The5thNovelist

Ichiro Huang. That was my name—or at least the name my father had chosen for me at birth. A strong, masculine name meant to cloak my true identity. In truth, I was born a girl, the firstborn in a family where that alone was an unforgivable sin. Shamefully skilled with the sword, I carried two curses: my gender and my prowess. Both marked me for death. Death by silence. Death by the sword.
          
          The laws of our land were clear, etched into the bones of history long before my time. A woman was lesser than a man, forbidden to dishonor him by wielding a sword or dreaming of war. But what if the sword chose her? What if battle coursed through her veins? What, then, was her fate? To die quietly? To be conquered? To rebel?
          
          I laughed darkly. "Ichiro Huang," I murmured, the name tasting bitter on my tongue. "How foolish of you. You're nothing but Father's guard dog."
          
          The words carried a weight that pressed against my chest, their truth colder than the wind biting at my covers. As the stars bore silent witness, I stood there, a shadow in the night.
          
          NEW FUN CHAPTER! I'LL CONTINUE WHEN SOMEONE COMMENTS!!!

New Chapter!❤️
          
          Marcus Black:
          
          I couldn't help but watch her as she worked, her hands methodically mixing the flour, salt, and yeast. Her movements were graceful, almost hypnotic.
          
          Her hair was tied in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face. The soft light of the room seemed to highlight her natural glow, her modest outfit enhancing rather than concealing her quiet beauty.
          
          She glanced up suddenly, catching my gaze. I froze, unable to look away. Why are you staring? Snap out of it! I berated myself, but my eyes lingered a moment longer.
          
          "Do you want to knead the dough?" she asked, her voice tinged with nervousness.
          
          "Yeah, sure," I replied, my voice cracking like a teenager's. Seriously? Get it together.
          
          She smiled, reaching to wipe something off her face. Her sleeve, dusted with flour, only smudged her cheek further.
          
          She dumped the dough and put the bowl in a nearby sink. I hesitantly rolled the dough make and forth, making a log. She chuckled at my attempt to knead it. "No, you have to do it like this." She moved closer, placing her hands over mine to guide me.
          
          Her hands were warm, her touch firm yet gentle. The vanilla scent that seemed to follow her filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the flour. My heart raced in betrayal.
          
          "Here," I said, shifting her inside so she could demonstrate kneading more easily. She fit into the space between my arms like she belonged there. I wondered if I made her as nervous as she made me. I could see over her shoulder and saw her neck slowly turn beat red.
          
           Did I make her nervous?
          
          "Okay, not love birds. Doing your own things I see. That dough looks good!" The redheaded woman called, looking at us. My mom and Samuel turned to see and Grace immediately stepped away, her face as red as her neck. "That's how you knead the dough," she muttered, busying herself with cleaning the bowl.
          
          !FAITH IN A BROKEN MAN!

I glanced up at him, his eyes still intimidating yet kind at this moment. He gazed out at the meadow and its beauty. "I can see why you fell asleep, it's very peaceful," he observed. I looked away before he could catch me staring at him, nodding in agreement.
          
          "Stay still," he suddenly said, his voice barely above a whisper. I froze, watching as he reached over my hat. The birds chirped, and the butterflies hovered around us, their delicate wings catching the sunlight. After a moment, Cain presented a stunning butterfly with green and blue wings.
          
          "It seems you attract the best," he murmured as the butterfly rested on his finger.
          
          A loud clicking sound interrupted us, startling the butterfly away. We both turned to see the happy couple smiling behind the photographer, who had a large piece of cloth hanging over his head. I frowned at the intrusion; this wasn't supposed to be about us."
          
          Silenced has a NEW chapter! 

"What happened?" she asked, stepping aside to let us in.
          
          "I don't know," I muttered darkly, "but someone hurt her."
          
          I laid Grace gently on her bed, her hands shaking as she reached for her Bible. She clutched it like a lifeline, whispering words I couldn't make out.
          
          "I'll grab the first aid kit," Aria said, her voice tight with worry as she rummaged through her things.
          
          I stood there, fists buried deep in my pockets to keep them from shaking. The anger in me was barely contained.
          
          "What are you going to do?" Aria asked quietly, her eyes wary as they flicked to my clenched jaw.
          
          "I don't know," I admitted, my voice low and strained.
          
          "You should stay here tonight," she suggested. "She looked calmer with you here. Maybe it'll help her feel safer."
          
          I nodded, sinking into the chair beside Grace's bed. Her breathing evened out after a while, the tension in her small frame finally easing.
          
          But I couldn't relax. Images of her bruised face replayed in my mind, each one fueling the storm in my chest.
          
          AHHHHH!!!! who would ever hurt Grace?

