For years, I've been writing in silence, creating worlds, characters, and stories that lived only in the margins of my notebooks and tucked-away folders on my computer. Writing has always been my escape, something I've done for myself-a way to step out of reality for a moment and breathe through the lives of the people I've imagined. I've written and rewritten countless stories, always hesitant to share them, never quite confident enough to let anyone else peek into the depths of my mind. It's always felt like just a hobby, something personal, something safe. But deep down, I've carried a quiet dream of becoming a writer, even though it felt a little foolish to hope for something so big. Now, after pouring myself into this story for what feels like a lifetime, I've finally done it-I've uploaded all my chapters to Wattpad, sharing this piece of me with the world. I know I still have so much to learn, and I'm always striving to get better, but I would truly appreciate any feedback-good, constructive criticism that can help me grow. This is just the beginning, but it feels like a huge step forward.
Thank you for taking a chance on this book. Whatever brought you here, whether it was curiosity, a recommendation, or just a moment of wandering, I am truly grateful.
「 "𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐞𝐲𝐞"」
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My feet slammed into the grass, lungs on fire. Blood slicked my hands. I didn't look back. I knew he was there.
❝ Run, baby, run. Run for your fucking life,❞ he growled. ❝ When I catch you, I'll fuck you.❞
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𝓐𝓮𝓻𝓲 𝓥𝓪𝓵𝓮:
I bake bread. I keep my head down. I don't speak.
Silence is safer than begging. I learned that with blood in my mouth and my stepbrother's words crawling under my skin. He trades me like a cigarette, lit, used and passed on.
People forget me. They walk past and look through. But not him.
Aaron Deveraux. Leader of The Reapers. He saw me.
It started with roses, anonymous. Then came the late night shadows outside the bakery. Now, I feel him before I even hear his voice.
I try to run. But he likes it when I run.
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𝓐𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓾𝔁:
He smells like flour and fear. And I want both.
I call him Little Ghost because he floats through this rotten city like he's not part of it.
Mute. Soft. Fragile like glass. I'm gonna crack him open.
First time I saw him, I wanted to fuck the sound out of him. Second time, I wanted to ruin his mouth.
Now? I just want to keep him shaking and mine.
I'm not in love. I'm obsessed. He bakes bread and I break bones. We were never meant to touch. So I'll drag him into my world until he breaks in mine.
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