The Book Woman's Daughter Novels & Stories

It made betraying her easier. But I had learned long ago that the most dangerous people were never loud. Silence was refinement. Stillness was calculation. I’d heard of Vittoria long before Stefano drove through my gates. Whispers in meetings. Mentions in intercepted conversations. The Don’s daughter who watched and never spoke. The girl who stood beside her father not as decoration, but as presence. Women raised in violence did not grow up fragile. They grew up precise. If she truly had been kept untouched, it was not purity, it was control. Christian Guerra had protected something valuable. Or volatile.

As soon as they stepped out of the elevator, they heard a middle-aged woman's heartbroken shouting. "Conrad, how can you be so heartless, making me, an old woman, bury my young daughter? You sent her to prison. It's like she's dead. She can't even be filial to her mother. Do you know that our whole family relies on her to eat?" "How dare you send her to prison?" "sob... My daughter, how can I live without you? I'm so old, do I still have to go out to work?" The woman's hair was disheveled, and she held a dagger in her hand, crying and trying to stab Conrad.

"Five years after the marriage, the young woman was beginning to become a woman, even if she did not allow her husband to join her. Becoming a woman was out of all options, there was no possibility of her doing something so vile and distasteful against herself. Francesca spent so much time looking for a way not to bow to that vile family from which her husband came, the young woman refused to become a woman under the protection of that blood that had never done anything to help her family. Months passed, until finally, through an oversight of her mother's maids, the young woman found an old but still well-preserved book on the table in the library of the mansion. The book was there, carefull

A cupboard door slammed shut. The sound of a lock clicking into place echoed in my ears. My heart pounded violently as I heard footsteps hurrying but then it halted and a door sound creaked slowly and the footsteps returned, this time slowly.. Then another voice followed. Colder and ruthless. “Where is the Goddess’s daughter?” “You will never find her!” the woman screamed back. “Do not let me ask again..” then the woman screamed like she was being attached. Everything felt too real. But darkness couldn’t let me see the faces of the voices i heard

Desperate, she stepped forward and stuck her foot in the crack before the door could close. “Please. You don’t understand. I just traveled half the world to get here. I’m just a mother who loves her daughter very much. Who’s concerned for her. You have a book I need. A very rare book. Please. I have nowhere else to turn.” The woman stared back at her for what felt like forever, then slowly, her expression softened. The woman looked warily both ways herself, then gestured her in. Caitlin quickly hurried in from the pouring rain, and as she did, the woman slammed and locked the door behind her.

And as she touched it, The book opened itself. The world froze. Every breath held hostage. Every sound dulled, Because on the first page of that sealed book was Liolai’s name. Over and over again, Written in different hands. Different scripts. Some trembling. Some angry. Some loving. Each line was a version of Liolai that had died in another telling. Dozens, Hundreds, Thousands. The daughter who never lived. The daughter who was stolen. The daughter who never forgave. The daughter who turned into ink.

About the woman who had left his house with nothing but the clothes on her back and a pregnancy and the absolute certainty that staying was not survivable. About the woman who had raised a daughter alone in a kitchen with cracked yellow tiles and a window that never closed properly and chamomile tea and a warning that she had planted in that daughter before the daughter could walk. About the woman who had watched that daughter build an empire from a folding table. About the woman who had sat across from a man in her kitchen and watched him sign a document that threatened everything he owned and had heard the laugh that followed and had filed it in the place where she filed things she intende

A procession of somber figures in black filed in. At the forefront was a woman with silver-streaked hair, clutching a photo in a black frame. The girl in the picture beamed, her smile as bright as Evelyn's. "My daughter, Melody Rogers, was Frank's student, too," the woman's voice broke. "He conned her into stealing my credit card and transferring him thirty-four thousand five hundred bucks. Once he had the money, he dumped her. Overwhelmed, she jumped from a building last year. She was just nineteen."

Eight years ago, my daughter, Joey Porter, was stuck in the desert of death. Her GPS had blinked out, and she ran out of supplies. She kept calling for me for over a dozen hours over the walkie-talkie. The only rescue team was an hour's flight away from her, only to get intercepted halfway there. Later on, I found out that my wife, Ruby Shaw, spent 800 thousand dollars bribing the dispatch center, rerouting the rescue team's flight route just so they could save Ruby's younger brother, Howard Shaw, instead. Howard had had too much to drink at that time, causing him to lose his way outside the resort that was located at the edge of the desert. When he was found, it turned out that he was a

A bond had grown between us that even rivalled mine and Katherine's. Bowing my head, I folded my hand over Sonja's. A sigh broke my lips and I lit the cigarette hanging between my lips. They were worried. So was I. But not just for my daughter. What Twila had said struck a cord within me. I had wolves amongst me. Mortal wolves that would one day die. I could lose half of them in the span of a few years whilst the rest of us lived on. Sophie would perish alongside them. If Katharine could gain control of herself. If Levi could help her, maybe I could save my family. Save the women whom I have cherished most of my life.