Bright Line Eating Novels & Stories

Gregory Stevens, a newly arrived student at Blackwood International College, mysteriously disappears from the elite private school. Erik Wilson must track him down without anyone knowing that they are hackers. With every clue that Erik discovers the lines become more and more blurred surrounding Gregory, and who he truly might be. The first clue he finds is a half-burned cryptic note that reads "Ric$40" written on top of Gregory's uniform in his dorm room. That same clue appears on Gregory's smartwatch as well. The realm of hacking knows his name and invites him to join in, and play.

She was born into the Mafia life but she hated it. She wanted to live a normal life where violence and blood sheds were not needed. But life other plans for her. Rosaline's life took a massive turn when her father announced that she was getting married to the King of the Russian Mafia. Things weren't roses and daisies for her. instead, they were bushes of torns. Alexei didn't even understand the reason he was having a wife but he knew he couldn't go against the wishes of his grandfather. let's see how well they would handle each other.

The weather is -4 degrees Fahrenheit in Snow Park. The menstrual cramps are too much for me to handle, so I can only crouch beside the snow paths in order to rest. The new beautiful ski instructor, Sandy Hatfield, who Owen Schultz has hired, skid to a stop all of a sudden. The flurry of ice and snow gets splashed onto my face as a result. "Oh my, the snow quality here really is amazing! Unlike a certain someone, whose health is weaker than that of an average child…" Sandy takes off her snow goggles before flipping the bird at me tauntingly. "A dainty maiden like you should just go home and enjoy the heater. Don't take up precious space on the snow paths!" Unable to take it anymore, I grab my ski pole and try to strike Sandy with it. The next thing I know, Owen comes skidding in my direction on his snowboard and quickly shields Sandy from me. In doing so, he knocks me to the icy ground. He frowns at me, his voice colder than the icy winds. "Sandy is a professional athlete. What she did is a professional ski move. Can you stop being unreasonable?" As I slump on the ground, I find myself staring at a pink turtle cushion hanging from Sandy's hip. That was a cushion I’d sewn for Owen over three sleepless nights before this trip, with a safety charm hidden inside.. Back then, Owen thinks this charm is childish-looking and embarrassing, so he has tossed it into the boot without looking at it. Sandy follows my line of sight and feels the turtle cushion near her hip. Then, she brushes the snow off the charm with a scowl on her face. "Owen told me that this is a piece of garbage that's taking up space at home. So, it serves as my cushion now. I don't think even old ladies are prone to making such lame crafts nowadays, right Brooke?"

On our anniversary, my husband, James Marshall, purchased a painting as a gift for me with my secondary credit card. When I got home, I went to my study to retrieve an urgent court document. The door was slightly ajar. Inside, I could hear the flirtatious voice of my assistant, Julie Summers, mingled with my husband’s low murmurs. “James, your wife is just a money-printing machine. What does she know about art? She could never appreciate you like I do.” James sighed. Then, in an indulgent tone, he said, “Claire is too perfect—so perfect it’s suffocating. Not like you, full of life and warmth.” Just then, my mother-in-law, Susan Marshall, called James. He put her on speakerphone. “James, you need to move faster. While Claire still trusts you, turn all her client contacts into yours. That Julie girl seems promising. She’s much easier to control than that iron-fisted career wife of yours.” I gripped the cold doorknob, listening to the pair of shameless lovers in the study and the wretched woman on the phone, and immediately drafted a divorce agreement. At the same time, I forwarded asset-protection filings for all my holdings to my legal team. “I’ll see you all in court, parasites.”

My father-in-law said he wanted to experience "how the young folks have fun these days," so I took him to my wife's newly opened upscale cocktail bar for a quiet drink. I’d just finished ordering him a custom cocktail when a man from a booth across the room swaggered over, glass in hand. His eyes scanned the drink menu on our table, and a condescending smirk twisted his lips. "Only ordering the cheapest well drinks?" he sneered. "Brought the old man here to enjoy the free air conditioning? Trash like you belongs in a dive bar. Who even let you in here?" Anger burned in my chest. I stood up, my jaw clenched. "We're paying customers. What's it to you?" But before I could say another word, his face darkened with pure rage. He snatched the half-finished beer bottle from our table and smashed it on my head. "My girl owns this place!" he snarled. "Even if I crack your skull open, I can afford the payout! You filthy pauper—either get on your knees and lick my shoes dry, or get the hell out of my sight. You're an eyesore." The beer dripped down my face. My hands trembled with fury as I wiped it away. Then, a cold calm settled over me. I opened my phone, switched to the camera, and went live. "Alright, everyone," I said into the screen. "You won't want to miss this. We're going live to catch my cheating wife and see the double life she's been leading."

