Book Woman's Daughter Novels & Stories

Late that night, she carried the urn into the storage closet where I had hidden after coming home. The closet was unheated, crowded with broken furniture, and barely wide enough for a child to lie down. For the first time, she understood what it had meant for her daughter to sleep there. Mother sat between the narrow stone walls and held the urn tightly against her chest. “Ivy,” she whispered, “I am the one who deserves your forgiveness least.”

The tall shelves were spotless yet empty and the only books that graced the smooth ebony were the ones that my daughter had given Enora when she got back from the trip. There was a bookstore I knew in New York. I would give them and ring and place a few orders. As I waited for Enora, my fingers relished the feel of her cool and soft body through the towel. Seeing her like that: clean, water glistening on her perfect skin, smelling divine, woke something inside of me. My fingers tapped the desk eagerly; what was taking her so long? The door opened and I perked up. “Dad?” “Bridget?”

Hadn't been anything but a shadow locked away, passed from cruelty to cruelty, treated like property instead of a daughter. A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it. She wiped it away quickly, afraid even the walls might report her weakness. The file was returned to its place, untouched after that. She continued cleaning, until the room was nearly perfect again. That was when she noticed the books. A neat stack of novels sat on a side table, unexpected, out of place in a room built for control and order. Curiosity tugged at her despite herself. She reached out and picked one up, running her fingers over the worn spine.

I was the girl whose father had sold her for a debt. ​I walked past her, my head held high, and headed for the library. I didn't want her eggs. I didn't want her pity. I wanted a distraction. ​The library was a sprawling room filled with leather-bound books that looked like they had never been opened. I pulled a random volume from the shelf—some history of European metallurgy—and sank into a velvet armchair. ​I tried to read, but the words blurred. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flash of the muzzle. I heard the thud of the body.

'We must check our Luna, she is not safe here even if the Alpha believe she is' Knox states, he was always the straight thinker The sight of a sleeping Rory helps ease my mind and calm my nerves, even Kane's roaring snores from on the sofa brings me some comfort. This seems like the perfect time to sit out on the balcony and flick through the book Elder Micha gave me. It was a hand written book filled with scraps and notes, most of it was in such poor handwriting that I struggled deciphering many of the words but from what I could make out, this book or more journal, had belonged to our late Luna's ancestors.

She knelt in front of the lady and started telling her story. "My lady, I'm the eldest daughter of my family. My father is a farmer. He took a loan once because our crops were destroyed due to drought. But he couldn't pay off the debt on time because our crops were unsuccessful again and again. Therefore according to the law, our debtor came to take our family members as slaves." Zhu Li continued. The lady was listening attentively.

She moves further into the room, snatching the flowers from me, "Why do I have a feeling my daughter is the flower thief?" "Romeo is finally coming back from his stupid business trip tomorrow." I defend, following behind her when she begins to move to the dresser, "I needed to make something special to welcome him. You don't expect me to go all the way to that expensive florist when I have a beautiful garden just behind my window, right?" The corner of her lips twitches into a lazy smile as she opens up one of the miscellaneous perfume bottles on the table, spraying one of them into the flower bunch.

I was the host that day, yet I didn't receive a single glance from my mother, as if I were her enemy instead of her daughter. During a break, I went to the restroom and accidentally overheard a conversation between Wendy and her friend. Her tone was smug, as if she had pulled off some grand feat. "Luckily, your uncle holds a high position at that old witch's company and helped me gather her preferences! Now that I've successfully become her daughter, you all can expect some benefits in the future!" Her friend chimed in, "I heard she hates pick-me girls, so you'd better not get caught! Haha… just thinking about how easy it is to manipulate that old hag makes me laugh!"

"Nelly, by the time you see this I'll be long gone. I'm sorry for doing this to you but I couldn't give my son to that monster. You've heard the rumors about him and what he's capable of. I can't let my little boy grow up to be like him. So when he came for his child, I gave him your daughter. He didn't know the gender of the baby I was carrying. As a girl, your daughter will live like a princess. Fathers love their daughters and protect them. You have nothing to worry about now. I hope you'll forgive me for doing this to you. One day I'll repay you for this but until then, don't hate me too much. Fab." The piece of paper floats away from my hands, down to the floor as I start shaking. From

That’s when I noticed it. Among the rows of oddly colored books, there was one that didn’t quite fit. While the others looked more like props—too uniform, too unnatural—this one stood out. It looked real. A Daughter’s Revenge by Alona Jane B. Cruz. I squinted at it for a moment, hesitating before reaching out. Slowly, I pulled it from the shelf, feeling the weight of it in my hands, then noticed the uneven gap it left behind. My breath hitched slightly as I placed it into the indented space in the middle of the shelf.