Tamuz14
Tamuz14's Books(9)
Love in crossfire
Short stories In a dystopian city perpetually cloaked in violence, dusk brings no peace-only gunfire, smoke, and sirens. Entire districts lie in ruins, patrolled by drones and military forces. Amidst the chaos, a resistance group fights for freedom.
Main Characters:
Maria Johnson: A resilient and idealistic field nurse, Maria treats the wounded in the shadows of rubble-strewn streets. She works tirelessly for the resistance, haunted by memories of Smith William, the man she once loved.
Smith William: A cold, calculating military spy, Smith was once part of the resistance but vanished years ago, abandoning Maria. Now embedded deep in government operations, he's torn between loyalty to his mission and the guilt of betrayal.
Williams Brown: A charismatic and forceful rebel leader, Brown believes in liberation at any cost. He's both revered and feared among his people. Secretly, he's the estranged son of Lotoya and was once a childhood friend of Maria and Smith.
Jone Sophia: A sharp, disillusioned camp prostitute who knows the secrets of soldiers and rebels alike. Though seen as an outsider, she plays a crucial role in shaping the narrative through whispered information and acts of quiet rebellion.
Miller Davis: Head of Interpol, Davis oversees global surveillance and has made the city his testing ground for new authoritarian control methods. Uncompromising and strategic, his real aim is to crush the resistance before it sparks a worldwide revolt.
Lotoya: Williams Brown's mother, once a civil rights advocate, now lives in isolation, shamed by her son's rebellion. She's caught between grief and pride, and her past might hold the key to peace-or more bloodshed.
Plot Summary:
The story opens with Maria racing through alleys at dusk to save a boy shot during a government raid. Blood paints the streets as the city erupts. She reunites with the resistance underground and is tasked with establishing a medical outpost near the frontlines.
Meanwhile, Smith William, under orders from Interpol and Miller Davis, infiltrates the resistance, pretending to be a defector. He's forced to confront Maria, who doesn't know if she should kill him or kiss him. Their chemistry reignites, but trust is shattered.
Williams Brown plans a massive uprising, with the help of coded transmissions intercepted from government lines. He recruits Jone Sophia to manipulate soldiers and leak intel. Though underestimated, Sophia's information proves critical to several operations.
Smith is torn. Miller Davis pressures him to kill Williams Brown and destroy the resistance from within, but old loyalties stir. Smith discovers that Davis plans to bomb entire districts to crush the uprising. Horrified, he secretly warns Maria.
Lotoya, sensing the storm, emerges from seclusion. She meets with Maria and reveals hidden documents from the city's past-evidence of human experiments and corruption that could dismantle Interpol's rule. Williams Brown confronts his mother, unleashing years of rage and sorrow. They part unresolved, but her truth fuels his final move.
In the climax, Smith helps Maria leak the documents. As the city erupts in simultaneous rebellion and military crackdown, Miller Davis orders an aerial strike. Smith sacrifices himself to stop the drone control hub.
Maria survives, wounded, carrying Smith's last message: a confession of love and regret.
Williams Brown, now a symbolic figure, retreats into exile, leaving others to rebuild. Jone Sophia vanishes, her legacy living in the whispered tales of a woman who knew too much. The vow and the vendetta
Short stories The remote village in the highlands, once lush and tranquil. In a temporary shelter, Isabella Sanchez provides assistance to the injured. The growing tension overshadows her quiet moments with rebel fighter Damian Philips. Although he arrives under the guise of documenting peace, Hernandez Lopez has secret plans. The tough police chief, Ander Thomas, tries to uphold the law in a place where there is no law. Before the war, Isabella and Racheal's childhood is shown through flashbacks. The brotherhood of Damian and Raphael is put to the test because Raphael has chosen to support the government. As supplies become scarce, villagers and soldiers become increasingly tense. Lopez conducts interviews with villagers, revealing alarming details about massacres that were obfuscated by both sides. Raphael leads the government team in a surprise attack on the village. Damian has been hurt. He is hidden by Isabella. Ander has to choose between duty and compassion. Racheal confronts Isabella about harboring a rebel, disillusioned by both sides. The articles written by Lopez begin to appear all over the world. Raphael finds Damian in Isabella's house, but he holds off on killing him. Ander sets up a covert ceasefire to allow civilians to be evacuated. Rogue elements from both sides orchestrate a violent ambush to break up the plan. Lopez sustains an injury while capturing the chaos. In the crossfire, Racheal dies trying to save wounded children. Isabella gives Lopez medical attention despite losing faith. Only one of Damian and Raphael survives the final confrontation. After being overruled by superiors, Ander resigns. The real story is told all over the world by Lopez. After a few months, Isabella contributes to the international aid reconstruction of the village. Lopez dedicates a book to Racheal for publication. Isabella finds peace in her work while Damian's fate is unknown. A child asks Isabella in the final scene whether war will return. She leaves a hauntingly unanswered response. More than just mist was carried by the highlands' air. It carried the spirits of the living-women who buried their dreams in the ground and men who fought like beasts. While his mother wept alongside her, Isabella Sanchez applied a damp cloth to a boy's bleeding shoulder. Camphor, blood, and prayer were all present in the old chapel that had been converted into a clinic, but none of them were sufficient. The mother spoke softly, "They came in the night." "Again."
