The Quiet American Book Novels & Stories

" Shiloh paused. She looked Manuel straight in the eyes, a faint smile on her lips. "Want me to keep going?" Manuel went pale, but he still tried to defend himself. "It's not what you think. Rainee's always been timid. She's scared of the dark. Thunder terrifies her. Whenever there was a storm, she'd grab her stuffed bunny and come to my room. "After all these years, sleeping next to her on rainy nights just became a habit. That doesn't mean I loved her..."

Like seriously? “This way, please.” The familiar guy spoke up and nodding, he followed quietly like a lamb being led to a slaughter house. The restaurant had a serene atmosphere. After all, not everybody could afford a meal in a place like this. They walked on until they came to a private room. Knocking politely, the man opened the door and walked in. Warren followed suit while the two men closed the door, standing guard by the door. Judging by the room décor, it was a private room. He watched the man walk up to a figure standing by the window with his back to him. “What do you want from me?” Warren questioned, unable to hold his patience anymore. The figure remained unmoving like Warren was

I'll be back. I know. You better be. I will. She set the phone down. The room was quiet. The street below was quiet. She picked up the book. Clara's book. The one she didn't understand. Opened it. Read the first page. The words still blurred. She kept reading.

Despair mingled with the pain. He looked through each page, going from trembling hands to trembling all over. The blood drained from his face as the truth dawned on him—he'd misunderstood Celeste. Winona had truly abandoned him for money. She'd only returned because she'd run out and wanted to use him as a bargaining chip for more.

She is married and has one child. Her hobbies include kayaking, crafting and of course, writing novels. House of Quiet Screams is her debut novel, loosely based on true events and written to give voice to the silence many carry. Dedications For every woman who was told to stay silent. For those still living in quiet screams—you are not alone. For Daylen Bradley Harbin, My first true miracle— You made me a mother, and in doing so, gave my life deeper meaning. Your light, your spirit, and your love inspire me to be stronger, braver, and better every single day.

Maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real. The night grew quieter, and the city’s distant hum softened as Justin and I sat across from each other in my modest living room. The glow from a single lamp cast soft shadows on his face, revealing the lines of worry and sincerity etched deep into his expression. It felt strange—like two strangers trying to rebuild a fragile bridge between them, each hesitant yet desperate to connect.

But why would you give something that belonged only to me to someone else? Three days later, at dawn, five sleek black cars lined up neatly in front of the hotel. Harry held Chloe’s hand carefully as he helped her into one of them. From the corner of the street, I stood quietly, watching her gown glitter in the sunlight. The fabric swayed slightly with each step, catching the light like flowing starlight. It was breathtaking. As the motorcade pulled away, I grabbed my suitcase and left alone. Inside the car, Harry’s wolf was still growling in his ear.

Alfred mistook my silence for embarrassment and pitifully offered me a glass of red wine. "Nelson, you've got to get out more. Stop obsessing over women all the time. Check this out. This bottle's on the house. Thirty thousand dollars a pop, reserved only for the big shots like us. This one bottle could easily pay your rent for the next few years. Here, try some," he said, handing me a glass.

Since I had left the Jackson family, I had not even picked up a gun. I was smitten with that easy, cozy life and had zero desire to dive back into the shadows. Out of nowhere, a searing heat on my back snapped me to attention. I whipped around, but there was nothing, just the neighboring shop's sign swaying in the wind. Maybe I was just on edge. I kept at my tasks until dusk, then finally stood up and strolled down the well-known path to my apartment. Day in and day out, my life was simple and quiet. It was maybe a tad boring compared to my old life, but deep down, I knew that was exactly what I had been longing for.

James sat in his cane chair with his eyes closed and feet resting on the table as he listened to the sound of two goats in his backyard, bleating. The goats were gifts from Osinala which arrived very early in the morning before he could say the Lord's Prayer and brush his teeth. He looked forward to another meeting in the village square when he had regained his confidence and was strong enough to defend his cause. He stood up now and walked to the small pile of books he had arranged last night in search of an exemplary text that would fascinate his mind and set him in the right mood. Some weeks ago, he had considered writing a book about his trip to Africa. Unlike all the books he had read,