Cruel Doubt Book Novels & Stories

POV RUBY The air in the room felt like a physical weight, pressing down on my lungs until every breath was a conscious effort. Nevan’s hand was still a heavy, searing presence between my legs, pinning me to the reality of my own craving. I was torn open—not just by the jagged rip in my silk gown, but by the way he was looking at me. In the flickering amber glow of the dying fire, he didn't look at me like a victim. He didn't look at me with the clinical detachment of the professors I’d studied under. He looked at me like a mirror reflecting a truth I had spent years trying to bury.

I look at my hands in my lap. The thought of it being Anaya sits in my chest like something with edges. I push it away because I cannot hold it. I will not hold it. Not without proof. Not against the one person who has never given me a single reason to doubt her. But the doubt is already there. And I hate whoever put it there. “Find out,” I say quietly. “I will,” he says. “I already am.”

Erwin Keller sat on a fur couch. Three young shewolves sat around him. They were my cousin, Madison Browne, my colleague, Cynthia Tyrell, and my best friend, Mikaela Gaston. They all had on revealing fur dresses, and they were all smiling as if eager to please him. "Back already?" Erwin glanced up. "Perfect timing. The game just started." I dug my fingernails into my palms. Over the past few months, Erwin had slept with every shewolf close to me just to watch me fall apart.

When I passed by his study on the second floor, the door was left slightly ajar. He had left his home laptop on, and the screen was frozen on Crescent Gallery's official website. The name in the search bar was Stardust. I paused and stared at it for three long seconds. It dawned on me that Alder was actively looking into Stardust, but it didn't matter to me anymore. He was about to get his answers soon, regardless of what his motives were. As I left the villa, I ran into Danika at the door. She cast me a contemptuous glance and asked, "Maeve, are you packing up and moving out for good?"

She had found my account and she had sent this directly to me because she wanted me to look at these texts and feel what they were designed to make me feel. Doubt. The specific doubt of someone who had given something real to a person who had once given something dismissive to someone else. The question underneath the screenshot, “this is who he is, this is what it looks like when he stops caring, is this what you are heading toward?” I looked at the screenshot.

⸻ Silence followed. The kind that makes your chest hurt. ⸻ Then Isabelle stood. Slowly. Carefully. Like every movement had weight. ⸻ “If she remembers,” she said quietly, “she won’t survive it.” ⸻ That made him pause. Not outwardly. But inside. A crack in certainty. ⸻ “You don’t know that,” he said. ⸻ “I do,” she replied. And this time, there was no hesitation. No doubt. Just truth she believed with her whole chest.

When the cab pulled up to The Book Nook, my hands were already shaking. The place hadn’t changed. Same faded green sign swinging above the door, same chipped white paint on the windows. My breath caught in my throat. I stepped out of the cab, clutching my bag tight, and walked up to the door. My hand hesitated on the handle. Was this a mistake? What if seeing him broke me all over again? I pushed the door open. The smell of coffee and books hit me instantly—warm, sweet, familiar. I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the room, heart thudding like a drum.

My breathing was shallow and my steps were light, so I heard them. Two voices came from a room at the end of the hallway, urgent yet quiet. I crept closer, pressing myself into the darkness. "...he will survive this," Cruella growled. "He won't," said another, scathingly assured. "No one lives through the Dreadmoor." My blood turned to ice. The Dreadmoor? My heart thumped as I edged closer. Cruella spoke again, "What do you think will happen if he doesn't return? The pack will not—"

Was it because of him losing his memories of himself that he wasn’t able to come up with a simple plan or was it because he just sucked at making plans, especially for this situation… Naraja: “Dammit...come up with a plan you worthless dumbass. It's simple.” As he said these words towards himself trying to rack his brain around to come up with a plan beyond this door that rested before them covered in blood-shot red paint to the point Naraja felt uneasy-ness looking at it. He was starting to feel another feeling. One that was more painful. Doubt. Doubt had started to seed its way into his heart/soul. He could hear it figuratively crackling under pressure in his ears. B-little: “Arf!! Arf! Ar

Making sure I can't escape in any case. He pulled a phone. I thought phone isn't allowed in here?! My knees weakened that's why I settled on a quench chair near the closet. "I was told to come here..." He scratched his nose. "No, I'm asking who are you?!" "Feinah. Feinah Hererra?" I affirmed. He chuckled. "Really?..." The man walked straight until he kneeled in front of me. He scanned my face for seconds before nodding. "So the report was true, Feinah's under therapy..." he whispered. "Seeing you this close is enough evidence for the Hererras contemplating our generosity."