Natasha Preston Broken Silence Novels & Stories

ALESSA’S POV The room felt unbearably still, like the air itself had been sucked out. The silence was so heavy it pressed against my ears, making my heartbeat pound loudly in my chest. I watched Natasha sit there, so fragile and small, almost like a shadow of the woman I thought I knew. Her shoulders shook just a little, like a wall built to protect her was quietly falling apart, piece by piece. Every part of her seemed to be holding on by the tiniest thread, barely there, barely keeping her upright.

TRIGGER WARNING: CHAPTER CONTAINS CONTENT THAT MAY BE UNPLEASANT TO SOME READERS; SUICIDE. VIEWER’S DISCRETION IS ADVISED. It was silent. Dead silent. No one moved, and it seemed everyone was holding their breath. Out of shock, Leonardo let go of her collar, and Natasha dropped to the ground, blood gushing out from her chest and mouth. Within seconds, she was dead. Seconds. The silence grew so thick that you could hear everyone’s heart racing. And then it was broken by a small, shaky voice, “I’m sorry.”

There was no trace of the flicker of guilt or pity from before. “How dare I?” I stood up slowly. Blood from my palm dripped onto the broken crystal pieces. The shards turned an even brighter, shocking red. “I’m Yale Foster. I can put you on top of the world, and I can just as easily bury you in the dirt.” My voice was calm. Even I felt that I sounded unnervingly calm. It was the silence that followed when a heart had completely broken—a silence that was still and endless. “You’re lying! You won’t do that! You love me so much!” Whitney screamed hysterically.

Wren The silence that took over the penthouse during the last three days was not the usual. It was louder than any other thing. It felt like walking through deep water, every movement sluggish, and every breath heavy with the pressure of things left unsaid. After Noelle left, I worked until my eyes burned under the harsh glare of my laptop, losing myself in the Paris accounts, searching for some kind of salvation. But no matter how hard I tried to build my walls, I couldn't escape him.

NATALIA'S POV People always underestimate silence. They think it means absence. Weakness. Emptiness. I learned early that silence is where power waits. I stand in the corridor outside my mother’s study, perfectly still, my back resting lightly against the wall. The house is alive tonight guards shifting positions, doors opening and closing softly, the low murmur of voices that think they are private. They never are. Larisa’s voice filters through the door, sharp and clipped. Controlled. Too controlled.

She didn’t know then that some silences weren’t empty. They were waiting. Waiting for the moment they could break everything open.

Out loud, Nora said, “I’m so glad you’re okay. We should take breakfast in the gardens. It’s such a lovely day, don’t you agree?” I nodded again. I had to fight the urge to look into the corners of my room. Were there spy devices in here? Why would anyone bother to spy on a mere servant? Well, I wasn’t just a servant. I was Nora’s personal attendant. And she was the new mistress to the First Lycan Prince. So it made sense that she and everyone around her would be watched. I simply hadn’t considered that before. We went by the kitchens to gather a simple breakfast, and then chose a courtyard garden at random. Nora led me by a wandering path to make it harder for anyone to follow us unnoticed.

And so, my heart beat on, slowly and faintly. - One day, an unwelcome guest came to our little sanctuary. Roanna knelt beside my legs, sobbing and pleading, "Miss Palmer, please… Please tell Scott to talk to me again! I really love him, and I can't live without him!" Mary burst out from the kitchen, waving a kitchen knife. "You shameless b*tch! How dare you show your face?" Roanna raised her chin in defiance, shouted, "Kill me then! I can't live without Scott, so kill me!"

Isla Hart For years, silence had been a punishment , something thick and cold that crept into the corners of a house and reminded me that I wasn’t wanted. Nathaniel’s silences had been sharp, strategic. A weapon more painful than his words. But here, in Alexander’s home, my home now, though the thought still made my chest bloom with something fragile and new, silence had become a blanket. A soft hum beneath the rhythm of daily life. The kettle whistled. Sunlight spilled through the windows. Sophie hummed under her breath as she colored in her workbook at the dining table. And somewhere behind me, I could feel Alexander watching me as though I was his entire world wrapped in a simple blue swe