Silence Golden Novels & Stories

Silent. Staring at her with those dead eyes. More seconds passed. The air in the room felt wrong. Too thick. Too cold. Carmina took a step backward without meaning to. Then another. Her back hit the door. "Killian," she whispered. Nothing. The silence was worse than shouting. Worse than violence. It was the silence before something terrible happens. Carmina's heart was hammering in her chest. Her hands shaking so badly she could barely hold her cane. "Say something," she said.

Leaving only one thing in its place. Silence.

There's something fragile about how quiet the room is. My phone rings. Timothy. I watch the name blink on the screen, and my fingers tap the green button before I can stop myself. His voice comes through the speaker, too high and yet so soft, “I miss you alrea—” I press the red button so fast, my fingers trembling. My father coughs, a sharp sound that makes my blood run cold. Did he hear?

“For now.” Silas’s smile was a flash of white in the twilight. “Excellent.” And as the creature of silence lunged, our fragile, treacherous alliance began. “For now,” I repeated, the words a promise and a threat woven together. The creature of silence lunged. It didn’t roar; it absorbed sound, creating a vacuum of absolute quiet that rushed toward us. The very light seemed to bend into its form.

Guarding. Waiting. In silence.

The truth hides in silence, and sometimes… silence screams louder than words. A soft breeze caressed the drapes, and golden morning sun rays filtered through the sheer curtains of room 809, warming the opulent suite in hues colourful hues. The room held the faintest scent of lavender and something darker, the desire lingering like smoke in a room after the fire has died out.

Alexander Lennox’s first birthday was nothing short of extravagant. The entire penthouse of the Kai Lennox Tower had been transformed into a wonderland of white and gold. Crystal chandeliers hung low over tables laden with gourmet food. A custom three-tier cake shaped like a golden Lamborghini stood at the center. Live musicians played soft jazz while waitstaff in tailored uniforms circulated with champagne and virgin cocktails. Over two hundred guests filled the space—business associates, celebrity friends, family, and carefully selected influencers.

"You know Russian roulette. Seven chambers. One bullet. We take turns. Three pulls each. If we're both alive after six, I'll forgive you." Manuel went still. "Do you really have to be this cold?" "Yeah." Her voice didn't shift. "As long as I'm alive, I can't forgive you. So we leave it to fate. If we both make it, maybe that means I should." "Fine." Manuel clenched his jaw. "Then fate gets to decide." He snatched the revolver off the table, pressed it to his temple, and pulled the trigger. Click. Empty. Shiloh's turn.