Isabella gave a nod. She no longer inquired about "they." When you were digging graves in the morning, everyone looked the same-mercenaries, troops from the government, and rebels. The fog outside rolled like an army down the hills. She could make out Damian Philips's silhouette behind the broken stained glass, rifle in hand, eyes scanning the horizon. He hadn't slept. His once-soft hands were now callused from conflict. They trembled when they touched hers, perhaps out of love or guilt. He whispered, "Lopez is back," in a low voice. "Assumes that he is writing about peace." "Is that now what they call it?" She replied in a hollow tone. With promises, a press badge, and a camera, Hernandez Lopez had arrived. He spoke of international aid and the Geneva Conventions, but his eyes were sharp and calculated. He was seeking the truth, but which version was it? The silence was broken by a loud knock. Ander Thomas, the last law enforcement figure in the village, intervened. His uniform was filthy, the buttons weren't matched, and his badge was hanging loosely, like it had been forgotten. Ander mumbled, "We got problems." "Raphael's group is approaching from the east. sweep by the government." Damian became stern. "A brother?" Ander nodded grimly. Between them, Isabella looked around. "He will slay you." Damian responded, "Only if he finds me." However, the optimism in his voice was reflected in the way his fingers twisted around the rifle's butt. Whispers of a double life
Short stories The city's skyline was both stunning and threatening as it shone through the morning mist. Sophia Brown almost appeared to be someone else from the penthouse window of a chic condo in Jersey City-perhaps a corporate consultant or a real estate lawyer with a wine collection and a Pilates routine. Instead, she was a fugitive who breathed stolen air under the alias "Sophia Brown," with miles of lies covering up her true past. She tightened the silk robe around her waist and looked at Rodriguez Martinez, the man who was still sleeping next to her. Rich, hospitable, and dangerously in love. He had no idea that the woman he revered was hiding not only from her past but also from those who would do anything to keep it hidden. Sophia did not have a Brown birth name. Serena Ramirez was born to Don Ramirez, a powerful businessman who later became a criminal who ran an empire that was built on charm, fraud, and occasionally blood. Her early years had taught her survival skills and manipulation. But Serena vanished when Don's empire collapsed. She needed to. She was told not to talk about threats, a fire, or the death of her brother. Only her stepsister, Felicia Lawson, knew where Serena had gone after she left. Felicia was always the preferred child and the one who knew how to wear a secret like a diamond necklace, so the two of them had never been able to get along. However, the Ramirez family's blood had an odd way of sticking to each other. Serena, now Sophia, had known other men like Rodriguez Martinez. He did not inquire excessively or delve into her resume's omissions. He managed investments for clients who wore gold Rolexes and committed legal offenses while working in finance. Sophia possessed a grace that he thought was uncommon in his world: she was a woman devoid of ambition or calculation. He was, of course, wrong. Everything about Sophia's life had been planned. Her relationship with Rodriguez had begun as a means of self-defense and the creation of a new identity within the life of a respectable man. Despite her better judgment, she had slowly fallen for him. Her first error was that. Her second came when she began utilizing Rodriguez's access to look into the funds that vanished when her father passed away. Money does not simply disappear. It conceals. Felicia entered the city without prior notice. In a beige trench coat and sunglasses, she showed up at Sophia's door as if she were just another socialite looking for brunch. Sophia, however, knew better. Felicia never showed up without a reason. "What do you desire?" Sophia inquired. Felicia laughed. "Funny. I was going to inquire similarly of you. They sat opposite one another as if playing chess. Felicia declared, "Dad is back." "And now he is dying." Sophia hesitated. "Good."
