Historical Fiction

Victoria Harrington’s face was a mask of crimson, a priceless painting cracking in real-time. The murmurings from the surrounding tables were quiet, but to her, they must have sounded like sirens. Being contradicted was new territory for her. Being publicly proven wrong by a child—a disabled, homeless child—was an extinction-level event for her ego. “Alexander,…

The sun hadn’t just risen that morning; it had mocked me. It poured blinding light over the desert town, exposing the shame I carried like a scarlet letter. I was eight years old, but I felt ancient, weighed down by years of tiptoeing around a man whose rage was as dry and unpredictable as the…

The emergency room at Milfield Community Hospital exploded the second we came through the doors. I’ve seen trauma bays in action, but this felt different. This felt personal. “Severe dehydration, malnourishment, multiple contusions,” a doctor with sharp, tired eyes—Dr. Sarah Connors, I’d learn later—called out. I stood back, my hat in my hands, feeling useless….

…I stared at the $10 bill he’d thrown on the table. It was a violation. An insult pressed flat on the dark wood. I looked up, startled, blinking the heat from my eyes. A little girl. She was standing just a few feet away, her head tilted, a mess of golden curls framing a serious,…

…She looked at me, then at Ellie. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed. “I’m Clare,” she said, her voice a raw whisper. “Clare Harper.” “I’m Andrew. And this is Ellie.” Ellie, bless her, just waved. “Hi, Miss Clare.” A flicker of a smile, so fragile it nearly broke me. But it was the quiver in…

…She didn’t sip it. She just held it. A lifeline. Her fingers, which I had only seen digging through refuse, were now wrapped around a cup I’d paid for with pocket change. The contrast was a physical blow. Her nails were short, impeccably clean, despite the raw, red chap of her knuckles. It was a…

The first thing you have to understand is that I was already dead. I just hadn’t told my body yet. For three years, ever since the monitors in Eleanor’s hospital room went flat, I had been operating on code. Wake up. Put on the suit. Ride the private elevator. Stare at the numbers. Sign the…

The clock on the wall of my Palo Alto study read 11:47 PM. Outside, the rain was a visceral, violent thing, slamming against the panoramic glass walls of my mansion. I was Andrew Grant—master of my universe, CEO of Grant Technologies, a man whose net worth was measured in nine figures. But in the quiet,…

The Price of Silence: How One Boy’s Unflinching Trust in a Housekeeper Forced His Tycoon Father to Choose Love Over Protocol My name is Jack Morgan. For years, I defined myself by precision: the quarterly returns, the closing deals, the sterile, towering success of my life. My world was black and white, dictated by logic,…

ACT I: The Whiteout   The snow wasn’t just falling; it was a physical assault. A white-out nightmare 20 miles outside the city, and I was trapped in it, immobile, in an SUV that cost more than most people’s homes. I am Wyatt Brennan. At 38, I am the master of my universe. As the…

The locker room smelled of old sweat and industrial disinfectant, a smell that was, strangely, one of the most comforting in the world to me. It smelled like work. It smelled like focus. I peeled off the baggy “Ridgeway High” sweatshirt the school nurse had given me, tossing it into a locker. My ruined skirt…

I wasn’t just cold. I was disappearing. The December wind didn’t just pass through my thin cream-colored dress; it owned it. It owned me. I was 24, but the street makes you old, fast. My reflection in the dark bus stop glass looked like a ghost with my mother’s eyes. My feet… God, my feet….