Glass House Novel Novels & Stories

"That’s my company! Those are my people! You can't do this to me!" However, the bulletproof glass didn't even crack; instead, it was Bastian’s hand that began to bleed. Red stains smeared across the clear glass, a symbol of his ruin. Down below, he almost felt he could see the figure of Casandra standing tall behind the William Group’s glass doors, gazing toward his building with a cold smile of victory.

The car slows, and I open my eyes and there it is — the Glass House, all steel and glass slicing through Midtown sky. My stomach flips as I shove the cards into my purse and suck in a sharp breath, too late to run now. The door opens, and Alex is standing there with that faint smile he always gives when he knows I’m about to do something insane. “Good luck, miss.” I nod back, because words feel dangerous right now, and step out. The air changes the second I walk inside. The lobby hums with polished power, people in suits that cost more than some apartments, every heel clicking, every handshake screaming that they belong here.

Lucian stayed behind with Leo and Marcus, letting me walk toward the back of the property alone. The greenhouse was no longer the shattered lantern of glass where I had faced a hitman's barrel. It had been completely rebuilt. The frame was a deep, forest green, and the glass was so clear it seemed invisible. But it wasn't the structure that took my breath away—it was what was inside.

I just drank the water, the coldness of it matching the ash-taste of the word husband. The House of Glass The Ho family’s private beach house was an architectural scream of "look at us." It was all glass, teak, and white volcanic stone, glowing like a lantern against the darkening Pacific. As we stepped onto the terrace, the air was already thick with the saccharine laughter of my sisters. Lily was glowing, her hand perpetually resting on her pregnant stomach as if it were a trophy. Bethany was draped in a neon pink chiffon that hurt to look at.

"But not if we’re dead." We walked toward the shattered doors. I didn't look back at the bodies. I didn't look back at the portraits of the ancestors who had built this nightmare. The air outside was cold. Sharp. The scent of pine and wet earth was finally returning, cutting through the ozone and the rot. In the distance, the first hint of dawn was bleeding over the horizon, a thin line of grey and gold. I stopped on the edge of the terrace. I looked at the Glass Hall. A small, orange flicker appeared in the library window. Then another. The curtains caught. The books—the ledgers of fifteen years of torture—began to curl and blacken.

The compound rose in the Louisiana pines like a cathedral of glass and tempered steel, fierce and delicate, hidden from prying eyes. Rain slid down the blackened windows in bright beads, beading against walls that seemed immune to the past. Inside, the drone of last-minute repairs—electricians rewiring, technicians testing motion sensors—filled the air with hums of new life.

Their temporary blindness subsided after a couple of moments, but still none of them were sure of what they were truly seeing. A massive greenhouse. Kat and Calix gawked at the impossibly tall and vast glass structure before them, filled with all kinds of weird vines, bushes, and even an entire freaking tree. It was thick and white and tall, reaching out to the glass ceiling like a chandelier in reverse. Instead of pots and soil, glass vials of every size and variety littered the floor, grouped inside wooden crates. Music was playing somewhere, an eerie, ethereal medley of a woman humming and the low keys of an organ.

"You look perfect. Go have a nice dinner." Shortly after, I got into my car and drove to the venue. I made it clear to Nathan that I didn't want him to pick me up. I wanted everything to go according to how I had planned it in my head; I wanted his jaw to drop when he saw me walk through the door of the restaurant. The Glasshouse was warm, smelling of roasted garlic and wood smoke. Small candles flickered in amber glass holders on every table, casting a soft, golden glow over the customers. Outside the high windows, the dock water was black and quiet, reflecting the long, glowing line of the bridge.

Abella and Cecilia had offered to go with him, but he asked them to stay behind and watch out for the mysterious woman in white who had been spotted in the front yard yesterday while he was at the library Now that the Mandragora was properly fed, the only danger in the greenhouse would be the sudden storms. The greenhouse looked innocuous enough, but Mike knew better. The Mandragora opened the door for him, the vines pushing it open gently. The sudden blast of warmth and humidity felt good against his skin, and the smells of the greenhouse flooded his nostrils. Miles of sky in every direction greeted him, and he shut the door behind him. Above the door, glass windows extended all the way int

Inside, the broken greenhouse sat silent. Empty echoes lived there. Stretching out, the structure sat low, made of glass and chipped white metal, time wearing it down. Dirt layered thick on the windows, years piled up like dust. Through splits in the glass, vines forced their way in, thin branches clawing into the rooms. At the entrance, the attendant came to a halt, glancing at the house. Nothing left for him to do. Bones shook with each beat inside my chest. There would be no turning back now. A slow breath filled my lungs before the gate creaked forward. Footsteps followed cracked stone, leading straight to the glass-walled room ahead.