"You did not intend that. He desires to see you. "He probably wants to kill me." Felicia lost her smile. "Maybe. Or perhaps he wants to reveal the truth to you about your brother." Sophia had always held the belief that the fire that destroyed their family's estate was the cause of Julian's death. Felicia and their father's old friends told the tale in low tones. However, Felicia was now implying that it was a fabrication. Julian was still alive. He had vanished. Perhaps he is still alive. Sophia was crushed by the possibility's weight. Everything she had built was based on a bigger lie if Julian had lived. Rodriguez noticed that she had changed-she was now more icy and distracted. He said one night, his voice thick with worry, "You're pulling away." "What are you not telling me?"
She nearly informed him. Almost confessed everything, including the fire, her brother, her stolen identity, and ruined past. She just couldn't. No, not yet. Using Rodriguez's network, Sophia retraced the old money. She was shocked to discover accounts linked to a shadow corporation in the Cayman Islands. Are you one of the recipients? Julian Ramirez is a man. Without informing Rodriguez, she booked a flight to the Bahamas. Felicia demanded to go with her when she found out. She stated, "Whether we like it or not, we're in this together now." They found the bank in Nassau. They came across the account. They also discovered Julian. The sight of them did not surprise him. He said, "It was Dad's idea." He fabricated the fire. I remained alive. I was expelled. "Why?" Shaky, Sophia asked. Because I was too knowledgeable. about the people for whom he worked. about the things they wanted from him and you. Rodriguez was spiraling back in New Jersey. He was beginning to investigate Sophia's identity. He discovered a photo, a newspaper article, a police report-each presented a different picture. Then Sophia came back. Before he could respond, she said, "I'm not who you think I am." Serena Ramirez: My name is Serena. Don Ramirez is my father. My brother is still here. Furthermore, I have misled you about everything." Rodriguez was torn between anger and sadness as he stared at her. He told her, "I loved you." Laced with lies
Short stories Juliet leaned against the weathered rail of the boardwalk, the salty breeze tangling her hair as she closed her eyes. Allen's laughter echoed in her mind-quiet, low, the kind that wrapped around her ribs and stayed. They used to sit on this very spot, passing sketches between them, dreaming of galleries and quiet lives. He had called her "wild with restraint," a phrase she never understood until he was gone. She could still feel the warmth of his hand in hers, the way his eyes softened when he looked at her art.
"Don't vanish," he had whispered.
And yet, she had.
The town of Bridgeport hadn't changed much in eight years. The same white cottages lined the coast, the same gulls circled overhead, and the same scent of seaweed and cinnamon buns from Margie's Diner floated on the wind. It was Juliet who had shifted, reformed, rebuilt herself in cities where no one knew her name.
She turned back from the rail and walked toward the cluster of buildings that made up the town's center. Her father's campaign posters were pasted on nearly every pole-Lewis Johnson for State Senate. The sight made her stomach twist.
Juliet had returned for three reasons: to sell her late mother's house, to visit Allen's grave, and to face the past long enough to escape it for good. But the house had not welcomed her. Dusty, echoing, full of old canvases she'd never finished, the rooms felt like frozen whispers of a girl she no longer was.
She reached Margie's and stepped inside, the bell over the door chiming like an old friend. A few heads turned. A pause. Then came the hush.
"Juliet Johnson?" Margie stepped from behind the counter, wiping her hands on her apron, eyes wide. "Well, I'll be. You're a ghost."
Juliet smiled faintly. "Just visiting."
Margie's hug was warm and cinnamon-scented. "Your daddy'll be glad to know you're in town."
Juliet doubted that. "I'll stop by."
Margie gave her a booth and a slice of cherry pie without asking. As she ate, Juliet stared at the walls. Photos from decades past filled them: fishermen, town fairs, prom queens, and one image in particular-a black-and-white shot of Allen and Juliet on the boardwalk, his arm draped around her shoulder, both laughing mid-sentence.
It hurt to look at. So she didn't.
