Reverie Shain Rose Novels & Stories

Like I said, she knew absolutely nothing about me. It was crazy how she was willing to work for me only because I was going to pay her handsomely. Don't get me started on how I even found that woman. Her name's Lauren Walker and she was a loner— I meant it. Every month, I would pay her around sixty thousands and she was happy. I mean, who would refuse good money?

"Ms. Shaffer, I've seen your designs for the National Jewelry Design Award. I've always admired you, and I want to learn from you. My name is Sherlyn Yates." She gazed at Rose with hopeful eyes, as if a flame had ignited within her. That flame drove away the chill that had just settled in Rose's heart. "Sherlyn, you can stay." Rose felt a sense of gratitude. "Count me in. I want to stay too ..." "I'm not leaving either. Can I stay, Ms. Shaffer?" "My name is Henry Losse." "I'm Shane Zoyard." Two more voices chimed in simultaneously. The gloomy office was suddenly bathed in a ray of light. Rose looked at the four of them and felt a burning determination inside her.

His eyes lingered on Shirin for one heartbeat longer before he turned. “So, brother, you’ll have to forgive me. But this time, you are on your own.” And with that, Kavian walked away, his figure dissolving into the night, leaving Shirin standing motionless in the shadows... Rose's POV I didn’t even realize when sleep claimed me. One moment I was staring at the window, hoping, listening for the faintest sound of Kavian’s return, and the next, sunlight was spilling across my room, gilding everything in pale gold. My lashes fluttered open, and I sat up with a start, my heart immediately leaping back to the memory of last night.

I'm just grateful she finally decided to come back to DemonCrest with me. A tap on my shoulder brought me out of the trance I was in. I swung around "What?" I said angerily. Layla froze and pulled her hand back. "So this is your mate? Ha!" She laughed. I could feel Jax clawing to take control. Just another day.

"I'm afraid you won't like being buried in a strange place, and I'm afraid you will be lonely." "If you don't want to see me… then come to me in my dream, and I will come here less to pay homage to you in the future." "But Gale, you must not even want to come to my dream." Shawn solemnly put down a bouquet of roses. He insisted on sending roses. Warm, bright and vibrant.

Flowers and geometric patterns and things Cosima wanted to trace with her fingers. “The pastry chef,” Rev said, her voice low and warm. “Finally.” “Finally?” “I’ve been waiting for you to come over for months.” Rev walked closer, her eyes moving over Cosima’s face. “Figured you were shy.” “I’m not shy.” “No?” Rev smiled. “Then why are you blushing?” Cosima’s face burned hotter. “I’m not.” “You are.” Rev reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind Cosima’s ear. Her fingers were warm. Calloused. “It’s cute.”

The house went eerily silent save the sound of their breathing and Tamara began to shake. What the hell had she done? She just had sex with her sister’s murderer. Just how far would she go in this revenge plan? She has apparently sold her soul, what was this? She was selling her body too? Suddenly, the bed felt too hot. David’s skin on hers cold and clammy as he slipped out of her and the liquid fluids on her added to her irritation. David seemed to have fallen asleep, and with as much strength as Tamara could muster, she pushed his weight off her and raced to the bathroom.

“...And now, let’s raise our glasses in a toast to Mr. Black and his fiancée, Miss Barker.” The crowd erupts into applause and cheers. I look back. And I see him. My stranger—Xander. Standing beside Yasmine. My stomach twists violently. I feel like I’m going to throw up. Without the mask, his face is exactly as it was in the picture. He smiles slightly and raises his glass. And in that moment— Our eyes clash.

At the end of the hall, a door sat slightly ajar. I pushed it open… and froze. The room was filled with portraits of me. Me dancing on stage. Me reading quietly in the library. Me sitting alone on a park bench, lost in thought. Every angle of me, every moment… Jordan had captured in painstaking detail. I stepped closer to one painting. That was seventeen-year-old me in mid-dance, skirt flying, laughter radiant. In the corner, there was a line of tiny words that read: My rose has finally come to me.

I usually get. Weird. My shoes clicked sharp against the floor as I made my way past the cubicles, my pace faster than my patience. When I reached my office, I didn’t have to guess why they’d been looking at me like I’d just murdered someone. George was leaning against my desk, his arms folded tight, lips pressed into a straight line. Rosemary was in my chair. My chair, the audacity, I don't just like her, George had a nightstand with her, since then, she doesn't want him to leave her, now she claimed she is pregnant.