The Glass House Novels & Stories

October here smelled of salt and woodsmoke and something metallic—ozone maybe, or the tight knot of anticipation in my gut. The main house was all glass and cedar, and it stuck out over the bluff like it was daring the ocean to grab it. Floodlights tucked in the dunes painted the front in shifting blues and golds, and the reflection rippled across the infinity pool that spilled toward the horizon. Inside, the air was warmer than the night outside, with heated stone under my feet and cedar walls giving off resin and money. A lone staff guy—white gloves, no name tag, face smooth as porcelain—popped up from a side hall. He took my keys and my phone and my duffel with the same quiet speed, and h

he says, giving me a huge grin, “Another of August’s properties. It’s actually nicer than this one. Apparently, the old man’s been holding out on us.” “That is amazing,” I tell him, but then I worry that my husband somehow believes I need such luxury, and I don’t. “But you do know that all I need is you, right,” I say, gazing into his eyes, “I mean, it’s not necessary.” “Yes, of course,” he tells me, with a smile, “And I you. But you gotta admit, they are pretty fun. And this house has a built-in greenhouse. Flowers of every kind. And, this is crazy, but it's got bullet proof glass.”

I don’t think there is a single brick in place—it’s all glass, and it glows as the harsh sunlight of Las Vegas pours over it. “Oh my God,” I whisper under my breath. “This is insane,” I say, turning to Michael. “An ocean and a glass house? This is so perfect!” “Is it?” Michael grins at me as if he’s been waiting for this exact reaction. “Are you even asking?” I roll my eyes playfully, staring out the window so much I don’t even realize when the car slows to a stop. “I swear, whoever lives there is so lucky.” “Really?” Michael asks.

The Maybach's engine fell silent, a stark contrast to the pulsing heartbeat in Cathleen's chest. Before her, she sat frozen, her eyes locked onto the towering glass structure that sprawled out in front of them. The house was a vision of extravagance and wealth, its transparent facade gleaming under the sun like a crystal palace. Each pane reflected the light in a dazzling display, creating an illusion of grandeur and mystery. It stood as a symbol of luxury and hidden riches, a fortress of untold stories waiting to be uncovered.

Each column that started to rise at the edge of the podium and connected to the top floor did so with glass vines and glass flowers snaking round it. Then, finally at the edge of the back glass wall, a smaller but wider glass podium rose with a few large glass thrones and a rectangular table. The backdrop made with many variations of flowers, vines and stems all made up of glass. Everyone oohhddd and aaahhhddd as they clapped and looked on in awe at the design and sheer magnitude of the glass artwork, almost like a glass house...or castle

“Oh, shit.” The shift was immediate. “Why didn’t you clean the room?” Trying to kick the duck out of sight, he staggered, and the bottle of beer slipped from his grip, crashing against the floor, the glass pieces scattering across the room. “Aria!!!!!” he thundered. I held my breath, as if breathing would lead him to me. He moved deeper into the room, the crunch of glass under his boots loud enough to make my skin prickle. I glanced at mother again. She didn’t even flinch despite all the chaos.

The glass must have shot through the air. “Is it bad?” she asked sarcastically. I had no idea how deep the glass was, but about an inch of it protruded. She licked the blood from her lips, glaring at me with her other eye. Something flashed outside the window. It was a tree, I realized, falling past the window. We had to get out of there. But where would we go? Quickly, I thought of all the rooms in the house. But this was a beach house, built to maximize the views of the ocean, and as such, all the rooms had large windows.

And yet, here she was, restless because he was out there somewhere, and she didn’t know what he was doing, or who he was with. Her phone buzzed suddenly on the nightstand, the sound startling her out of her spiral. She rushed to it, hoping—praying—that it was him. But it wasn’t. The message on her screen froze her blood. Unknown Number: You really think you know your husband? You’ve only scratched the surface. Come to The Glass House. Midnight. Come alone. Her throat tightened as she read the words again and again, her pulse drumming against her ears. The Glass House. The notorious club where Killian sealed most of his under-the

If someone wanted to break in, it would be quite easy. However, this house was different. It seemed to have specially designed glass that felt unique to the touch, yet it was transparent. This type of glass would likely resist even a hammer, and if she guessed correctly, bullets would struggle to penetrate it. The house, decorated in a minimalist style, was clean and tidy. Suddenly, she noticed two unwashed plates in the kitchen sink. Just when she thought everything was clean and orderly, those two plates proved her wrong. Rosalie's OCD kicked in, and she rolled up her sleeves to wash the plates, after which she put them on the rack.

"Silas , don't worry. I'll be okay. I'm more than capable of taking care of them myself." "I think you need a dance partner, don't you?" He said it with a hopeful face. I was surprised by his idea for a moment, but then I agreed with it. As we strolled through the yard together, we came across a big glass house not far away. There was colourful glass outside the house that reflected different light colours. A glass window let me see some drawings that were being shown inside. "What is that house for?" I said, "Look at that glass house."