Spotlight: The Girl Without a Voice by Sandra J. Paul

Twenty-two year old Alice has never known a normal life. Born mute, her overbearing father isolated her from the outside world while touring it himself as a travelling salesman. The only other significant person in her life is her neighbour Hallie and they communicate through sign language which Hallie learned especially for her.

Often gone for weeks at a time, Alice’s father leaves her in the care of her often fierce and unkind mother. But when Alice’s father is diagnosed with terminal cancer, he remains permanently at home. Waking day and night at his deathbed, Alice listens to her father’s feverish drug-induced ramblings until, in his final days, he confesses to having murdered several women.

Shocked and disbelieving, Alice confides in Hallie. Together, they vow to find the truth and journey her father’s old travel routes connected to various missing women, before discovering the real reason behind why she lost her ability to speak. And how she is connected to her father’s crimes.

Excerpt

1

I’ve never lived a normal life, at least not in comparison to people in all those books I’ve read over the years. Or to the characters in those soaps I secretly watch when mom runs off to the grocery store. I manage to catch about one and a half episodes before she returns, anxiously peeking out the window, only really half-enjoying what I’m watching.

She’s always fast. Her trips take no more than an hour, but it’s enough for me to sneak a glimpse of the real world out there, no matter how twisted television’s version of reality may be. I like it better when she goes out for other things like appliances, clothing, the hardware store. That takes more time, but it’s also more unpredictable. I linger behind the heavy drapes while I sit in her rocking chair, ready to fly out of the seat as soon as I hear her old, battered car roll up the driveway. That thing makes so much noise you could hear it from a mile away. By the time she’s inside the house, I’m already upstairs in my favorite reading chair, apparently lost in whatever world it is I’m reading about.

Everything I know of life comes from books, and only the ones Dad – and occasionally, Mom – gives me. I’m not allowed to choose my own. So I end up with an odd mixture of romance novels, children’s books, and thrillers. The latter are my favorite; I love reading about murder mysteries and how to solve them. Murder on the Orient Express, Murder on the Nile, the Endless Night… or stories about detectives in New York who solve crimes.

My books are my pride and joy. I have titles that are over seventy years old, like the one about Gulliver, who traveled to the strangest countries and returned with the oddest tales about tall and small people.

And all of my books are used, often torn and tattered. The oldest ones have notes in them, written in handwriting I can’t really read. I’ve kept them in my bedroom for as long as I can remember, and I’ve read them all multiple times.

Reading those books has shaped my vision of what life out there must be like. I sometimes imagine those huge cities with millions of people, all cooped up together in small apartments, sharing the crowded but dangerous streets.

I also dream of places like London or Paris where, according to my books, life is so wonderful that everyone wants to live there. I have a few picture books with images of the Eiffel Tower and Big Ben, and I know what Tower Bridge looks like. I’ve also seen pictures of the Twin Towers in New York, and the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s all so perfect that I yearn to go there some day and see it for myself.

But I am not allowed. My home is this house, with its four bedrooms, its huge basement, and the dusty, dark attic I never enter because it gives me nightmares. Kids should never be in attics anyhow. They’re dangerous places, but then so are cold and damp basements. I just stay on the ground floor, with its old kitchen and unpleasant living room, where my mom usually hangs out.

I’m not allowed in my parents’ bedroom, nor in the guestroom, where the only piece of furniture is a spare bed. I don’t even know why we have a guestroom, since I’ve never seen anyone visit us.

Most of my life is spent in two rooms. The first is my bedroom, with its four-poster bed, large cupboard and closet, and two windows. The largest one is shut; I am able to see part of the street, but most of my view is hidden behind a huge oak tree that must have been there forever. I have a book about trees, and given the width of it I figured out it must be at least a hundred years old. There is a massive drape in front of that window that I’m not allowed to fully open, so that part of the room is always dark.

The other window looks out on the neighbor’s house, but since they’re hardly ever there in winter, and always in the backyard in summer, I don’t have any contact with them. I can pry that window open just a bit, which allows some fresh air in – something I’m often in dire need of. I don’t like shut windows or closed drapes. Darkness scares me no end, so I sleep with the lights on.

