Silence Like Glass Novels & Stories

During Christmas dinner, my mother-in-law hinted for the umpteenth time that she wanted a grandchild. However, my husband, Zachary Cole, who had insisted on staying child-free in the past decade, only smiled and filled her plate. After dinner, he slipped onto the balcony. "There, there. Daddy will come see you on New Year's Day," he whispered. I stood in the corner of the living room with a glass of water in my hand, feeling cold as the words sank in. I stepped forward and forced a playful tone. "I just heard you say 'Daddy.' Got a secret kid stashed somewhere?" He rubbed his nose, his voice stiff. "You must've misheard. That's… just a friend's kid." My heart sank. I'd been married to him for a decade, so I knew exactly what he looked like when he was lying.

My withered rose Every night I sip from a glass of wine trying to forget this beauty and get it out of my head. But I'm back and shocked that I couldn't do it.. All women after you are far from being slaves under my feet.

After the young officer Edward Shaw took first place in a high-profile shooting exhibition attended by senior officials, his family adopted a rather peculiar tradition. At the annual family banquet, he would perform a blindfolded shooting. Whichever woman's token his bullet struck was taken as a sign that she would become his fiancée. Determined to marry him, I placed the handkerchief I had carefully chosen as close to him as possible. Yet, for three consecutive years, his shots hit nothing at all. I told myself the handkerchief must have been too light, too easy to miss. So each year, I replaced it with something more refined, more eye-catching than before. That illusion lasted until the night before my eighteenth birthday, when I happened to overhear him speaking with a friend at a reception. "Miss Jasmine's handkerchief is right in front. Even blindfolded, you should be able to hit it. How do you keep missing every year?" Edward swirled his glass, his tone casual. "Tracy's still young. The moment she hears I'm getting engaged, she starts crying. "I promised I'd wait until she's a little older. As for Jasmine, she's waited for me all these years. It's not like she's going anywhere." With that, he casually tossed his glass into a metal bucket in the corner. It rang out with a sharp, hollow clang. I lowered my gaze and thought of my younger sister, only a year younger than me. So it had never been about the token. It was about the person who placed it there. In that case, there was no reason for me to keep holding on. After all, my father had already arranged a marriage for me. Three days later, at that same family banquet, I would be formally engaged.

"I, Lopo Foster of the Nightfall Pack, as a result, announce that my fated mate Lupa will join our pack. I hope that everyone will treat both Lupa and Luna Freya with equal respect in the future." My husband Lopo had announced in front of our pack members on our third wedding anniversary that he had found his fated mate. I stared blankly at the two figures cuddled up in the centre of the hall as a wave of numbness washed over me, and I listened to all the pack members congratulating them wholeheartedly. Loop’s so-called Fated Mate, Lupa ,feigning innocence and vulnerability, handed me a glass of wine. But that glass of wine took my life! Yet, the Moon Goddess decided my story wasn't over. She granted me a second chance. This time, I am determined to peel back the mask of that bitch and make Lopo experience a profound regret that will be his living torment!

The mafia coalition’s family banquet had reached its liveliest point. Someone started stirring things up and steered the conversation toward the youngest Don of the Fumagalli family, Dante Fumagalli. “Dante, before you came to power, all those old Dons from the major families were falling over themselves to push their daughters at you. Was there ever one you actually wanted?” I stood half a step behind him, and my knuckles turned white around my wine glass. Dante did not answer right away. His gaze swept over me, cool and indifferent, before he turned toward Viviana Lombardi, who still held the crowd’s attention. “I wanted her.” Viviana spun around so fast that wine splashed from her glass onto her wrist. “Then why did you not come when I gave you that hotel key card all those years ago?” The calm on Dante’s face finally cracked. He frowned. “Your key card? Was that not for Enzo Ricci?” “How could it have been for Enzo?” Viviana’s eyes reddened. “He is my first cousin.” One question led to another and the truth emerged. That hotel key card had been handed to the wrong person by a Soldato. Because of that mistake, they had missed each other. Viviana burst into tears on the spot. Regret shadowed Dante’s expression. Just then, someone laughed softly. “What a coincidence. Was the key card really delivered to the wrong person, or did someone make sure it ended up in the wrong hands?” In an instant, every eye in the room turned to me. Everyone remembered me. I was the woman who used to trail after Dante Fumagalli like a lovesick fool. I turned to look at Dante and hoped he would say something for me. I hoped he would tell them we had been secretly married for five years and that he had been the one who pursued me back then. He said nothing. He did not defend me. He did not deny anything. He stared ahead in silence as if none of this had anything to do with him. In that moment, I pulled off the wedding ring I had worn for five years.

