The Woman In The Window Book Novels & Stories

The shattered glass had been swept up. The book was back on the desk, closed, placed neatly as though it had always been there. The dresser surface had been reset…new candle, new glass, the decorative box replaced with an identical one or perhaps the same one, reassembled. Someone had come in while I slept and put everything back. The thought sat with me uncomfortably. A woman was moving near the window. Small, middle-aged, wearing plain dark clothing, a cloth in one hand. She was dusting the windowsill with methodical attention, working her way along the frame in small, precise strokes.

Inquire within. I pushed open the door and a bell chimed softly. The interior was cramped but cozy with books stacked everywhere in organized chaos. An elderly woman looked up from behind the counter. Her hair was white and her eyes were kind behind wire-rimmed glasses. "Can I help you?" Her voice was warm. "The room." I pointed at the window. "Is it still available?" "You are the first person to ask in weeks." She smiled. "Most young people want something more modern than a tiny space above a dusty bookstore."

From a distance, it looked like something out of a magazine, with warm lights pouring through the windows, smoke curling lazily from the chimney. It was the definition of what a safe space would look like. Of a peaceful vacation for tourists. Exactly the illusion we wanted. I stood near the window, watching the snow drift down the rooftops in lazy spirals. If anyone was watching through a scope right now, this was what they would see: A woman hiding behind a window, looking defenseless and cornered by their tactics. A perfect prey for their perfect strike. However, the sound of something clanging against a wooden surface behind me, caused me to tense up just a little as I exhaled softly.

She was already leaning. Lyana waited at the penthouse window, the city lights glittering below like jewels scattered on black velvet. She touched the diamonds at her throat, adjusted the silk gown clinging to her curves, and smiled. She knew Clara would come. Of course she would. Abandoned girls always ran to the first hand stretched out. Lyana had learned that lesson long ago—and now it was Clara’s turn. When the elevator chimed and Clara stepped in, damp from rain, shoulders tense, Lyana opened her arms wide.

So, should I truly be as shocked as I was? It took an hour to reach The Window. It was on the pack border closest to the mansion. I got out of the car and told the driver to wait for me. The Window was a tall, black marble tower-like building on the edge of the cliff. With its foreboding architecture and haunting silence, it lived up to its reputation. My gait was fueled not only with rage at Olivia's unjust arrest but with everything that had been going on for the past two days. I was given confidence by the mark on my neck and the baby growing in my belly. The guards did not stop me. I'd dare them to try.

Zach says as we begin walking to the library again. We walk in, waving at the woman who is standing guard at the front window like someone might decide to steal some books. Since Piper and Zach seem to know where they’re going, we follow them back to a secluded corner of the library. It’s darker back here but there’s a table set up and a young woman is there with a computer in front of her, typing away at lightening speed.

I let out a long sigh, leaning my head back against the chair, preparing myself for another lonely night in the dark. Then, I heard a tiny sound right outside my bedroom window. My window was on the side of the house, surrounded by thick iron bars that blocked anyone from climbing out. But the glass window itself was pushed open an inch to let air into the room. I froze, turning my head slowly toward the small window frame. Through the narrow gap between the glass and the wooden bars, I saw a hand reach out quickly, resting against the outer wall. It was the woman in the blue dress. She had pretended to leave through the front gate, but she had sneaked around the side of the house while Lanc

"That's very kind of you. You can leave them on the desk." I walked in. I kept my eyes forward, set the cloth down on the edge of his desk, and told myself very firmly not to look at the woman by the window. I looked at the woman by the window. She was watching me. She was.... there was no other word for it.... stunning. The kind of face that stopped you without asking permission, sharp and elegant and completely certain of itself. Her hair was dark, her eyes were light, and she held herself with the particular stillness of someone who had learned to take up exactly as much space as they intended to and not a fraction more.

"An unconventional one. But a yes." Outside my window, the city carried on exactly as it always had, indifferent and constant, utterly unaware that somewhere within its glittering, restless sprawl, a woman who had once built her entire identity around a single fractured story had finally, fully, found her way into one that actually belonged to her. -

I was losing control of something I'd spent decades trying to master. My attention kept drifting back to the window. I tried not to look, I really did, but my eyes kept pulling in that direction like there were magnets on the glass. Through the window, I could see Maya walking to the bookshelf. She selected a book, the same one Thelma had read to her on the first day, the one with the animals and the seasons, and carried it back to the table. Thelma reached for it, but Maya pulled back, shaking her head. Then, before I could process what was happening, she opened the book and began to read.