The second room is adjoined to this one by a blue door I always keep open. At first, it was just a room with some boxes and junk, but when I turned twenty something changed. It was my birthday, the one day each year that I get a gift from Mom. A cake, some books, a furry animal or a doll. Every year, she brings me something, but it’s never something I wish for. I wanted to see New York or London, or the magical city of Paris, but I knew I could never have that. People like me aren’t allowed to go anywhere.

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About the Author

Sandra J. Paul is an award-winning author who has written over thirty novels, including various psychological thrillers. She has won various awards for her psychological thrillers, including best thriller of the Year in The Netherlands. She has also written various audiobook originals for Storytel Netherlands.

Her books have been translated in over fourteen languages. Her novel Dead Girls Don’t Talk is a TikTok hit in Belgium, The Netherlands and Germany and has been sold to Brazil.

Her novel Twisted has been sold to the US and will be released late 2024. Her novel My Truth has been opted for film or limited streaming series. The author has been shortlisted for various writing competitions, such as Coverfly Cinematic Book and Short Story competition.

Many of her books have been translated in various countries.

She lives with her partner, her three teenage sons and her cats in a small town near Antwerp, Belgium.

Spotlight: What the River Keeps by Cheryl Grey Bostrom

Reclusive biologist Hildy Nybo returns to her childhood home on Washington’s Elwha River, where she untangles her mysterious past.

Hildy Nybo is a successful biologist, her study of the Pacific Northwest’s wild fish both a passion and a career. But behind her professional brilliance, Hildy’s reclusive private life reflects a childhood fraught with uncertainty. Haunted by the confusion of her early years, she now records her life in detailed diaries and clings to memory-prompting keepsakes.

Then her mother’s health fails, and Hildy accepts a job near her childhood home, joining a team of scientists who will help restore her beloved Elwha River after two century-old dams fall. There Hildy settles into a cabin on her family’s rustic resort—a place she both loves and dreads, for reasons she can’t fully explain.

When a local artist rents an adjacent cabin for her pottery studio, Hildy resists the intrusion—until intriguing Luke Rimmer arrives to help with the cabin’s renovation. Now a few years beyond a tragedy that brought him to his knees, Luke recognizes a kindred soul in Hildy. As he earns her trust, they uncover her mysterious history, and Hildy dares to wonder if she can banish her shadows—and follow her river’s course to freedom.

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About the Author

A keen student of the natural world and the workings of the human heart, Pacific Northwest author Cheryl Grey Bostrom captures the mystery and wonder of both in her lyrical, riveting fiction. Her novels Sugar Birds (Christy finalist, Amazon bestseller, and Book of the Year) and Leaning on Air have won more than two dozen industry honors, among which are CT’s Fiction Award of Merit and American Fiction, Reader’s Favorite, Carol, Nautilus, Best Book, Foreword Indies, and International Book Awards.

An avid birder and nature photographer, Cheryl lives in rural Washington State with her husband and three irrepressible Gordon setters.

You can follow the author at:

Website: https://CherylBostrom.com

Birds in the Hand (blog): https://cherylgreybostrom.substack.com

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/cgbostrom/ and https://www.facebook.com/cherylgreybostrom/

IG: @cherylgreybostrom  https://www.instagram.com/cherylgreybostrom/

Spotlight: Scars of Sand and Soil by Jean K. Kravitz

Historical Fiction

Date Published: July 24th, 2025

Publisher: Acorn Publishing

What’s left of a man’s soul when everything he loves is taken from him? 

It’s 1864, and Gabriel Cooper couldn’t care less about the civil war raging around him. Framed for crimes he didn’t commit, he’s been sentenced to a Confederate chain gang, where swampland justice rules and alligators prey on the unwary. 

So when Colonel Robert Tremont rides into camp offering freedom in exchange for fighting on the front lines, Gabriel jumps at the opportunity. He thrives as a soldier, but the end of the war leaves him adrift. 

Gabriel ends up in New Orleans, where he meets Simone Livingston, a fiercely independent woman with hidden scars of her own. Kept on a tight rein by her overbearing father, Simone only wants freedom—and the enigmatic Gabriel. 

But Gabriel has unfinished business and a mind for vengeance. Will he be able to create a peaceful life with Simone or will his greed and thirst for retribution keep them trapped in a dangerous web of deceit—a web Gabriel fears can only be untangled with murder.