"Everyone has a story to tell and the truth is I am afraid to tell you mine; but in this world embraced by darkness, allow me to become your brightest shadow!" Two different individuals— David Chwe, an 18-year-old boy with secrets darker than a June's night without the guidance of the moon. A boy with phases that are likely to coerce one to kick the bucket. — Travis Fujiriki [Park], is a 19-year-old boy who has always isolated himself from the naked eyes of the world. All that David had to do was to get his mission done and that was to lure Travis into the spider's web but instead, everything chose to travel on a different route. Sparkles of love began to investigate themselves in the depths of their hearts— once an individual who ran away from affection, Travis was willing to expose his heart to David who became his comfort zone. Just like in many tales of love and war, the grass is not always greener on the other side. Will David drop Travis into the lion's den and sacrifice his love? Or will he drop it all and bring him closer under his wing and protect him regardless of anything?

On the night of her eighteenth birthday, June’s world doesn’t just shatter, it awakens. She thought she was an ordinary girl on the brink of graduation, adopted and unremarkable, carrying only unanswered questions about her past. But when the moon rises, so does the truth: she is a werewolf, heir to a bloodline steeped in ancient magic and bound by destiny. Thrust into a hidden world where power is currency and secrets are lethal, June finds an unlikely ally in Killian, a formidable wolf whose loyalty is as fierce as his strength. Their search for answers leads them from shadowed forests to the sands of Egypt, where a mystic oracle guards prophecies older than empires—and where June’s lineage is whispered as both salvation and doom. Along the way, they cross paths with a vampire tailor whose enchanted needles stitch more than fabric, weaving protection, deception, and fate itself. But even his magic cannot shield June from the greatest revelation awaiting her: a queen returned from the dead, risen to reclaim a throne drenched in blood and moonlight… and tied irrevocably to June’s own heritage. As the Council of Twelve tightens its iron claws around her, June must unravel the truth of her origins before it consumes her. Every step draws her deeper into a destiny she never asked for but can no longer escape. Her lineage is her power… or her execution.

In one day, Alana's life was changed forever when she discovered that her best friend was pregnant for her mate, the Alpha. Worse, he had accepted the unborn child whole heartedly and wants to make her Luna and claim her, giving her her rightful mate mark which he denied her. Was the moon goddess punishing me for my unknown sins or was this a chance for her to reject her Mate and find another who would worship the ground she walked on?

Crossing Lines is a dark, seductive romance where power, obsession, and secrets blur the line between love and control. Lana Reyes, a driven NYU law student with a desperate need to stay afloat, takes a job at Vortex, Manhattan’s most exclusive underground club. She never expects to catch the eye of Nathan Cross—ruthless billionaire, Vortex’s elusive owner, and a man who doesn’t do second encounters. But when their worlds collide, the pull is magnetic. What begins as a dangerous game of dominance and desire spirals into something neither of them can control. As Lana falls deeper into Nathan’s world of power, secrets, and seduction, she must decide how far she's willing to go—and what lines she's willing to cross—to survive it. In a world where love is a weapon and trust is a risk, Crossing Lines is a provocative ride that will leave you breathless and begging for more.

Late one night after getting off work, I was scrolling through my company group chat when a colleague shared a piece of news. The headline was horrifying. "Night-Shift Courier Murdered During Delivery, Police Suspect Robbery." I zoomed in on the crime scene photo that had been partially pixelated, and a chill ran straight down my spine. Lying in a pool of blood, the courier who had been hacked to death was unmistakably me. I had scrolled into news of my own death. Almost at the same time, my delivery app began vibrating violently. "Urgent pickup! Destination: Unit 704 Hawthorne Ridge Apartments, Building 7. Time limit: 15 minutes. Penalty for timeout: Death." As I stared at the notification that read "Pickup failed three times", the searing pain of my brutal death surged through my body. So that was it. I had already died three times. When I forced open the half-closed security door of 704 for the fourth time, a thin delivery envelope lay quietly inside. I tore it open. A photograph slipped out. It was a picture of my dismembered body. The timestamp showed tomorrow at 7:00 a.m. On the back was a single line written in fresh blood: "Next time, remember to pick it up on time." At that moment, the red indicator light on the hallway surveillance camera suddenly went dark. I looked up. From the ventilation opening in the exact same spot, a single eye was staring straight at me. The mole at the corner of that eye was identical to mine.