Shatter Me Fanart 소설 & 이야기

I made sure they paid—in the cruelest, most humiliating way possible. I tore my father’s company apart, crushed his legacy, and gathered allies who wanted him ruined just as much as I did. And just when I thought I had nothing left to lose, I found my fiancée in bed with my half-brother, Gregory. Chanel had been the last illusion I had about love. And when that illusion shattered, I stopped believing in anything. I swore off women. I lived recklessly, throwing myself into work, into power, into winning.

“For fuck sake Jartre! Snap the fuck out of it! You’re killing innocent people!” I grit my teeth as I struggle to hold my position, the ground almost bucking me off my feet as the fissures try to fight against my power. I look over just as Jartre breaks completely free of his bindings. Jartre lets out a deep roar of power, throwing his fist in Morrtemis’ direction, bending the air in front of him like it were cellophane, making reality ripple as his power is projected at her.

"What's wrong with my face? Am I not beautiful enough?" Her gaze swept across the room, taking in the shattered remnants of a life once filled with love and laughter. The shattered glass and twisted metal served as cruel reminders of the wreckage left behind by a love that had soured. The room, once a sanctuary, now mirrored the chaos and devastation that consumed her soul. Her voice trembled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Look at this room! Look at what you've done to me!" she shouted, her voice carrying the weight of her shattered dreams. "How could you do this to me, Kendrick? How could you choose her over me?"

"No. I need to do this alone. But thank you for offering." We hung up, and I sat on my couch wondering what Mirabel had written. Knowing my sister, it was probably full of guilt and self-pity. But maybe, just maybe, there was something real in there too. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Anthony. "My father dissolved the partnership with Samuel today. It's official." I read the message twice, then typed back. "How is he taking it?" "Not well. But it's done." "And how are you taking it?"

Sorry just made it messy, and I didn’t have space for messy. “Aria Cole,” he said, “I, Damien Cole, Alpha of Darkwood Pack, renounce you as my mate and my Luna. The bond between us is hereby severed.” My wolf screamed. Pain isn’t even the right word—it’s like something vital being ripped out, something you’re never supposed to lose. Like your body suddenly realizing its foundation is gone and nothing makes sense anymore. I stood there. I breathed through it. I wasn’t going to fall apart in front of her.

And then— I end it. Power surges. Not explosive. Not chaotic. Controlled. Focused. Absolute. I don’t tear her apart. I don’t burn her. I don’t destroy the body. I go deeper. Straight to the core. To whatever she’s become. To whatever is holding her together. And I crush it. She screams. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just— Real. Raw. Final. The shadows collapse. Disintegrate. Fade. No escape. No retreat. No second chance.

I merely found Wendy's threat laughable. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my assistant. "She wants to take over all our projects, right? Tell all the departments to get ready. Start withdrawing all our investments in the Sanders Group now!" Three minutes later, Wendy, who was narrating their sweet love story in the live stream, suddenly screamed upon seeing a text on her phone.

Chapter 97 – The Book She Wrote The house was quiet again, but this time it was the kind of quiet that hummed with purpose. The kind of quiet that filled the room with possibilities rather than emptiness. I sat at my desk, pen in hand, notebook open, staring at the blank page for a long time before writing the first words. “Shattered Vows,” I whispered to myself. The title alone made my chest tighten, a reminder of everything I had lived through—the love, the lies, the heartbreak, the forgiveness, and the slow, painstaking rebuilding of myself.

~ 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.

Another’s annihilation. The thought follows me like a shadow. Which a "Shatterpoint"