Excerpt

Gabriel sat quietly in the bushes by the Pastor’s house for several hours, waiting and watching. Finally, the kerosene lamp was turned off. Gabriel followed the flickering light of one lone candle as it left the study and disappeared through an adjoining door. 

Gabriel continued to bide his time. Hours went by, but finally he emerged, dressed in dark shabby clothes, a cap pulled low over his eyes. Making sure he left no footprints, he approached the house. He had spent days watching the pastor’s activity. To get inside the house, he posed as one more hungry rebel, calling when he knew the pastor was not home. 

“Might there be somethin’ in yer fine home that needs fixin’? I work fer food or money.” He shifted his feet pathetically. “I got me an ailin’ wife and four young uns at home.” 

Mrs. Bell, one of the pastor’s white, long-time congregants, shook her head. “No, there’s nothing here for you to do. But come in, and I’ll see if I can’t find something for you to take home to your wife.” 

“God’s blessin’ be upon ya, ma’am, fer yer Christian charity.” Mrs. Bell ushered him into the pastor’s home and motioned him to sit on a bench in the hallway. She headed for the kitchen. 

Once Gabriel heard her in the back, he rose from the bench. It was a small, one-story structure, simple in its layout. The pastor’s study was the second door on Gabriel’s right, diagonal from the parlor. Gabriel entered the study, noticing a closed door. It was to the left of the pastor’s desk, whereas a window looking into the bushes was on the right. Gabriel went to the door and pushed it. There was a bed and nightstand against one wall and a bookshelf on the opposite wall. There were no windows. Gabriel’s gaze swept the room and he quickly retreated. 

He retraced his steps and sat down when Mrs. Bell reappeared with a parcel wrapped in brown paper. “Here,” she said, “some bread and molasses for your wife, and cookies for the children.” 

Gabriel stood up. “Thank ya kindly, ma’am.” 

“Your wife and family are in my prayers, sir,” said Mrs. Bell as he left the house. 

Gabriel relived that whole scenario as he eased open the front door. A fog swirled around him, a dewy shield against any witnesses. He felt his way carefully with a cane he had brought, as if he were a blind man. Tap, tap, tap, ever so softly, careful to detect any obstacles in his way. Tap, tap, tap, breach the doorway and round the corner. In his mind’s eye Gabriel could see the layout he’d canvassed just days before. 

He reached the pastor’s bedroom. Guided by the man’s soft snoring, Gabriel crept in. He had strapped a pillow under his baggy shirt; it doubled as disguise and weapon. 

Pastor Evans lay on his back, slack-jawed. He was no match for the man who stuffed the pillow so hard, so swiftly onto his face that he barely struggled. He certainly never uttered a sound.

Finally, Gabriel lifted the pillow and looked down. The man was dead, eyes wide open and mouth still agape. How unceremonious. 

Gabriel lit the candle on the nightstand and touched the flame to the pastor’s coverlet. With a snap it sprang to fiery life. 

Gabriel backed out of the room, closing the door as the flames engulfed the bed. He swiftly went to the study window, opened it, and climbed out. He then turned and closed the window; leave everything as you found it. Wiping his footprints from the dirt, he sidled to the front of the house and walked down the street. The neighbors were still asleep, oblivious to the inferno in their midst. 

He headed over to Poydras Street, to the corner of St. Charles where he had hidden a knapsack in a clump of ferns behind a rusted fleur-de-lis gate. Gabriel stepped into the shadows and when he re-emerged, his appearance was transformed. Beneath his workaday costume he had been wearing an elegant linen shirt and pants of fine wool. He now donned a pair of fake spectacles, a top hat, and a nicely cut wool jacket. 

He took his place on the street as a gentleman heading home. No questions would be asked of him. As he walked, his adrenaline began to level out and a growing satisfaction took its place. He had achieved justice for his beloved. He had made everything right.

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About the Author

As the quintessential queen of “what if,” Jean Kravitz channeled her active imagination to pen her debut novel, Scars of Sand and Soil. However, achieving her childhood dream of being a published writer was not a straightforward path. 

Jean earned a bachelor’s degree in psychology and a master’s degree in human development and aging from the University of California, San Francisco. She went into clinical research in pharmaceuticals, but left her career when her children were born. Then, she picked up writing again, honed her craft, published articles in a small newspaper, and passionately immersed herself in historical research.

