The Quiet Daughter Couldn’t Wait Novels & Stories

My daughter found the interview. She wasn’t pissed. She was something worse, quiet and lost. I knocked on her open door. She looked up, then scooted over on the bed like she didn’t trust her own voice. I sat down on the bed, and the room felt heavy, like the air itself was waiting. “You read it?” she asked. “Not yet, honey, send it over.”

“Bring her heart to me.” Those four words refused to leave Ethan’s head. They echoed repeatedly inside the dark room like a curse he could not escape from. He sat quietly on the old couch inside the abandoned warehouse, his elbows resting on his knees while his head hung low. The room was dimly lit by a single weak bulb hanging above him. Silence filled the space except for the distant sound of cars outside and the soft ticking of a leaking pipe nearby. But even the silence could not calm his troubled mind. Could he really do it? Could he truly kill the daughter of the woman who once saved his life? The very thought made his chest tighten painfully.

I leaned back, smiling slow, enjoying the look on his face. “You don’t have to pay in cash.” The others looked away jealously, but didn't say a word, or produced a sound. A cigarette appeared at my elbow. I took it, let it dangle unlit between my fingers. Mac wasn’t here to nag about the smoke. Good. The room was so quiet I could hear every shallow breath. “How about this,” I said, almost gentle. “Send your daughter over. Tomorrow before midnight.” Micah’s face collapsed and the colour drained from his face while his mouth worked soundlessly.

Before my mother died, she arranged a marriage for me. My bride-to-be was Rosalind Young, Kingsford's most formidable financial tycoon. Before I married her, I added three clauses to the prenuptial agreement. First, no feelings. Our marriage was purely business. Second, she could live her life however she pleased, while I'd live mine. Third, I would step aside immediately if her true love ever came along. Nevertheless, I would be getting double the alimony. Rosalind was quite pleased that I knew my place. Our marriage was a peaceful one until the day a teenage girl who bore a striking resemblance to her knocked on the door of our mansion and calmly said, "Sir, I'm Rosalind's daughter.

She fell asleep between the second-to-last sentence and the last. I finished the page. Then I sat for a while. In the quiet room. Listening to her breathe. Lily Blackwood-Sterling. My daughter. In a house that was hers. With a name that was hers. That she had chosen. On her terms. In her time. I pressed my hand to her doorframe. Then I walked down the corridor. To the small room. The two-chair room. Damian was there. As he always was. He looked up.

By the third year of Roxanne Duranov's affair, Fredrick Tatham had finally become the husband she had always wanted. He no longer barged into hotels in the middle of the night to catch her with another man. He no longer demanded to know where she had spent the night. Nor did he resort to desperate acts of self-harm in a frantic attempt to hold on to a woman whose heart had long since drifted away. He had become as inconspicuous as an ordinary piece of furniture in the villa, quiet and unobtrusive, never making his presence felt. Then, one day, the hospital called. An urgent voice came through the phone. "Hello, am I speaking to Ms. Duranov's husband? She's been in a serious car accident

While the Famiglia is choosing the territories where they will base their operations, everyone gathers around my younger twin sister, Clara Lombardi, to discuss the matter. My older brother, Giulio Lombardi, points at the map. "We're going to Millano, of course. I've already set up several luxury boutiques and real estate firms there. Besides, it's safer in Millano. It's the perfect choice for us!" Nicolo Piazza, the Consigliere, shakes his head in disagreement. "No, Clara. Don't listen to him. We should break into the medical industry together. I can help you turn the Famiglia's entire fortune into legitimate income within the next year." Nicolo and Giulio continue arguing heatedly whil

The pack knew my mother, Wynne Carter, a renowned pack healer, as the very definition of fairness. To avoid any accusation of favoritism, she once had me removed from the emergency ward while I was suffering from a severe allergic reaction, all because she couldn’t let her own daughter take medical resources away from other pack members. Even when I invited her to the academy’s open day, she turned me down because my instructor was pregnant. She reprimanded me sternly, “Get those funny ideas out of your head. My position is not a way for you to get special treatment from your instructors.” I had always believed my mother was merely strict. Then, the fire happened. My adopted sister,

Callan and I start to growl at her, her smile is vicious. “Are you boys looking for my daughter? She did not come home but, I will tell you now, she is not your whore! Go fuck a mutt! Leave her alone!” she snarls. I had a feeling that I might face her, my father warned me about her, her father had told him, that he had a daughter that went dark years ago. He gave me a pill with powerful magic that blocks a dark one's attack. She closes her eyes and starts chanting, as she is distracted, we decided to try and drive away. Suddenly we felt something pulling on the car. It feel as if something has attached an anchor to the car and turned us into sitting ducks.

Emma. You know that moment in horror movies where someone says "it's quiet... too quiet"? Yeah, turns out that's not just a cheesy line. Standing in my daughter's bedroom, watching darkness seep through a tear in reality while ancient beings of light swirled in panic around us, I finally understood what that phrase really meant. The silence wasn't just absence of sound – it was absence of everything. Like reality holding its breath. "Violet, honey," I said, forcing my voice to stay calm despite the fear clawing at my throat, "I need you to come to Mommy. Very slowly."