The next morning, Juliet walked to the cemetery on the edge of town, her sketchpad tucked under her arm. She passed rows of sun-faded headstones until she reached Allen's. The marker was modest-Allen Graves, Beloved Son, Dreamer, 1989–2017. At its base were seashells, dried flowers, and a small bundle of pencils bound by twine.
She knelt. Ran her fingers over the name. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I shouldn't have left the way I did."
There was no reply, of course. Just the distant crash of waves and the rustling of dune grass. But Juliet opened her sketchbook anyway and began to draw. A boy at peace. A sea that never stopped moving.
She didn't hear the footsteps until they were close. A small voice broke the silence. "Are you an artist?"
Juliet turned. A boy stood a few feet away, freckled, maybe ten years old, holding a crumpled bag of marbles. He looked like Allen had once-same dark hair, same curious eyes.
"I am," she said.
"My name's Marco. My granddad's buried over there." He pointed. "What's your name?"
"Juliet."
He nodded solemnly, then peered at the sketch. "He looks nice."
"He was."
Marco looked at the grave. "You must've loved him."
Juliet didn't answer right away. "I did. In ways I didn't understand until I couldn't tell him anymore."
Marco sat cross-legged beside her, uninvited but not unwelcome. "I think when you draw someone, it means you still love them."
Juliet smiled. "You might be right."
They sat there for a while, two strangers in quiet company. When Juliet finally stood, Marco said, "You should come to the boardwalk fair. It's tomorrow night. My mom says it's the best thing about this town."
Juliet hesitated, then nodded. "Maybe I will."
Later that afternoon, she found herself in her father's office. Lewis Johnson stood behind his desk, speaking into a headset, gesturing toward charts on a whiteboard. Politics still clung to him like cologne. Juliet waited until he noticed her.
He froze mid-sentence.
"Juliet," he said, removing the headset.
"Hello, Dad."
He crossed the room in two strides and pulled her into a surprisingly firm hug. "It's been too long."
She stiffened, then relaxed. "Eight years."
"You could've called."
"You could've asked why I left."
A beat passed. He didn't answer. Instead, he motioned to a chair. "You look well."
"So do you. Campaigning suits you."
"It's exhausting." He smiled thinly. "But rewarding. We're close."
Juliet nodded, unsure what to say. So many unspoken things between them.
He cleared his throat. "Your brother's organizing the fair tomorrow. It's part of the campaign. You should come. Reconnect."
"Reconnect with who?"
"With the town. With you Echoes of her kiss
Short stories A quiet, brooding seaside town-out of season, filled with gray skies, the scent of salt, and crashing waves. A distant lighthouse watches like a sentry over secrets buried in time.
Juliet Johnson returns after eight years-now a solitary, reclusive artist-summoned by a letter from her brother, Jones. She is met by the chilling familiarity of the town and memories of Mario Telly, the man she once loved and left behind. The lighthouse becomes a recurring symbol: a guide, a warning.
Lewis Johnson, her calculating and image-obsessed father, is running a campaign for regional governor. His reputation, built on false morality and suppressed scandals, depends on alliances. His current project: grooming Anderson Williamson, the ambitious son of wealthy industrialist Taylor Williamson, as Juliet's future husband.
Jones, Juliet's brother, serves as the campaign's loyal executor-cleaning scandals, controlling narratives, and silencing dissent. He believes loyalty to their father is a noble cause. Juliet sees it as servitude.
Juliet is introduced to Sophia Williamson, her father's illegitimate daughter. Sophia, sharp-witted and ambitious, has grown up in the shadows and seeks her place in the family legacy. Juliet is torn between empathy and mistrust.
Mario Telly, now a local fisherman and folk hero, bears the scars of Juliet's departure. Once the town's golden boy, his opposition to Lewis's politics made him an outsider. He is the voice of the town's truth-bitter, honest, and unforgiving.
As Lewis prepares for a major political gala, Juliet discovers documents hidden in her father's study-evidence of land acquisitions, bribery, and the silencing of whistleblowers, all orchestrated in tandem with Taylor Williamson. The lighthouse grounds, she learns, are to be sold for development.
Juliet rekindles a hesitant connection with Mario. He reveals her father's role in the downfall of his family's boat business. They begin planning a subtle resistance-Juliet with her paintings, Mario with the support of townspeople.
