Silence Like Glass

A deal sealed in desperation. A marriage bound by secrets. A heart caught between danger and desire. When Isla Monroe agrees to marry a man whose name strikes fear and fascination in equal measure, she steps into a world where power rules, silence conceals, and love is the most dangerous game of all. He’s cold, unreadable, and devastatingly magnetic. She’s fragile, desperate, and holding onto her last thread of hope. What begins as a contract quickly unravels into something far more complicated…. where tension simmers, pasts collide, and every touch feels like a trap. But in a house full of shadows, the greatest mystery isn’t him… It’s why he chose her. And when secrets start to surface, Isla must ask herself the question no one dares to answer. What’s the real price of wearing his ring?

"Are you sure you want to change the bride's name to Jasmine Shaw, Quinn?" Quinn Sullivan's voice was resolute. "Yes, I'm sure. Do as I say." She sat in silence for a long time after hanging up. She recalled what she saw after her engagement party. Her fiancé had his arms wrapped around another woman in a swaying car. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, looking like he couldn't bear to leave. Quinn didn't understand. She and Nicholas York had gone through so much to get to marriage. How could he cheat on her? Well, it didn't matter. She was willing to give him her blessings since he was in love with another woman. He could marry someone else, then. She would give him the wedding of his dreams.

Max is a no-nonsense bounty hunter. She doesn’t have time for silly fairytale nonsense like what her last “skip” was spouting about vampires. Yet days later, when things start to add up, she can’t help but question if maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as crazy as she thought. Max’s questions, however, have placed her on the radar of a powerful vampire corporation that sends one of their best to seek her out and silence her if needed. What should have been an easy job for Jace and his werewolf friend Lukas is anything but. What happens when a vampire and werewolf fall for the same girl? Can their friendship withstand it, or will it cause a rift once romantic feelings and jealousy rear their heads? On the other hand, can Max survive having her eyes opened to the reality of the supernatural?

“Let me be your real wife for just one month, Daven.” It was a simple request—one that sounded like the last plea of a heartbroken woman. But to Althea Grayson, it was her pride. The price she asked for the love she had given, yet never once received in return. She had known from the start: their marriage was never about love. Daven Callister had married her out of duty, pressured by his grandmother. There were no tender embraces, no loving glances—only cold silence and an empty house that never felt like home. Still, Althea held on. She tried to be a good wife, clinging to the hope that one day, Daven’s heart might soften. But her hope was shattered by betrayal—Daven wanted to marry someone else. The woman he truly loved. With or without Althea’s consent. And his entire family stood behind his decision. Heartbroken and disillusioned, Althea made one final request: one month of being loved like a real wife. One month... before she walked away forever. Daven thought it was a desperate move—pathetic, even. But that single month changed everything. The way Althea smiled, the way she loved so fully. Even the way she left—left something behind that lingered in Daven’s heart. And now, Daven was lost. When the love he had never once recognized finally revealed itself... was it already too late? Or should he fight against everything—just for one more chance?

"I, King Zachariah Fenrir, pack Alpha to the Alpha pack, cast you, Aurora Fenrir out. From this moment forth, you are no longer worthy." A strangled cry rang out across the silence, it took me a moment to realize it was coming from me, my knees buckled and I hit the soft grass in the pasture. It felt as if someone was sticking a white hot branding iron into my chest, I was struggling to breathe. My fathers voice cut through the silence once more. "Run my child, because when we find you, there will be no saving you." And I did run, I ran as fast as I could.

Two pink lines on a pregnancy test. I was going to surprise my husband, Vince, the Moretti family heir. Instead, the surprise was on me. A pair of black lace panties—not mine—left in his car. The air reeked of cheap perfume and betrayal. I stormed his casino, demanding answers. But I found her in his private suite. Sophia. She smirked, looking me up and down. “You must be the wife. I’ve seen your picture on the nightstand. Vince says you’re a boring little nun. Says he can’t even get hard looking at you.” I snapped. My hand shaking, I hurled a glass of red wine in her face. She shrieked, stumbled back, and crashed into a glass cabinet. Blood bloomed across the carpet. Vince burst in and slapped me so hard I hit the floor. "Are you insane?! She's carrying my heir!" My heart shattered. As I fell, a darker pool of blood spread beneath me. Our baby. I was miscarrying. And when forced to choose between his wife and his whore, Vince chose her. He forgot who put him on his throne. I’m not some trophy wife he can discard. I am a DeLuca. A princess of the underworld. So for revenge, I married his worst enemy, Dante Costello. And when we burned his empire to the ground, Vince finally broke. He got on his knees and begged me to come back.

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

In Black Salt, love is a sickness you can’t hide—a slow gnawing beneath the skin that leaves you hollowed, grayed, and eventually gone. No one stays long enough to see it through; they leave before the rot finishes its work. It’s what the town teaches you: when it starts, you run. You look away. You survive by pretending not to feel. But Atlas is tired of pretending. The halls of Black Salt High are full of kids pretending they don’t see each other’s bruised hearts, pretending their bones aren’t already whispering warnings. Still, he can’t forget the weight of a father who stayed—not out of love, but because he never felt it deep enough to decay. That truth lingers in Atlas like a second shadow. And then there’s Nova—the outsider with a storm in her bones. And Wren, all sharpness and fight. Milo, who cracks jokes to keep the silence at bay. Luce, who wears her thorns like jewelry. Together, they don’t know how to stop the rot. But they’re learning how to sit with it, how to name it, how to refuse the small, hollow deaths of pretending not to care. In a town where love is a death sentence, staying might be the bravest thing of all.

On the one-year anniversary of the company's public listing, my wife, Susan Lynn, publicly announced that she was gifting a supercar worth millions of dollars to her childhood friend, Charles Baker. Charles, with his arm around her shoulder, raised his glass and said, "Thank you, Susan. Here's a toast to our friendship!" I let out a derisive laugh and walked away. Susan, feeling upset, chased after me, shouting, "Angus, what's your problem? What's wrong with me giving the top salesperson a supercar? You're just a useless waste of space, and you still dare to throw a tantrum!"

Olivia held out a glass of water, "Nothing to worry." She took it from her and nodded. She gulped the water hard from her throat. Liam would be furious. She was aware. His anger still scared her. They all left the room. Her heart began to thud thud in her ears. She didn't lift her head to watch him. She felt him. They left the room and did not say a word. He towered over her. She kept looking at her hands, looking at the circles over the tips of her fingers. "You'll take care of yourself or abortion," She heard him.