Shatter Me Crossed Out Words Novels & Stories

The part I abandoned for a fantasy called love. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “That doesn’t cut it!” she roars. Suddenly, the room explodes—literally shatters—as if the world around us were glass. Shards of memory, regret, and pain swirl in the air, slicing into us like razors. I cry out as a sharp edge cuts across my cheek, another across my shoulder. Blood spills, warm and wet, but she doesn’t flinch. She stands in the storm of our broken past, screaming.

~ Liana ~ The café buzzed with its usual energy. The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries filled the air, but honestly, I barely noticed it anymore. It had been three weeks since my world had fallen apart. The scandal that once dominated the news had faded, slipping from the headlines. Yet, the whispers and sideways glances remained. People still recognized me. Customers would exchange quiet comments, thinking I was too preoccupied to hear. I put on a calm smile and focused on my work—pouring coffee, balancing trays, wiping down tables. Each movement was intentional, careful, and controlled.

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.

We stood staring at each other for how long, I can't say. It took me sometimes to regain my senses from the daze I found myself . I inhaled in a deep breath and kept staring at the most finest species of men I have ever seen. My lips formed the word and I couldn't stop it from escaping from my lips as I pronounced the word " Mate" I felt he wouldn't hear it, because it was faintly pronounced. More of a whisper if I am asked to describe it. But I was wrong when I saw him smile. His smile was like the brightness of a new dawn as he responded with the word " Mine"

"You are nothing. You were born from death, and death is all you'll bring." Those words have followed Zara Cole every single day of her seventeen years alive. Her mother died bringing her into the world, and her father - the Beta of Ironveil Pack - never let her forget it. While her brother trains to inherit their father's title, Zara trains in the dark. Alone. Unseen. Better than all of them. She is the top student. The fastest warrior. The girl nobody looks at twice. Until the day everything changes. When a transfer student named Mira walks into the pack training and decides - for reasons Zara cannot explain that she wants to be her friend, the walls Zara built brick by

The sun was warm as its rays filtered through the windows. I tore up the DNA test report. Finally, all the love and hatred in the past could be sealed away in these torn-up fragments now scattered across the floor.

Chapter Twenty-Two Alpha Lir POV The glass doesn’t shatter—it just breaks apart in my hand. One second I’m holding a crystal tumbler of aged scotch, the next my palm is burning, filled with red cuts and sharp, glittering pieces. I don't flinch. I don't even feel the sting. "Lir, your hand."

I was almost too afraid to acknowledge him. "Mr. Goldberg, this is a family matter," Harvey said, sensing that something was wrong. He tried to pull his hand back but found Spencer's strength terrifying. The bones in his wrist began to creak. A sharp crack, the unmistakable sound of bone breaking, echoed through the rainy night. Harvey collapsed to his knees with a scream, cold sweat drenching his forehead. Spencer released Harvey's hand as if he were discarding trash. Then, he pulled out a handkerchief and meticulously wiped each finger that had touched Harvey.

"If you are her." Seraphina could not speak. Could not move. "Because if you are," he said. "Then I have spent three years grieving a woman I threw away for a lie. And I do not think I can survive finding out I was right." "Damien." The name slipped out before she could catch it. Not Mr. Cross. Damien. His face broke. "Open the door." Her hand was already moving. She watched it move as if from a very long distance. She slid the chain off. Stepped back.

Each word, a shard, pierced through the armor of my pride, exposing the raw, bleeding mess of my heart. As the first fat drops of rain splattered on my face, her final message echoed in my ears, a desperate plea that tore through me like a rogue wave: "Leo, if there's even a single ember left in our ashes, please, let it spark."