At the grand gala, Juliet publicly unveils a haunting painting series: abstract, storm-laden seascapes hinting at corruption, decay, and betrayal. Whispers spread like wildfire. Lewis fumes. Taylor wants to stop the damage. Anderson, feeling used and manipulated, turns on his father. Sophia confronts Lewis, declaring she will not be hidden or shamed. Jones begins to crack under the pressure of conscience.
The town awakens. News spreads. Journalists arrive. Lewis tries to buy Juliet's silence, but she refuses, choosing truth over family legacy. Mario and Juliet stand together at the lighthouse, watching the sea consume the gray morning.
Sophia starts her own political podcast, exposing power games and giving voice to the silenced. Anderson leaves politics for good. Jones vanishes from the public eye, disillusioned. Lewis's empire crumbles. Juliet, though uncertain of what comes next, opens a gallery in the town. The lighthouse still stands-weathered but resilient. Much like Juliet.
Deception in love
Others The skylight cast a watery hue over the chrome polished floor of the Loft Blanc Gallery, nestled in the heart of Jersey City's elite district. The gallery was an architectural marvel, a seamless fusion of industrial grit and avant-garde elegance steel beams curved overhead like ribs of an exposed heart, and sprawling white walls pulsed with the vibrant expressions of tortured genius.
Tonight, the elite brushed shoulders in whispers. Art critics with balding crowns leaned into the curves of women with sharpened smiles. Cameras clicked, champagne flutes clinked, and beneath the polite chaos stood Fred Coleman-tall, perfectly dressed, with that thin-lipped smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Fred wasn't here for the art.
He never was.
"Racheal Lopez has a new piece in Room C," whispered one of the curators, a red-haired assistant who tried not to stare too long at Fred's tailored midnight-blue suit.
His heart pinched at the name.
Racheal Lopez.
She hadn't been seen in public for five years. Not since she vanished, leaving behind a trail of scandal and a ruined engagement. Fred had spent years burying the memory of her-the burn of her perfume, the tilt of her laughter, the things she knew. Things she wasn't supposed to know.
He moved towards Room C.
Each step echoed with ghosts. Not of art, but of buried lies.
As he entered, the crowd hushed slightly. A towering oil painting loomed under a golden spotlight. It depicted a faceless man, his suit stained with red paint that ran like blood down the canvas. His eyes were smeared out, but the title screamed clarity.
"The Collector."
Fred froze.
It was him.
She had painted him. Not as he appeared in the polished world of finance and aesthetics, but as what he truly was-an orchestrator. A man who curated deception with the finesse of an artist.
"She knows," whispered a voice behind him.
He turned. It was Kelvin, the one-eyed Gulf War veteran turned assistant-his most trusted employee. Or so Fred had once thought.
"She's back in Jersey," Kelvin continued, tugging at his collar. "I saw her."
Fred's jaw clenched. "Why now?"
Kelvin gave a half shrug. "Maybe she wants to finish what she started."
Meanwhile, in the gallery's corner, Sophia Silas-his ever-efficient secretary-tapped away on her phone, pretending to answer emails while secretly recording faces. She wasn't just an assistant. She was a gatekeeper. And she knew too much.
And then there was Albert Samuel, standing like an iron statue by the gallery's emergency exit. The kind of policeman who smiled only once at his own retirement party, fifteen years too early. He wasn't here for the art either. His eyes scanned the crowd for threats, suspects, or sins.
"Fred Coleman," he said, his deep voice slicing through the velvet chatter as he stepped forward. "We need to talk. Now."
Fred didn't flinch. "Can it wait until after the gallery closes?"
That was Albert. A man who wrestled order into chaos with his bare hands.
From a distance, Maria Terino watched. She had always envied Sophia her elegance, her charm, the way men looked at her like she was a Monet. But Maria knew Sophia's secrets. They shared more than friendship they shared guilt.
And guilt was heavy currency in this city.
At the gallery entrance, Forlan Rice adjusted his badge. He was the only officer on duty tonight who still believed in redemption. He held a soft spot for Fred. Maybe because he'd once seen him donate anonymously to a shelter. Or maybe because he saw a flicker of humanity still buried beneath the mask.
He didn't know that Fred's masks had layers.
