Romans & histoires Blackheart

Casie sighed before closing her eyes. "This is the tale of my elder sister, Amora Roosevelt, the heir of the Alpha's position of Black Heart pack. We were not known as black hearts for no reason. Our actions were just like our name, black. So we had never guessed that the to-be alpha of the pack, the ruthless and untamable, would fall for a person of a different species," She took a deep breath.

] [It's an A-rank cursed item that targets congenital weaknesses! [These players are disgusting! They exploited her kindness!] [It's over. They're going to use her heart condition against her!] "Hand over your Tarot cards and those artifacts," Brad threatened. "Or this 'Heartbeat Hourglass' will make your heart explode." "We did our research on you," another player sneered. "Congenital heart disease, right? This item will put an infinite strain on your heart." "Why?" The word was a choked whisper. I stared at them, my heart shattering. "I thought... we were friends."

I slammed my necrotic, leaden left hand onto his chest. The cold of my dead flesh smothered the fire of his gold static. A jolt of energy shot up my shoulder, hammering into my sternum. I ignored the structural failure of my heart, grounding his static through my own failing pulse. I felt the crack in my soul then—a jagged heartbeat seeing Leo’s drain and Kael’s collapse. My heart staggered—a traitorous throb for the man who was physically rotting to be our floor. "Don't die on me yet, Blackwood," I hissed, my throat locking with a sudden, sharp pain. I hammered the mask back on. "They're breaking because they're scared. Let them break."

Empty. Then the bottom drawer. Clothes. Then she paused. Pressed the back panel lightly. It didn’t move. But it felt hollow behind it. Her heartbeat picked up slightly. She didn’t say anything yet. Just stood still. Listening. Behind her, Malik appeared in the doorway. “I told you,” he said quietly, “once you start looking—” “I already started,” she interrupted. Then she pressed harder. A soft click. Not loud. But definite. Malik went still.

“I told you I’d take full responsibility for this child! I said I’d handle Sylvia! What harm could one baby possibly do to you? Why did you have to get rid of them?!” Jameson’s voice was hoarse. “As long as Sylvia and that baby exist, Camille will never forgive me.” Margaret spat, “You’ve lost your mind!” Jameson did not respond. He just stood there with a dark expression, staring at Sylvia, whose face was pale while lying in the hospital bed. “It’s not over.” Sylvia curled up in fear. Her eyes were filled with horror. At last, she saw the truth. Jameson would never show her mercy again. Now, she had nothing left to rely on. What could she possibly do now?

--- **The Heart's Deception** The forest resists. Branches twist into snares. Lightning animates glass wolves, their howls ringing like shattered windows. Tyrax's gift-the current in my blood-lets me shatter them, but each burst drains me, leaving charred nerves and phantom storms. Eden fights differently now, his void scars leaching darkness into the soil, sprouting obsidian brambles that strangle the forest's wrath. We find the heart at dusk. A stormcloud trapped in a glass orb, suspended atop a plinth of fused lightning. It seethes, its core a swirling eye of green-black fury. The First Storm, the Weaver's first failure.

"I'm sorry. I know that what I did was wrong. Can't we go back to how we used to be back then?" I looked at her and lightly shook my head. "We can never go back, Queenie Blackrose," I replied. "From the moment you posted the first photo of you and him on your Instagram account and chose to lie to me, we could never, ever go back to the past again." Misty sighed and said, "Nessie, know that trust, once broken, can never be put back together again."

She had been whispering sweet nothings to me while making promises to other men. To her, Francis was merely the biggest fish in her sea. As Francis flipped through the pages, his face turned pale. Suddenly, he looked up, his eyes filled with hatred. "Yvonne Singer, you lying bitch! I'll kill her!" he screamed, lunging toward the door. I said nonchalantly, "Too late. She can barely protect herself now. She has no time to deal with your feelings." Then, I turned my gaze to Zoey. Her body stiffened instantly as she stared at me in terror.

Malcolm hated himself. Literally. He hated himself for being attracted to his children’s new nanny. He hated that he couldn’t control his thoughts when she was around and he hated that that made him grumpy towards her. But it wasn’t his fault that he found her attractive. She was beautiful, anyone with two eyes could see that – with her long black hair and her striking hazel eyes. The way her lashes fluttered whenever he looked at her.

It wasn’t till I was safe inside did I hear his engines start and his car drive away, along with it went my hope. I leaned against the closed door, sighing to myself in the darkness of the room. How'd we learn to break our own hearts so terrified that someone else might?