The Novel Unbroken Novels & Stories

I sigh. He would, everyone leaves in the end. Who would want to have someone like me in their life? Ryland caresses my cheek. "Gracie, we all have our demons and scars. We all have our secrets and our reasons for being broken. It doesn't mean we need to go through life alone." I feel the tears in my eyes as he said the words to me. It is evident that he has his own struggles too. He is also fighting his personal demons. "Something tells me you haven't had an easy life either," I say softly.

Unbroken. Whatever came next, we’d face it. Together. Always together. That was enough. That was everything. That was how we’d win.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

As a billionaire heiress who'd survived being orphaned, hunted, and nearly broken. But not broken. Never fully broken.

Hello Lovelies. From here the part two of this book SHATTERED YET STRONG will begin. It is the story of Gabriel and Louis. It will have the characters of book 1, BROKEN BUT BEAUTIFUL continues but they won't be focused much till the middle of the book. Also, this book mentions the triggers of rape, assault and heartbreak. I would suggest if it isn't your cup of tea, you may leave it here. Tabby Chapter 1. Letting the Pain out...

Danica POV Sneaking back into the was easier than I thought. There was a large lattice with overgrown vines beneath my window. I think my grandmother put it there to give me a chance to have an adventure one day. Though that day hadn't come until now. The last time I was weighed in gym class, I weighed one hundred and twenty pounds. I wondered what the weight limit was for a lattice that hadn’t been reinforced in years. It's been here since I was a little girl and my grandmother used to take good care of it.

VICTORIA I knew I should have told Damon and Lucy sooner about Oliver. He just didn't want to add to their pain. Knowing the academy sold him to an assassin's guilt as an infant. Trained to murder and kill for their own selfish gain. Pawns and assets, headshots and blood spatter. We were all damaged and carried our own baggage. I remember my first forced kill. It was what ultimately shattered me—fracturing my relationship with Zarina, my wolf, damning me to a life-alone laser focus on protecting my family. Zarina tried to tell me we didn't have to kill, that we could survive without doing as they were told. I was just a child, eight years old. Everyone thought it was Zarina who was unhinged,

I don't want to look, but I probably should so I know what kind of injuries I'm working with. I slowly slide the gown off my shoulders and let it cascade down my body to then land in a heap on the floor. The entire upper half of my body is bruised to all hell along with some cuts here and there. How could I forget that that man broke pretty much half my rib cage. Bastard. Last injury I have to check is my leg, which if I remember correctly was the most gruesome injury. I let out a huge sigh of relief when I notice that it is almost completely healed up. There's still a couple missing pieces, but no more hanging flesh or bleeding so I'm pretty much good as new. My injuries take a back seat to

Despite having a lot of things that were preventing me from functioning well, I don’t know how I was able to come to the company without any scratches. There are a lot of things in my mind lately. Even though I wanted to talk to my only friend about the situation I’m into, I couldn’t tell her at all. Cassandra had once suffered from a miscarriage and I was there when it happened. It was a pity but more importantly a lot more painful for my friend as she had expected her baby to live. After that incident, I had vowed myself to always buying her whatever she wanted; probably also because of the trauma I sustained from that time.

Despite the challenges of the last few days– a fire and the final escape from the prison, a sense of satisfaction was prominent to me, and among our mixed group, I saw that the sane was of tge outcasts. We were no longer strangers with some of these people; we had been bound together by a common tragedy, and the shared experience of escape. Bonds were forming all around me as my pack members spoke to other people and were spoken to in turn, and trust was slowly growing, bridging the gap between the former rivals.

I sat down on the living room floor, right in the middle of it all, and opened the envelope. Inside were photos of Noah. Pictures his school had mailed. His soccer games. His birthday. His quiet smile. I touched his face with my fingertips and felt a sob catch in my throat. So much time had been lost. To men who lied. To women who envied. To wars I didn’t start but had to finish. For what? For survival? For pride? Or because I couldn’t bear to be seen as the woman who got broken and stayed broken? I don’t know how long I stayed there.