Book In Broad Daylight Novels & Stories

Her cathedral. She slouched into her best corner chair—stuffed, tufted velvet in tired blue—pullding out a book from her tote. A quiet night's reading before bed was now her ritual, and for tonight, she opened what was familiar and comforting: *The Light Between Oceans*. The book always bore its imprint on her. Loss. Forgiveness. Breaking and binding decisions. She opened to the top of it, and the world disintegrated. Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him.

If anything, it felt stronger now, because I finally knew just how much he'd been hiding. We ended up curled together on his couch again, our foreheads pressed together as we caught our breath. For a few seconds, everything felt quiet. Then his phone lit up on the counter, bright enough that we both noticed. It was a headline. A photo of us leaving the club that first night, grainy but still unmistakably us. Underneath it was a question mark followed by his name. Who is Rowan Archer's mystery girl — and is she about to cost him his season?

--- Later That Morning The drive down was quiet. Not silent—just full of soft touches and stolen glances. Raymond tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in time with a mellow jazz track. I rested my feet on the dash, sipping iced tea and feeling… light. Not just relaxed. Free. The bookstore was hidden behind a curtain of ivy, almost invisible from the road. There was no signboard. Just a hand-painted tile near the door that read, “Stories live here.” Inside, it smelled like old paper, warm cinnamon, and sunlight.

… Back home, I went to the calendar and picked up a pen. "I reject you, Ryder Blackwood," I said into the empty room. Then, I slashed a line through the date circled in red. … At dawn, I dragged my suitcases out of the house I'd called home for five years and caught a flight to the town on the coast. Meanwhile, Ryder, who was unaware, was on his way to the bonding ceremony. The church stood empty. He waited at the altar for ten minutes, then another ten, until a full hour had passed. Growing restless, he was about to go to the pack elders for answers.

"Darling, things are a little hectic at work today. I won't be coming home tonight. Tomorrow's our anniversary, and I made a reservation for a candlelight dinner at Palmette House. Let's bring Crispin and enjoy the evening together," Edgar Snider's voice came through the phone, warm and gravelly. I listened absentmindedly as I tapped open Winifred Clayton's chat on WhatsApp. Just an hour ago, she had sent me a video—she and Edgar, tangled up in each other's arms, kissing like they couldn't bear to part.

Outside, everything was ice and frost Dorian’s version of safe. He had wanted her out of the city while the heat cooled. A dozen news cycles had passed since the trial, since the last arrest. But silence, she learned, was never safe; it was an echo chamber. She walked back to the desk. Highlighted the whole paragraph. Cut it. Typed again. “This book is not a confession. It is a record. Of power, of violence, of velvet and blood. And of the people who lived inside it some survived. Some did not.”

Darkness. Then, light—soft and golden, pouring in like morning sun filtered through smoke. Ava blinked. She was standing, but she didn’t know where. The air was heavy with silence, yet filled with whispers, as though a hundred voices were hiding just beneath the surface. She turned in slow circles. The space around her shimmered like a dream—real and unreal all at once. Then, from the haze, a figure emerged. A woman… graceful, radiant, and smiling sweetly.

And Magnus was busy with council meetings. So I went to the library. It was empty, as usual. Dust floated in the sunlight coming through the tall windows. I walked between the shelves, not really sure what I was looking for. I just needed to think. To breathe. And that’s when I saw it. A book. Thick and old, with a cracked spine and faded gold lettering. It was lying open on the table like someone had been reading it. I frowned and stepped closer. "Creatures of Darkness," it said.

Forget it! I opened the door wider and stepped into the dark room. The thick blinds were pulled shut, blocking the light from the window. The entire room reeked of him, the smell was overwhelming that it could easily subdue any other fragrance, mine included. The room was even darker from the dim paint with a few traces of gold. A shelf stood at the corner, filled with-- books? I walked to it, my footsteps silent against the floor. I pulled out a book, I never knew the jerk and psychotic Zane was into books.

~•~••~•~ Saumya Tripathi | His darkest shade. Copyrights © 2026 by Saumya Tripathi. All rights reserved. The author neither promotes nor supports the actions mentioned in this story. It is purely fictional and should be taken as such. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without my prior written permission. Note that this is an ongoing story, and therefore subject to change. All copies published are of the party of Saumya Tripathi.