Fred followed Albert Samuel into a narrow hallway behind the gallery. The silence screamed.
"She's back," Albert said. "You know what that means."
Fred met his eyes. "She's not a threat anymore."
Albert laughed dryly. "She was never just a threat, Fred. She was a fuse. And you built your entire gallery on a powder keg."
"She disappeared."
Albert stepped closer. "Because you paid her to. But ghosts don't stay buried. Racheal's painting is a warning."
Fred's jaw clenched. "I'll handle it."
"You'd better," Albert said. "Before someone else does."
Sophia felt the hairs on her arm rise. Someone was watching her.
She turned.
And there she was.
Racheal Lopez.
In a black dress, lips stained wine-dark, and eyes like silent daggers.
"Long time, Sophia," Racheal said.
Sophia swallowed hard. "I heard you left the country."
"I did. But Jersey always pulls me back. Like a bad dream."
They stood in tense silence.
"I see you still work for him," Racheal added, glancing at the hallway Fred had vanished into.
Sophia narrowed her eyes. "You don't get to come back and play ghost."
Racheal smirked. "I'm not here to haunt. I'm here to remind him of what he tried to forget."
"What do you want?"
Racheal's voice turned cold. "The truth."
In the shadows, Kelvin made a call. His hands shook slightly. He didn't owe Fred l Secret love Affairs
Romance The prided itself on elegance and righteousness. Marble-clad cathedrals, high-rise buildings draped in shimmering glass, and a skyline punctuated by the gold cross of Saint Ursula's Cathedral all signs of a place that sold itself as godly and just. Beneath its spotless surface, however, hid networks of deception, espionage, and the relentless pursuit of control.
It was on a chilly Saturday evening that the Cornwell estate hosted the most extravagant engagement party of the season. Racheal Cornwell, the bishop's eldest daughter, was now officially betrothed to Victor Launch, a polished businessman with a murky past. The ballroom shimmered with chandeliers, soft jazz played beneath the murmurs of political elites, and champagne flowed like truth in the pulpit rare and intoxicating.
Sophia Cornwell, Racheal's younger sister, leaned against the marble rail of the terrace, watching her sister perform the part of the happy fiancée. Sophia knew better. Racheal was calculating, Victor was ambitious, and their love story was less of a romance and more of a treaty. The Cornwells weren't just a family; they were an empire. Bishop Cornwell, revered across the state for his sermons and philanthropic work, held power far beyond the pulpit. His influence reached politicians, law enforcement, and the financial elite. He believed in morality but never let it interfere with power.
Inside the party, Governor Arnold Walsh gave a speech praising the couple and the Cornwell family's legacy. Eleanor Dorwell, the bishop's discreet yet intelligent secretary, stood quietly in the back, noting every interaction. Eleanor wasn't just a secretary she was the keeper of secrets. She kept files hidden in old hymnals, phone recordings disguised as prayers, and names written in invisible ink beneath her Bible's cover. She knew the real Grenswick.
Police Chief George Orwell arrived late. His silver badge gleamed under his coat, but his eyes were sharp, always calculating. He greeted the bishop with a firm handshake and leaned in. "Your city's starting to hum again, Cornwell. I can hear the wires underground.
Two days later, in a darkened room beneath the cathedral, a coded message arrived. A hidden network known as The Veil a group of spies and informants who had long worked to uncover the city's corrupt underbelly was active again. A drop point behind the old cemetery revealed documents exposing covert property seizures, money laundering by religious institutions, and a surveillance scheme run from within the governor's office.
Sophia, more rebellious and independent than her sister, discovered the documents while investigating her father's strange late-night meetings. A brilliant but reckless codebreaker, Sophia had long suspected the cathedral was more than a place of worship. She followed Eleanor one night, dressed in a choir robe, and watched her enter the sealed chambers below.
Inside, Sophia found evidence that turned her stomach: records of government-sanctioned surveillance, hush money paid to witnesses, and strategic alliances disguised as donations. Victor Launch's name appeared repeatedly.
Meanwhile, Racheal began noticing Victor's late-night calls and unexplained absences. She followed him one evening to a hidden apartment in the industrial zone. There, she found him meeting with Chief Orwell and a masked stranger. She took photos but kept silent. If the Cornwells lost power, their enemies would swarm.
