Confession Book Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 21 EZRA I knew what I was doing. I knew exactly who would be in the booth at this hour. And still—I walked in. The church was quiet. Evening light spilled through the stained glass, painting the walls red and gold. My footsteps echoed too loud. I reached the confessional and slid inside. The wood creaked. The little window was closed on the other side, but I could feel him there. I crossed myself. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

It is filthy and necessary. If any of this reads like confession, then maybe it is. Confession is simply a shape a man makes when he wants to put his history into the order of words. I order mine in the dark and say them aloud to the air because saying them is the only way I can make the noise pass.

Chapter Two: The Book of Repentance. Ciara's PoV: The lock clicked behind me and the sound went straight through my body like a second heartbeat. I stood there in the sacristy, breath caught, staring at Father Chris. The room wasn’t dark anymore. He had lit four tall candles on the side table, their flames dancing across the stone walls and throwing warm gold light over the heavy wooden table in the center. A big leather-bound book lay open on it, thick pages glowing in the candlelight.

Step by step, they ascended the narrow stairs, the air thick with the scent of smoke and something old and bitter. At the end of the hall, Aurelia’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar. Christopher pushed it open. The room was empty except for one thing—a burned book lying on the bed, its edges charred and brittle, ashes scattered around it. Isla leaned closer, eyes narrowing. The cover was mostly destroyed, but one word remained clear: Confession. She flipped through the blackened pages, the fragile paper crumbling beneath her fingers. One page survived almost intact. Scrawled hastily was a single line:

“I’m yours! Ahhh—fuck, Nate, I’m yours!” The dirty words spilled from my lips without a second of hesitation. I didn't care about Derek. I didn't care about my marriage, my reputation, or the consequences waiting for me tomorrow. All that existed in the entire universe was the wall behind the bed frame violently crashing against the drywall and the wet, slapping sound of our skin colliding, and the absolute destruction Nate was wreaking upon my body. He let out a deep, chest-rumbling groan at my confession, his pace turning fast, frantic, and completely lethal.

I succumbed to make her feel at ease, to make her stop looking at me like I was after her life or something. It was my first time confessing my feelings to a woman. I wanted my confession to be something more, not just ordinary. But things were out of my control. I don't regret telling Dahlia how I feel. Not even a bit. “Sir,” Blake barged into my office, separating me from my day dream. I rose from my seat. “You never learnt what a knock is?” I raised a brow at Blake. “I'm sorry, sir.” He bowed. “But something is up. The press….” He was speaking but I cut him off.

Melody has always been Daddy’s good girl. Since Nick entered her life when she was eight, he has been more than just her stepfather. He became the father she trusted, the person she depended on, and the one whose approval meant everything to her. After losing her mother five years ago, Melody and Nick became even closer. Their shared grief turned them into a family of two, and Melody slowly built her entire life around taking care of him. Now, at eighteen and freshly out of high school, Melody should be stepping into adulthood. Instead, she is still living by Nick’s rules. She cooks for him. She takes care of the house. She goes to church with him every Sunday. She worries about disappo

Her thumbnail moved slow against the spine of the book. She was not holding anything in. She was just sitting with it. Letting it be as large as it was. Three books. Three lines. Each one a different version of the same admission, each one a layer deeper than the one before it. The first: I knew I was walking past and I kept walking. That was the accounting. The honest record of what he had done and a refusal to soften it. The second: I have been reading things I should have read four years ago. That was the change. Evidence that something had shifted in him, real and ongoing, not performed.

Still nothing clear. Frustration began to build, and I kept flipping until I reached the middle. That was when things began to take shape. Names, dates, numbers and locations. At first, I thought it was just some sort of transaction record, maybe bribes or secret business dealings my father was keeping track of. But as I kept reading, my stomach started to twist. These weren’t just transactions, they were confessions of a world most people couldn’t imagine existed in reality. The book was full of secrets; real, dangerous secrets.

Blowing the dust out, she unlocked it and pulled out a large, heavy-looking book. She walked back to me with a certain glint in her eyes, and she placed the book on my chest, the weight almost knocking air out from my lungs. “Confess,” Mother Superior commanded. “Confess your sins, Elizabeth.” “I didn't—” I choked out, unable to finish my words. “Please. You're hurting me.” The book pressed down harder. I cried out, my back arching instinctively, chains cutting into my wrists. One of the sisters stepped back. “Mother,” she whispered. “She can't breathe.”