Summary Scarlet Letter Novels & Stories

The morning after the "marking" felt different. The air in the Sanctuary’s narrow suite was no longer just heavy with incense; it was charged with a restless, crackling energy that made the hair on Scarlett’s arms stand up. The fake mark on Caleb’s neck—a faint, silver-crimson tracing of her blood—seemed to pulse in time with her own heartbeat.

Scarlet accused. What? …

Can you imagine if something had happened to you? Scarlett looked at Alex and lowered her gaze in shame. —I’m sorry, Alex. You were right. I shouldn’t have gone into the forest alone… it was reckless. Alex sighed, trying to calm the mix of anger and worry still inside him. —That book, Scarlett… —he said, pointing at the object she was clutching tightly—. You have to get rid of it. You should burn it. She looked up, shocked, and hugged the book even tighter. —Never. This book belonged to my mother… it’s all I have left of her.

“Business is business.” Jack’s face contorted in fury as he acknowledged the act. “You—” he rasped, “You think this is over? You think you can do this and walk away?” Scarlett tucked the signed paper away and signaled to her men. They stepped forward then, moving like a wave closing. She had the ledger; she had the paper. Jack had the humiliation and his temper. The yard crackled with the kind of electricity that made men make mistakes.

"Didn't know she would murder my parents? Didn't know she would steal my entire legacy? Or didn't know she would humiliate me in front of the world?" Clark was speechless. "Or," I continued, "did you know all along and just chose to look the other way?" "No! I really didn't know—" "Then what about this?" I turned my back to him and unfastened the top of my tunic. A gruesome scar ran from my left shoulder to my right hip. The eclipse curse had turned it a sickly silver-black, and it still seemed to writhe slowly, eating away at my life force. Clark's breath hitched.

Chapter 62 Scarlett’s POV I read the note twice. Then the third time. But my mind refused to process it. The air grew thick, heavy, and suffocating, reeking of blood. Before I could turn around, the doors swung open. Christian staggered inside. He had stripped off his suit jacket. His dark shirt was unbuttoned at the top, clinging to his broad chest as it heaved with wet, ragged gasps. Underneath his skin, his bones were audibly popping and grinding, a horrifying, sickening sound of a shift forcing its way out.

"I will fight till my child has a father." She couldn't help move her hand down to her stomach, where the scar lay's hidden under her wedding dress. She has nothing to fight for? The reason of her fight...the very basis of her fight no longer there. She tried so hard..... coming too far from where she started. Yet it all ended where it began. Leaving her with nothing except this long scar. The scar worse than the one on her face. The scar that did what no other scar could. The scar that ended Vivian Klein completely to leave a broken shell.

Amara stared back, trying to project a semblance of stillness, refusing to betray the sheer terror gripping her. ​Emiliano stared at her for a long, silent moment, his expression unreadable. He seemed to be assessing her, her fear, her presence in his bed. He slowly walked around the bed, stopping on his side. ​He reached up, pulling his undershirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it onto a nearby chair. Amara couldn't breathe. Her gaze involuntarily dropped, taking in the powerful breadth of his chest, the taut lines of his abdomen, and the faint, intricate scars—silent trophies of a violent life—that crisscrossed his left shoulder.

The whole ballroom was burning in jealousy. Their absolute dream was dancing with someone else, giving all his attention to the woman most of them never liked. However, Scarlett was the only person unaffected by those stares as she was the one dancing. Yet, her motive was never to get married but to hold the relic of her mother. And while moving one step ahead to get what she wished for, Scar also gets to know something else. His odour, which did not belong to him when those two nights she was with him!

Past the seam that Scarlett and Caelan sealed shut. Through a gulley choked with moss and bones. The light doesn’t behave right here. It sharpens and dulls like a heartbeat. Then they find it. Stone. Dozens of slabs, half-swallowed by the earth, grown over with ivy and lichen and rot. Scarlett crouches beside one and brushes the moss back. Her fingers freeze. Not just symbols this time, but actual words. Carved into the stone in lettering that looks too clean to be old.