Roses are red, tequila hits hard, and I danced like I owned the damn night. Now? Everything’s a hot mess. Emily Hart just landed the dream job, personal secretary to the sinfully rich, dangerously fine CEO of Steele Empire. So naturally, she did what any girl with a fat offer letter and a killer dress would do: hit the club, danced like a vixen, and threw back shots until reality blurred and pleasure took the wheel. That’s when he happened. Dominic Steele. Billionaire boss. Ruthless in the boardroom. Untamed in the bedroom. He saw her, hips swaying, lips smirking, black dress clinging like a second skin, and he didn’t ask for a name. He just took. One night. One filthy, breathless, back-arching night. No promises. No names. Just raw heat and moans that echoed past midnight. Until Monday morning happened. Now, the man who made her beg without words is standing behind a glass desk in a tailored suit, And she’s the new secretary who can’t look him in the eye without remembering how he made her scream. She thinks he’s cocky as hell. He thinks she’s the sweetest kind of chaos. But when a missed period makes an unexpected appearance, it’s no longer just business. It’s Daddy, please……. with a whole lot of tension, temptation, and trouble in between.

During the Labor Day team retreat, I had booked out the entire top floor of the Grand Summit Hotel. Yet, when my fiancee, Serena Wagner, found out, she was enraged. "Matthew Grant, are you out of your mind? Spending over 800,000 dollars to rent a place for one day? Since you're so rich and have nowhere else to splurge, just let me help you spend it!" Then, she called over our intern, Dylan Foster. She pointed at him and started yelling at me. "He only makes 6000 a month as an intern. Why don't you give him this money instead?" I looked at my colleagues standing nearby, their faces clearly uncomfortable. I replied calmly, "His salary isn't low compared to industry standards. Besides, the team-building budget belongs to everyone. Why should I give it all to him?" However, the moment those words left my mouth, Serena exploded. "I'm your finance director and your future wife! Of course, I get to control where your money goes. If you don't agree, then let's call off the engagement!" With that, she stormed off with Dylan. I silently picked up a bottle from the floor and poured myself three glasses. The first glass was for her, for being with me through the first half of my life. The second glass was for me, for having a clear conscience in this relationship. The third glass was for both of us. I wished us well as we parted ways and moved on with our separate lives.

She came looking for a fresh start. She found something far more complicated. Beatrice has spent years keeping herself afloat — working jobs that drain her, paying bills that never shrink, going home each night to a silence that grows heavier by the day. When a housekeeper position at one of the city's most lavish estates falls into her hands, it feels like the universe finally offering her something gentle. Something quiet. She didn't expect them. Silas is everything danger looks like when it's dressed in elegance. Refined, wickedly intelligent, and devastatingly charming — he speaks in carefully chosen words and looks at her like she's already a secret he intends to keep. Atticus is something else entirely. Raw. Unpredictable. The kind of man whose presence fills a room before he even enters it. He looks at Beatrice like she belongs to him — like he decided that long before she had any say in the matter. And God help anyone who disagrees. Beatrice keeps her head down and her walls up. But walls mean nothing in a house like this, with men like these. Their world is intoxicating. Their attention is impossible to escape. The brothers take what they want. The brothers keep what they claim. And they have claimed her.

Nicole Evans never asked to be followed. She never asked for eyes in the dark, for a man like Vane to orbit her life with silence and devotion sharp enough to wound. But obsession doesn’t ask permission. It waits. It watches. It becomes inevitable. What began with missing men and shadows on rooftops soon unraveled into something far more intimate—an assassin who couldn’t let go, and a woman who, piece by piece, stopped trying to make him. As friends vanished and her world narrowed, Nicole found herself drawn toward the very thing she feared most—not out of love, but recognition. In his violence, there was something terrifyingly tender. In his silence, something that listened more closely than anyone else ever had. Theirs is not a love story in any ordinary sense. It’s a descent—a long, slow collapse into dependency, into surrender. A story told in bruises and shared tea, in blood and in stillness. A quiet unraveling that doesn’t end in escape, but in a house by the sea, where memory lingers and echoes never fade. Some stories don’t ask to be understood. Only remembered.

Freya loved the wrong Alpha for eight years. She gave him her body, her loyalty, her soul—and in return, he kissed her with someone else's name. When she finally walked away, she believed she'd found peace—and love—in Silvano, the Alpha who saved her. But years later, on her birthday, silence greeted her again. “Bella,” she whispered to her daughter, “did you forget Mommy’s birthday?” “Not now, Mommy. I'm making a gift for Aunt Aurora. Daddy helped.” The name landed like a wound reopening. Freya once survived being ‘the other woman’. Now, fate flipped the roles—and the silence, late-night absences, and missed calls feel all too familiar. As betrayal knocks again, she must choose: bury herself in heartbreak once more—or rise, not for love, but for herself. When even your mate forgets your worth, how many times must you walk away before you stop coming back? This time—maybe for the last time—she won’t look back.