The bishop preached about divine justice, while Eleanor worked behind the scenes to protect the real motives of the event cementing alliances and neutralizing threats.
Governor Walsh agreed to give a televised address from the cathedral on the final night of the revival. Secretly, he was under pressure from The Veil, who had planted agents within his staff. Eleanor had picked up whispers of a coup an attempt to bring down the Cornwell dynasty during the broadcast.
"You know he's working against us," she said, tossing the surveillance photos on her sister's desk. "Victor. He's not marrying you he's infiltrating."
Racheal stared coldly. "And yet, I still might marry him. Power is loyalty. I can use him better than he can use me."
Sophia shook her head. "You're playing his game."
"No," Racheal replied. "I'm rewriting the rules."
Eleanor met with Chief Orwell secretly in the underground chapel.
"You're losing control," he said. "The younger one is sniffing around. The bishop's gotten too bold. Even Walsh is slipping."
Eleanor replied, "Then we tighten the screws. Use the preacher's voice to silence the rebellion."
"But what if the rebellion is already inside?"
They didn't know that Sophia had recorded the entire conversation.
As the revival began, Grenswick's streets swelled with worshippers and cameras. Drones hovered over the cathedral, and every pew was filled. But behind the stained glass, the war for the city was reaching its climax.
Eleanor was intercepted by an anon Hidden Identity
Others Elizabeth Taylor was a ghost in the system at least, that's what the agency used to call her before she disappeared. A gifted hacker with a photographic memory and a rebellious streak, she had once been the pride of an elite cyber-intelligence unit. That was before the botched operation in Prague, the files that went missing, and the betrayal that almost cost her life. Now, she lives under a fake identity in the grimy outskirts of New York City, posing as a freelance tech consultant named "Eliza Trent." Quiet, unassuming, and invisible until she makes a single misstep that shatters the delicate illusion of her new life.
Back when Elizabeth was still Elizabeth, they were more than just lovers they were soulmates. Bound by a mutual love of code and danger, their relationship burned fast and bright in a time when Elizabeth was still working as an undercover cyber-agent. But she left him behind after the Prague incident, disappearing without a word. She assumed he'd moved on, that he hated her for vanishing. But now, by some twist of fate, he's in New York. And he recognizes her immediately.
He's not in intelligence anymore. After she disappeared, he quit everything government, freelancing, even his AI startup. Now he runs a bookstore and vintage café in Brooklyn, a kind of sanctuary for the broken. When he sees her on the street same eyes, new name his world tilts. He follows her. Carefully. Elizabeth knows someone is tracking her, and when she finally corners him, a wave of guilt and nostalgia knocks the air out of both.
But rekindling old feelings only complicates her already dangerous reality.
Elizabeth thought she covered her tracks. She used proxies. Burned SIMs. Masked every IP address that so much as touched her servers. But the photos say otherwise.
They arrive in a plain white envelope, dropped at her door. Her real name is on the back. So are the photos some from years ago in Prague, others disturbingly recent. And then, there's the note: "Tell him. Or I will."
He or they know everything. They know about Philip. About her hacking history. About a list she stole once called "Protocol Red," which contained the names of compromised agents worldwide names she hid to protect herself. But whoever this is, they want more than exposure. They want her back in the game.
She receives a burner phone the next day. A robotic voice gives her her first task: "Extract and erase security footage of a certain address. Send it through a Russian relay server. Do it within 24 hours."
By day, she's "Eliza," a private consultant with a quiet reputation for fixing encryption issues. She's even got a nosy landlord, Nathan Duplin, a balding former librarian who reads conspiracy theories and complains about suspicious noises at night. Nathan tries to meddle into her business too often, and Elizabeth suspects he might be more than he seems especially when she finds a wiretap device behind her radiator.
Then there's Gilbert Lines, a slick-talking tech support contractor who regularly invites himself into her world under the guise of "work gigs" and shared industry. He's smart, loyal to a fault, and helpful too helpful. Elizabeth notices inconsistencies in his timelines. Why does he always show up when she's being watched?
Meanwhile, her relationship with Philip intensifies. He believes she's in danger, but she won't tell him the full truth. Not yet. He invites her to stay with him temporarily when her apartment is vandalized (nothing stolen, just a warning). The intimacy of their new-old relationship is both comforting and devastating. She still loves him, but her secret is a chasm too wide to cross.
