Second Book To Shatter Me Mga Nobela at Kwento

It didn’t subdue the fire in me. I was beyond angry as I hurled the glass against the wall. It shattered in an instant, pieces splintering in all directions, shining in the low lights like tiny knives. I ran a hand down my face, exhaling heavily. I shouldn’t have let her push me this far. I shouldn’t have let her get to me like that.

I gasped in relief as the weight of the shadow was removed from me allowing me to sit up. “Ah…” Holding my painful throat, I inhaled a few deep breaths, overwhelmed by the sudden shock. Who wants to hurt me?? I thought Nancy and Lynda were the only evil in my life who could come after my life, but now as they both are in jail, who could be in so much hatred with me? Who?? SHATTER The loud noise of glass breaking brought me to the present, I turned towards the source of it and found a familiar back standing at the window staring down blankly.

Elsa I didn’t talk to Miles or any of his friends, not that they acknowledged me anyway. I rushed out of the club, my heart still racing. I stopped the first cab I saw, climbed in, and slammed the door behind me. Even as the car pulled away, I could still feel him. His hands on my body, his fingers inside me. I was shaking, not from cold, but from the adrenaline. I just wanted to go home and scrub every part of myself. Not that the orgasm was bad. It was... no words could come to mind, non would ever be enough.

Chapter 140. Vera’s POV. Glass shattered against the wall, the sound sharp and violent as it echoed through my room. Another bottle followed, then another, my hands shaking as rage tore through me like fire. My chest heaved, my breath coming fast and uneven, my head spinning with hatred… with jealousy… with failure.

The moment he’s gone, the last thread of control shatters. I roar, guttural, and inhuman. The next second I'm tearing through the living room. My fist shatters a glass cabinet. The coffee table goes flying. I rip down curtains. A lamp crashes to the floor. The sound of splintering wood, shattering glass, and my own ragged breathing fills the house. But the burning, boiling fury inside me won't die. She is alive. She is with him. She's the Moonfire Healer. And she hates me.

"Nice speech... too bad it won't save you. Oh, and if you hoped that your tablet would send a signal for help, don't hold your breath. I have a scrambler covering this place ten miles in each direction." My final failure... but I'd tried. I had done my best. As my eyes closed, too heavy to hold them open, I could only hope that history would judge me kindly. Assuming there was anyone left to write it. I heard a shot, but this time, nothing else hurt. I wanted to look, but I couldn't move. Something landed on me... something heavy. The crowd erupted, some people screamed, there were more gunshots. Then I heard an enormous crashing noise, like a massive boulder erupting through the roof over o

The walls flickered—now Damon's chamber, now the council chamber, now the cell where I first saw my blood on chains, now the garden where the flowers stopped blooming when I stopped believing. Every version of me watched me fall. “Let me back in,” she said, voice cracking into something almost pleading. “Let me in before it’s too late.” But her eyes—those endless black holes—widened, and suddenly her form began to tear. Ripping at the seams. Smoke bleeding from her mouth. Something wrong pulling her apart. “I—can’t—hold—on—” she wheezed. And then she shattered. Like glass. I screamed. And woke up to silence.

“That’s impossible.” His eyes locked on hers, unreadable, but sharp enough to cut. “Then someone wants me to believe otherwise.” And with that, the glass between them shattered not in a burst, but in a slow, deadly crack that promised the next chapter would draw blood. .

His words were needles, but I’d long since grown used to the sting. I curled my fingers into tight fists before letting them speak with deadly calm: You won’t break me. His head tilted, his eyes narrowing. “Oh, but I don’t have to break you,” he whispered, stepping back into the shadows like a vulture circling a carcass. “You’re already cracked. All I have to do is tap…” He tapped his fingers once, twice, thrice against the stone wall—each knock loud, deliberate. “And watch you shatter.” The echo lingered longer than it should have. He thought he could chip away at me until I collapsed into dust. He didn’t realize—I’d already shattered. And from shattered things, sharper edges are born.

But when my eyes snapped to them, burning with rage and raw despair, they scattered in panic, their hurried footsteps fading down the hall. Left alone, I turned to the table beside me. My hands shook, fury bubbling inside me, and before I realized what I was doing, I slammed my fists against it, shattering cups, glass, and anything else in reach. Pieces clattered to the ground, scattering like the fragments of my sanity.