House Of Muse Novels & Stories

He was just a competitive guy. “The game is called Muse,” Vivienne said, her scarlet silk dress rustling as she stepped closer to us. She picked up her cell phone and held it up, moving the stopwatch directly in my face. “The rules are simple, darling. You pick a total stranger from the working staff, you make them feel completely seen, and you get them to kiss you without touching them first.” She twisted her razor-thin grimace in my direction and then back to Adrian. With a big smile on his face, Julian Vaughn was already stowing a leather wallet in his well-cut jacket pocket.

But even then, he kept glancing at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. Like he was searching for something. Like I was supposed to know what it was. I didn’t. By evening, golden light spilled across the hallways, throwing long shadows over the marble floor. I carried a few design drafts back toward the room he’d given me to work in. As I passed the tall windows and the sweeping staircase leading to the east wing, something tugged at me. I hadn’t explored that part of the mansion—Damien had told me it was outside my duties. But curiosity has never really been a rule-follower. A door at the far end of the hall stood slightly ajar.

" Leon glanced at his watch, his face clouded with worry. "I got to run. Still have to visit her family a few more times. We'll catch up later." After he left, I headed home too. Lying in bed, hands behind my head, I stared at the ceiling. My mind kept replaying that night at the concert. The girl haunted me like a ghost, her image stuck in my head, impossible to shake off. I wondered if fate would ever let our paths cross again. I had to admit, concerts were a chaotic mess, bodies everywhere, always bumping into each other. Even if I were not up to anything serious, it was too easy to get a little too close in the crowd. With so many people, a brush of the hand went unnoticed.

“You’re not them. And that’s the problem.” I glare up at him, defiant despite the pounding of my heart, despite the heat pooling low in my stomach from his closeness. “Then what am I, huh? Some new toy? Something for your ego to conquer?” He leans in, his breath warm and sinful against my lips but not touching. “You’re my muse.” I scoff, feeling all emotions at once. His muse? What does that even mean? I was not is painting. I was not his poem. Not a tragic masterpiece he could destroy and claim it to be beautiful.

Sliding into the backseat of an Uber, I clutch my bag to my chest like a shield. I have him— whatever's in here is something he doesn't want anybody to see. But when I unlock my phone, the screen lights up with a push notification that drains every drop of blood from my face. New Music Video: "Muse" - Watch Now. My mouth goes dry. The bastard couldn't have. It's been what? Twenty— Thirty minutes? With a trembling thumb, I tap the link. The video opens on a gritty, unfamiliar set. I let out a hollow laugh.

There was still a barrier that stood between her and these piles of codes even though she should have recovered her memory. It felt surreal even after she finished writing a line of code. She couldn’t help but wonder if the code she wrote was nothing more than a line of nonsense. However, her fingers continued working as if they were moving on their own, surviving on motor memory that was seared into her brain. Things became clearer as more completed code began to appear on the screen. Her confidence grew as time went on until her fingers were dancing swiftly over the keyboard. Caroline was lost in the moment.

Chapter Eleven: Remodeling That Old House The house groaned in protest as Lissa ripped another piece of wallpaper off the wall. She hadn’t planned on renovating—not really. But something about the faded floral print that lined the hallway made her skin itch. It smelled like dust and denial. So she yanked it down. One strip. Then another. Lucas sat nearby, stacking blocks and narrating an elaborate dinosaur rescue mission. Marley had offered to help, but Lissa had said no. She needed to do this part herself.

A flowing red dress framed my figure, and every careful stroke showed the artist's affection toward me. The artist was Anthony, and the title read, "My Only Muse". A hand-painted portrait carried a weight and romance that no confession could match. The entire social circle was in an uproar, shocked that Anthony, who had always been notoriously wild and arrogant, could fall so deeply for a woman. No one expected that after three years of living in the shadows, I would return, looking vibrant and more breathtaking than ever. Comment after comment calling us a perfect match flooded in, each one landing like a blow, leaving Caleb unable to stay composed.

Three days before Sheldon was supposed to leave the country, he mortgaged our house. He even helped us pack, moving me and the boys into a tiny one-room basement unit on the third floor down. It was barely 300 square feet and was damp, musty, and dark. Sheldon stood in the middle of that little room, talking to our sons as if he was giving some grand speech.