Grace, I love you. Will you marry me?"
          
          My heart plummeted, and before I knew it, I was watching her, unable to look away.
          
          Don't say yes, please. The silent plea filled my mind, echoing in a way that startled me.
          
          Her face flushed with embarrassment and something else, something uncertain. Her eyes glistened as she stood up, her hand covering her mouth.
          
          "I'm sorry... this is too soon," she whispered, her voice breaking as she turned and rushed away, her hair trailing behind her like a wave. Without thinking, I pushed my chair back and hurried after her.
          
          Why? I didn't know. But something in me told me I had to go after her.
          
          New chapters??!!!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DHT21G4Z/ref=sr_1_1?dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.VPgcmqELhIeLytiW2b_zbBOAjs4JDtunrROtNEYsP-nGjHj071QN20LucGBJIEps.bBCOybe_HWs4MOmzAkcxuWJaETcylwG5zqIO9ZSAEMo&dib_tag=se&keywords=twist+the+way+I+still+tick&qid=1727131486&sr=8-1
          
          OFFICIALLY UP! Since there have been some slight issues, I will personally send out thank you packages to ANYONE who purchases the ebook (Up to ten people)! The paperback will still be the same price because I am fixing the issues with that lol #prayformeyall

“Don’t leave, I—I can’t—we can’t end like this!” Ms. Grace's voice rang out, her tears streaming down her face as if her heart were being torn apart. Fake rain poured down, drenching her dress as the male actor turned and walked away. Ms. Grace collapsed dramatically, letting out a heart-wrenching cry. She might be called many things, but no one could deny that this woman could act.
          A lump formed in my throat, and I had to look away to keep from getting too emotional. After all, I was still human, still a woman.
          “CUT! Beautiful, Grace! Perfect!” the director shouted, walking over to her as she was helped to her feet. She smiled triumphantly; her nose slightly lifted as if she knew she had nailed the scene. Her air of superiority drained any sympathy I had for her. It was a reminder that people could put on the perfect facade when they wanted to.
          “Mr. Stoll, I’m so happy you made it. How did I do?” Ms. Grace called out to Clayton with a sweet, practiced smile.
          
          
          NEW CHAPTERS????!!! ❤️I'm so excited to be putting this on Amazon!! almost done.

A cough drew my attention to the man from earlier. Was he the elder son? I hesitantly extended my hand, which he took without a word. Without so much as a glance in my direction, he led the way up the stairs, with my sister trailing close behind. The sunlight reflected off the white marble floors, shimmering against the lines of my dress. I focused on this rather than the discomfort of his tight grip on my fingers, unwilling to cause trouble for Keila.
          
                     Upon reaching the top, he released my hand abruptly, and I rubbed my fingers softly as he continued walking, showing no intention of waiting for us. I frowned inwardly at his lack of courtesy, though I supposed as a Crowned Prince, he felt entitled to such behavior. But a simple gesture of politeness wouldn't have gone amiss.
          
                  "He's peculiar," Keila remarked under her breath.
          
                  "Do you find his demeanor amusing? I find it intolerable," I replied hushedly as we trailed a distance behind him.
          
                  "I find it amusing that he seems indifferent to your presence. These Ronald men are indeed peculiar, aren't they?" Keila observed with a wry smile, her eyes fixed on the retreating figure.
          
                    I rolled my eyes. "Not everyone is captivated by my appearance!" I retorted, quickening my pace and causing her to fall behind.
          
                 "Anyone with an ounce of sense would be," she chuckled, prompting another eye roll from me.
          
          DO I SMELL LOVE???

"What?" he glared at me. 
          
          Something was still bothering him.
          
          His glares weren't for the weak, but I stood strong under his gaze.
          
          "You're more attractive than other men, just thought you should know that," I said dully, looking away. I couldn't lie, it would be against the contract of being "Honest".
          
          Why did I even agree to that?
          
          Oh right, he forwardly threatened my career.
          
          He snickered lightly, "Are you flirting with me?"
          
          His eyes were still undoubtedly frightening, even when he laughed.
          
          I frowned, nervously biting my lip, "I can't flirt Mr. Clayton". It was a very honest statement, Ash always flirted with me. I never had to try.
          
          he mumbled to himself. 
          
          Me: and oop! 

"That's the point. The lack of attacks has made us complacent. Part of an attack is the element of surprise. I won't let my team be caught off guard just because it doesn't seem necessary. We might be in a battleground right now. Do you think these people want us here? We're fresh meat—young, full of new ideas and energy. They'll defend their place. I've read the 'accident rate' here—five to ten for every new sector." I spoke quietly, and they all leaned in.
          
          Me: Whattttt??