Brian Woodward is an NYPD officer working undercover for an inter-agency cybercrime task force. His current case? Track the source of a string of sophisticated breaches that seem linked to the infamous "ghost" hacker who vanished years ago. When Elizabeth unknowingly hacks a police database to complete one of the blackmailer's tasks, it triggers a red flag and Woodward is assigned to follow her.
He pretends to be a fellow tenant in the building, charming and friendly, using Nathan's suspicions as a cover to spend time in her orbit. He starts to fall for her complexity, not realizing she's the very target he's hunting. When he finds a photo of her with Philip from years ago, he begins to suspect that the rabbit hole is deeper than a simple identity fraud case.
Now they want Elizabeth to break into a federal agency's secure server and retrieve a list codenamed "Frost Thread" a cache of blackmail material used by an old European intelligence cell. She realizes the list is tied to the same Protocol Red she stole before. The blackmailer has intimate knowledge of the operation in Prague, which means only one of three people could be behind this.
She traces digital fingerprints back to Gilbert Lines. His work history doesn't hold up under scrutiny. When she finally confronts hi You might like
His Nasty Little Virgin
viviane *Warning* This book contains explicit content and it's rated 18+. They can be read as standalone as they are all age-gap romances.
Hope y'all are ready for a pleasant ride.
xoxo.
"Oh, please, sir. Please, fuck me!" I screamed in delirium.
The heat from him disappeared for a moment, and I was sad and scared. Where did he go? What had I done wrong now? But he returned, sheathed and ready to plunge into me.
"Oh, thank God," I said breathlessly.
He chuckled a little; slowly he slid in, adjusting me on the sink, aligning me to his dick. Each thrust sent me further into a manic need to come. Perhaps I was screaming, because his hand covered my mouth. For a brief moment, I was frightened. I was panting so hard it blocked my need to breathe, but then his voice was in my ear.
"Come for me, bluebird."
TABOO
Goddy Francis The Forbidden Fruit always tastes sweeter.
***
TABOO is a collection of forbidden erotic, steamy sex, romance stories. In this world of pleasure, fantasy becomes reality, and reality becomes an erotic sexual experience that you can't forget. Cheating husbands, lying priests, dirty stepdads, professors, stepbrothers, threesome with a total stranger, family orgies, and even horny nuns.
Why don't you dive into this steamy collections just for you? My Anniversary, His Betrayal
Gavin I clutched a vintage watch, my perfect anniversary gift, driving towards the hotel. Three years—three secret years with Ethan, my boyfriend, the man I believed saved my life. Tonight was meant to be the perfect surprise, a celebration of our love, our future.
Then I saw him. Not alone, but cradling his disheveled ex, Sophia, dismissing my brother’s frantic warnings. My world shattered as Ethan’s cold words echoed: "Olivia? She was just a stand-in. Convenient." The earth tilted when Noah, my brother, burst out the truth: "That wasn’t even you, Ethan! Liam Peterson saved her!"
The man I’d adored was a fraud. My three years, our "love" – a cruel charade built on a lie he'd actively perpetuated. He then let his toxic ex publicly humiliate me, accuse me, and even physically attack me, leaving me broken. All while he shielded her.
How could I have been so blind? This wasn't just heartbreak; it was the obliteration of my entire reality. The hero I cherished, a coward. The love I believed in, a calculated lie. Why? What monstrous game were they playing?
From the ashes of betrayal, a new fire ignited. Ethan Vance thought he’d broken me, but he’d only unleashed a Hayes. I moved to London, not just escaping, but prepared to reclaim my truth and forge a life that would burn brighter than any star. Dark cravings; A collection of short, steamy stories
Shakespen You deserve the best, and that's why "Dark Cravings" is the perfect collection of short erotic stories for YOU!
With "Dark Cravings", you will find the sluttiest and craziest séx stories that will keep you wanting for more.
This compilation consists of steamy stories along the themes of: Forbidden romance, Office romance, threesomes, crazy fetishes, taboo sex, one-night stands, and lots more!!
Are you ready to dive into the world of erotica?
Then, read this book NOW! Be careful-you might get too wet and lose control!
Disclaimer: This book contains multiple explicit scenes and is rated 18+ and not suitable for readers who are underage. 
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