago my mate sold me at auction to pay gambling debts he created while I secretly ran our pack and kept us from collapsing. He called me defective because I couldn’t give him children. That was his lie to hide his own failures and I let him spread it because the truth would make me a target for something worse than a bad marriage. Now I stand in a billionaire's penthouse owned by Vincent who bought me for revenge and Christopher who bought me because we were friends when we were children before I disappeared to escape a fate I would rather die than accept. Vincent treats me like a fascinating problem to solve and Christopher treats me like fragile glass that might shatter and neither one understands that I already broke years ago and put myself back together. Six months with two wolves who both want to own me in different ways, six months to plan what happens when the contract ends, six months to remember that before I was property I was a person who survived impossible things and I can survive this too. But somewhere between business dinners where Vincent watches me like I might be worth more than he paid and late nights where Christopher reminds me what it felt like to be seen as human, something dangerous is happening. I am starting to want things beyond survival and wanting things means having things to lose. They think they bought a broken Luna who will be grateful for rescue. They are about learning that surviving taught me to be something more dangerous than broken.

The sound of the liquor bottle breaking echoed against the walls of that room, making her flinched. She gazed into those intoxicated piercing green eyes hovering over her. "Leave from my room right now, Damien," her sapphire orbs filled with tears of terror, whereas her grip tightened on the towel covering her wet bare body but the person before her didn't follow her words. A shiver ran down her spine when he placed his both palms on the glass door behind her, caging her completely. "We will talk tomorrow when you will be sober up but please leave now," she attempted to push him away but her body froze when he pinned both of her wrists above her head, resulting in the towel slipping from her body. Her naked body trembled, both in fear and cold but the blazing rage in those bloodshed green eyes flamed up her being. She tried to wiggle out from his hold until…. "Do you still love him, Zia?" His question stabbed inside her heart like a dagger. Her tears of fear turned into anger. After she submitted every single inch of her to him last night, he was still asking her that question. "What if I said, yes…I still love Dylan then?" She challenged him but immediately hissed in pain when he dug his fingers in her tender skin. "Then I will kill him right in front of you," his cavernous voice husked against her lips but his words glossed her eyes more. How can he be so cruel that he didn't hesitate before thinking about killing his own brother? Her heart clenched when he pressed his lips against her and whispered those words in her mouth. "Because I will be the only person to ruin you in my love, Zia Damien Karlson,"

When I'm about to apply for medical insurance for my son, Connor Sawyer, who's about to start his first year in kindergarten, I'm told that I'm not his biological father at all. "Are you sure this is your son? The system shows that his father is an entirely different person." I don't respond at all. Instead, I secretly take a photo of the unfamiliar-looking address before tracking it down. It turns out that it's actually a residential area right by my own. The moment my wife, Giselle Lambert, sees me, she freezes momentarily. At the same time, she blocks the door subconsciously with her hand. "In the end, you still found out about the truth. But there's no use kicking up a fuss, you know. I never mistreated you in any way over the past three years, after all." When I notice the familiar figure standing behind Giselle, I feel my limbs going cold. That person is actually my younger brother, Vincent Sawyer, who has just graduated from college. Vincent hands Giselle a glass of water before smiling at me apologetically. "Don't blame me, Hayden. The doctor says that I'm severely depressed, so I can't handle hearing a child's cries at all. I'm really thankful to you for raising Connor on my behalf in the past few years." At that moment, Connor, who's supposed to be waiting for me in my car, rushes into the apartment. He runs into Vincent's arms happily before turning to look at me. "Don't cry, Uncle Hayden. Daddy says you're a good person, so he's asked you for help. Mommy tells me that if I call you 'daddy' in your home, I'll get to visit my real daddy during the weekends."

I'm a mafia princess with crippling social anxiety. My fiancé, Rocco Falcone, is our family's consigliere. He’s the exact opposite of me—extroverted, effortlessly charming, a master at reading and bending people. He's supposed to be my protector. My only link to the outside world. Tonight was the charity gala for my late mother. I was hiding in the darkest corner, a mask covering my face. Rocco was supposed to give the speech. My speech. He never showed. [Emergency. Sorry. Skip the speech, I know you hate the attention. Driver will take you home after the auction. Don't wait up.] Then I saw Livia’s new post. It was a picture of Rocco, draping his suit jacket over her shoulders. He was looking down at her, his eyes full of a tenderness he never showed me. The caption was a gut punch: [No prom date, so my big bro saved the day! Couldn't have done it without him! ] The cold hit me. Bone deep. He ditched a memorial for my dead mother... to take his stepsister to a university dance? The guests began whispering and sneering that I, the famously awkward, socially crippled princess, couldn’t even force a word out. I stared at the whiskey I’d ordered for him. The ice in my glass was melting. Just like the hope in my heart. When I got back to our empty penthouse, my screen was lit up with missed calls and texts from Rocco. The last one came in thirty minutes ago: [Aurelia, trouble at Livia's prom. You know how she gets. Couldn't leave her. Your mother's gala means everything. I'll make it up to you, I promise. Next time will be perfect. Trust me.] I didn't reply. An engagement held together by "next time." Was a promise like that even worth keeping?

Rule number one at Valour Group: Never stay past 6:00 PM. For most, leaving work early is a dream. For Katlyn Sterling, it’s a survival tactic. As the only assistant fierce enough to handle the cold and aloof billionaire Lukas Valour Hart, she has spent three long years strictly adhering to the rules—especially the one regarding his office door after sunset. She is used to his impossible demands and his suffocating silence, until the day the stakes become too high to walk away. When an urgent file forces Katlyn to breach his penthouse office at 6:01 PM, she doesn't find her billionaire boss. She finds a monster. Amidst shredded silk and shattered glass, Lukas Heart is mid-shift, a beast of shadow and golden eyes groaning in agonizing pain as he transforms into something unexplainable. Terrified, Katlyn does the only thing a sane person would do: she flees. But she doesn't get far before her beastly boss buries his fangs deep into the curve of her neck. She escapes the office, breathless and trembling, only to find the nightmare has followed her home. Waiting in her living room, laughing with her family, is Lukas. He isn't the boss she knows; he’s a predator wearing a suit, his smile a silent warning that her life is no longer her own. The next morning, Katlyn is ready to fly her family out of Jersey with a resignation letter in hand. But Lukas doesn't just reject her notice—he issues a demand. "Unfortunately, I marked you last night, assistant," he purrs, his gaze sweeping over her with possessive heat. "You can't leave. You won't survive twenty-four hours without my scent nearby. And since I need to ensure my secret stays buried... prepare yourself. We’re getting married in a week.”