Phillip Graves Novels & Stories

The days directly following that horrific massacre had been absolutely haunting. Philip had completely changed. He became incredibly distant from me. I knew he was in excruciating pain. But no one had shed a single tear at the massive funeral. Not Danzel, not Creed, absolutely none of them. They remained entirely cold and stoic while they buried their loved ones. Danzel was still lying unconscious in a heavily guarded hospital wing. But the agonizing truth was, if it hadn't been for Philip, I would have been slaughtered that night too. He had bravely stayed hidden with me, protecting me... but because he stayed with me, he couldn't save his own mother.

I saw a glass coffin in the middle of the vault and I walked towards it with my heart beating loudly. Getting near the coffin, I peaked through and a gasp escaped my lips when I saw my mate lying there. His body was gray with dark veins showing all over his face, his lips were cracked on various spots. He looked like a genuine corpse and I couldn't help but feel outraged that Philip had the audacity to do this to my mate. Not willing to wast more time I pushed open the glass cover over the corpse but the moment I held the dagger

It had been a decade since we were married. I led a group of men to excavate Jackie's first love's grave. Everyone around us praised him for being a loyal man. He never forgot his first love though she'd already died ten years ago. He'd go to the cemetery and celebrate her birthday all by himself every year. Yvonne's name was always at the top of his contact list. I was not angry at all. Instead, I was glad I married someone so loyal.

I didn’t make it ten steps down the hallway before my phone vibrated — once, then again, then in a rapid, continuous stream. Messages. Dozens of them. I frowned, unlocking the screen. And froze. Breaking Now: Exclusive Interview with Vivian Sinclair “Nathan Graveswell Was the Architect. I Was Just the Puppet.” Right under the headline was her photo — perfectly lit, beautifully tragic. Tears shining and chin lifted like a saint burned at the stake. My pulse stopped.

As I stared blankly at the gravestone, the elderly cemetery caretaker approached and struck up a conversation with me. "Sir, do you know Old Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan? I don't think I've ever seen you here before." It was such a simple question, yet it made my heart throb in pain all the same. After all, who am I when the place that should have belonged to Jessica's husband had already been engraved with Christian's name? Although I was standing under the sunlight, I felt like some lowly rat that ought to hide in the shadows. How could I stand before these gravestones when I didn't have a respectable identity that I could claim aloud?

He’s close, she whispered, and my heart stumbled. The crunch of gravel broke the silence. I looked up, and my pulse leapt. Phillip was there. Standing near Reagan by the driveway, both of them laughing about something, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets. The porch light caught his face, and I swear it made everything inside me tilt. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near me. “Good game, man,” Reagan said, clapping Phillip on the shoulder. “Killer save at the end. I thought we were done for.”

Caleb called and I turned to look at him, he was staring at the ground, or rather the body on the ground, I followed his gaze and it landed on the most horrible sight, Philip. He was dead, his lower body missing, and his blood had already begun to dry on the hard ground. I covered Carla’s eyes, no one deserves to see such a sight, not on their wedding day, not ever. But she pushed my hands away, and instead walked closer to the body and sat by it on the ground, then, just as though she’d been waiting for us, she started to cry her eyes out. I couldn’t offer her solace or anything, I had nothing to offer, my mind couldn’t fathom how she felt and what she must have been going through.

I had four days left before the poison consumed my organs entirely. All I wanted was to spend whatever time I had left with the woman I loved, but I could not reach her. The next day, I learned that Enzo Marchetti, the first love she had never forgotten, had returned from overseas. "Let's get divorced. The love of my life is back." I clutched my chest as a searing pain tore through it. "I'm at the family hospital. I've been poisoned. The doctors won't let me leave.” Her voice turned sharp and cruel. "I don't care if you're poisoned or dying. Even if you drop dead the next second, you need to come back and sign the papers." The last trace of warmth inside me went cold. I answered calmly,

None of the information is anything I would have expected to see in here. "What are you hiding from me, Grayson?" I ask, slightly glad he isn't here to answer that. He must know. He has to. You don't just have articles on Phantom Wolves hanging on your wall as an art form. Grayson wants to know something, and by the giant red question mark drawn crudely across the left wall, he hasn't found it out yet. Unless... I notice something glint underneath the question mark, that I hadn't noticed before. It is only a small photo, but a massive red circle around it draws my eyes closer.

But she could tell beneath that calm, he was calculating, bracing, preparing for war. The car finally stopped in front of an elegant brownstone tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It didn’t scream wealth or power. Instead, it whispered legacy. “This is him?” Scarlett asked as the driver opened the door. Sebastian nodded. “Mitchell Graves. My father’s personal attorney for nearly two decades. No one knows more about the skeletons in my family’s closet than he does.”