The Silent Man Book Novels & Stories

I woke to silence. The deep, muffled silence of snow. The storm had passed. Gray-white light filtered through the window, illuminating the room. I was warm. Deliciously, perfectly warm. Lorenzo’s arm was still a heavy, solid weight around my waist, his chest a wall of heat against my back. His breathing was slow and even against my neck.

He sounded genuinely curious, and even as I flinched at something shattering beside me, he didn’t flinch, his eyes were still fixed on me, waiting for my answer. Before I knew it, I swallowed hard and found my voice, even if it was shaky. “I-it’s about a girl who starts working in a company… and the man in charge becomes obsessed with her. It’s a good story,” I whispered, stammering. Even though I had no idea what was going on right now, I knew I had to answer. “I see,” Silas muttered. And you wouldn’t believe it, but he actually flipped to the front page and started reading, his gaze locked on the book.

My bare feet touched the cold tiles as I moved toward him, his gaze following every step like he wasn’t sure if I would close the distance or stop halfway. I reached him and pressed my hand against the front of his ruined shirt, feeling the sticky fabric over his chest. I pushed gently at his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders. It hit the floor with a dull thud. Then I went for the buttons of his shirt. He didn’t stop me. He just watched me, his body utterly still, as though restraint itself was a kind of weapon. His eyes were dark, unreadable, yet in that silence they burned with something ravenous and something far more unsettling.

If this humble book made you happy, sad, scared, or any other feelings even just for a second or if it taught you anything in life just a little bit, then it has served its purpose. SILENT CRY....now signing off. 💖

Abs stenciled with toned muscles grooving over every inch of his torso. His forearms bulged; tattoos etched over his arms, casting full artwork on both sleeves. He ran his hands through his wet tousled hair as dark strands frayed along his fingertips. “Now that’s a man,” Kaia purred inside of me. Again I averted my gaze, drawing back to the book in my lap, yet unable to concentrate on any of the words in front of me. And yes… indeed he was a man. An incredible specimen in fact. His head turned to me. “Sorry, forgot to grab my clothes. My mind was somewhere else,” he admitted, timidly.

Sienna The suffocating silence of the bar seemed to press down on my chest like a physical weight, making it incredibly hard to draw a full breath. I slowly pulled my hand back out of the hidden compartment beneath the dark marble counter, my knuckles scraping lightly against the wood of the interior frame. Wrapped securely in my trembling fingers wasn't a stash of unmarked cash, a black ledger, or a modern weapon. It was just a book. A thick, heavy, dust-jacketed volume that had been tucked away into the hollowed-out space of the bar.

Even the silence felt heavy. This wasn’t just some bad man with anger issues. This was someone who didn’t feel things the way normal people did. Someone who could hurt you badly and sleep just fine afterward, without guilt, without regret, like it meant nothing at all. Suddenly, there was a loud metal bang, then a heavy thud—like something big falling to the floor. Calla stopped breathing for a second. Eli? The man heard it too. His eyes lit up. “Don’t worry,” he whispered, “He’s still alive... for now.”

He didn’t follow the motion when I waved my hand in front of his face. “I think you’re trying to catch my attention,” the man said. “I felt something move near me. Was it your hand?” He held out his hand so that I could answer. I wrote, “Yes,” in his palm. “Ah. Thank you. I’m sorry, I can’t see right now. At all.” I winced. That sounded awful. He must be so confused and disoriented. I admired his bravery. It must be terrifying to be alone in a strange place without the ability to see, but he was perfectly calm.

I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to stay either. My feet moved on their own, following him out of the penthouse, into the sleek black car waiting below. The driver didn’t ask questions. Nobody ever did. The ride was silent, suffocating. I stared out the window, watching the city blur past, the neon lights streaking like blood against the darkness. My hands were cold, clammy. I clasped them tightly in my lap, trying to keep them from shaking. “You don’t have to do this,” I whispered, though my voice lacked conviction.

By the time Benjamin finished giving his statement at the police station and returned home, it was already past midnight. The moment he stepped into the house, he sensed something was wrong. It was too quiet. The massive mansion was shrouded in darkness. Not a single light was on. The occasional chirping of insects and whisper of wind in the courtyard suddenly felt jarring, eerily loud in the stillness. Benjamin frowned instinctively. No matter what time he came home, Nissa always left a light on for him. She once said that was what made it feel like home.