Silent Vows Jill Ramsower Novels & Stories

The silent cry was heard Amid the night Without any word Peering on a moonlight I was ruined Though love was all I'd given I was pained My bliss was what they've taken Millions of lies Loud tears from my eyes Salted my wounds Fighting endless dooms I was put in a maze No way for me to escape The only thing in me was a dagger To break the wall before supper The route was always towards you Still coming to the room of blue I can't follow where my mind leads me to Because after all, I foolishly love you -Gabbie Sanchez 🔸🔸🔸

The voice was a vibrating rasp that seemed to suck the oxygen straight out of the atmosphere. Silas was standing casually in the doorway. He wasn’t wearing his immaculate suit. He was dressed in black flowing robe, his hair slightly disheveled, but his cold grey eyes were a swirling storm of absolute, suffocating rage. He looked at me, then his gaze dropped to my hand firmly holding Luca’s fragile shoulder. “I gave explicit instructions,” Silas said smoothly, stepping fully into the room. His footsteps were completely silent. “No one enters this room without my express permission.”

And both of them were part of that. Rhett groaned. “This is insane.” “No one’s asking you to stay,” I replied. He glared at me, wounded, but didn’t move. Silas sat finally—against the wall, long legs folded, eyes closed like he was meditating. But I knew he was listening. Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every echo of the thing we left behind in the dark. I crawled into bed slowly, the blanket still tight around my shoulders. And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t reach for the light.

At the DeLuca Family banquet announcing its new advisor, Matteo said he was going to end nine years of secrecy and finally acknowledge our relationship in public. I stood in the back row of the banquet hall, so nervous I'd crumpled my prepared speech into a ball. Over nine years, I'd cleaned up the port books for him three times, negotiated two cross-border shipping routes, and taken a bullet for him. Everyone knew the DeLuca Family had a female advisor who never showed her face, but no one knew I was that woman. I thought that after tonight, I would finally stop being his shadow. Until the screen at the front of the banquet hall lit up. There was no photo of us. Instead, there was only a si

The shelves continued shifting. Stone cracked. And slowly, in the center of the vault floor, a hidden chamber began to rise. On top of it sat a single object. An old leather journal. Bound in black. No title. No name. Only one symbol on the cover. The split circle. Eva looked at it and whispered, “No…” Zara stared at the book. “What is it?” Alessandro Moretti answered. His voice was heavy with twenty-four years of silence. “The first ledger.”

Truly alone, for the first time since the war had landed on our doorstep. I walked to the center of the room, where a large, flat slab of silver-flecked obsidian served as a bed, covered in thick furs that looked like they had been plucked from the clouds. The silence here was absolute. It was a silence that didn't feel empty; it felt full, like a bated breath. "You’re staring again," I said softly, turning to find Silas watching me. He was leaning against one of the quartz pillars, his arms crossed over his chest. In the blue light of the sanctum, the scars on his torso looked like silver ink. His golden eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide as he tracked the way the silver light danced acr

The silence in the ranger station cabin wasn't peaceful. It was the quiet after a bomb blast, thick with the acrid smell of contained dread and Petrova’s antiseptics. Silas lay unnervingly still, his breathing shallow, the blood beneath his nose a dark, dried accusation. Leo hadn’t moved from his vigil at the cot’s side, Silas’s cold hand clasped in his own, as if sheer will could anchor the drifting mind within. The vial pouch sat on the rickety table like a malevolent totem, its faint purple glow seeming to pulse in the dim lantern light.

The silence came like a held breath, silver noticed it when she woke. She lay still beneath the furs, eyes open, waiting for the familiar brush of sound along the edges of her thoughts. The whispers had become a constant companion over the past weeks, unwelcome but predictable. They curled through her mind at odd hours, pressed into her insecurities, named her fractures with cruel intimacy. This morning, there was nothing, no murmur or presence. Her chest tightened. She sat up slowly, pressing two fingers to her temple as if she could coax the sound back. The quiet stretched, deep and unnatural, like a forest emptied of birds, it was too still.

It was a quick, quiet meal as the five of them wolfed down their food like it was the first they’d had in a year. Silvia cleaned any incriminatory evidence and commanded the musicians to sleep, threatening them with midnight injections if they stayed awake. She and Jim left the other three and he took her hand when they walked out, waiting for her to try to let go, say something, do anything. Silvia rested her head on his shoulder as they strolled down the hall to Sean’s room without a word.

How many more lives must he take before he’s satisfied? I sat with Silas until the room grew quiet again. The sun had begun to set, casting an orange glow through the cloth-covered windows. A soft breeze stirred the herbs hanging from the beams. Silas stirred. It was subtle at first. A twitch. A shift in breath. Then a strained sound left his lips. I leaned closer. “Silas… I’m here. I’m right here.” His eyes didn’t open, but his lips moved. A whisper. Ragged. Barely audible.