Jean has many interests, including reading, gardening, needlepoint, and learning new languages. She lives in Southern California and has a husband, two daughters, and two cats, Lenny and Penny.

Connect:

Website: jeankkravitz.com

Facebook: facebook.com/people/Jean-K-Kravitz/61573938812942/

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jeankkravitz

Tik Tok- https://www.tiktok.com/@jeankkravitz

Spotlight: Love in Riverbend by Aleatha Romig

Release Date: August 18

Take the backroads, enjoy the soft breezes and fluffy clouds on your way to Riverbend, Indiana. Only a short drive from the hustle and bustle of big cities, Riverbend is a town you’ll never want to leave. With life-long friends and family, everyone knows one another, and everyone’s secrets.

This box set includes three low-angst and super steamy stories will make you believe in the power of love.

LOVE IN RIVERBEND contains: QUINTESSENTIALLY THE ONE, ONE KISS, ONE STRING

QUINTESSENTIALLY THE ONE: sexy, fun, secret-baby, second-chance, small-town contemporary romance
ONE KISS: age-gap, best friend’s sister, small-town forbidden contemporary romance
ONE STRING: second-chance, enemies-to-lovers, fake-date, little-sister’s-best-friend, forbidden, stand-alone contemporary romance.

Have you been Aleatha'd?

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Meet Aleatha Romig

Aleatha Romig is a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author who lives in Indiana. She grew up in Mishawaka, graduated from Indiana University, and is currently living south of Indianapolis. Together with her high-school sweetheart and husband of over thirty years, they've raised three children. Before she became a full-time author, she worked days as a dental hygienist and spent her nights writing. Now, when she’s not imagining mind-blowing twists and turns or her new lighter side, she likes to spend her time with her family and friends. Her pastimes include reading and creating heroes/anti-heroes who haunt your dreams! 

Keep up with Aleatha Romig and subscribe to her newsletter: https://www.aleatharomig.com/contact

To learn more about Aleatha Romig & her books, visit here!

Connect with Aleatha Romig: https://www.aleatharomig.com/contact

Spotlight: We Are the Match by Mary E. Roach

Two women in love and in danger. Mob families at war. An explosive and enthralling contemporary reimagining of the Helen of Troy myth set against the splendor of the Grecian islands.

Paris is a fixer for mob families on the Grecian islands when a powerful crime lord hires her to investigate a bombing. Insinuating herself into Zarek's circle is the chance for revenge that Paris has been waiting for since she was a child. Years ago, Zarek wiped out everyone she loved. Now it's Paris's turn. Her target? Zarek's beautiful daughter, Helen.

Helen wants nothing more than to abandon the violent world in which she was raised—and worse, an arranged marriage to a man she barely knows. In Paris, Helen sees the perfect tool to help her escape. And in Helen, Paris sees a desperate woman who will be the perfect revenge. As the two work together to find the bomber, and their connection becomes increasingly intimate, Zarek's empire grows more fragile and their own bonds of loyalty and purpose are tested.

When murder sends them fleeing to Troy, danger only brings Paris and Helen closer together—in love, in fury, and in the will to survive. If Zarek wants a war, Paris and Helen are ready to ignite it.

Excerpt

“And you are a fool if you think you have no power,” I tell her. “You are the power here. They bend to you. If you asked, this room would kneel for you.”

“You would not kneel,” Helen says. Her throat bobs, as if the breath is caught there.

My blade—her throat—I can hardly breathe. I am so, so close to her now.

I could do it here, instead of dragging her all the way to Troy. Set my knife just—there.

“Would you?” Helen’s chest heaves just slightly, the shallow rise and fall the only sign that she is as caught in this moment as I am.

“I kneel for no one,” I tell her.

Not since Troy.

Her cheeks are a soft pink, maybe from the whiskey, or maybe the opiate intoxicating her is something more—something strange and tenuous and unexpected.

I lean close to her. Take the drink from her hand, tip it back, and down it, grinning at her as I do. I can imagine, instead, Helen of the gods on her knees for me. Throat tipped up, eyes trained on me. Begging.

“Do you want to know something?” Her voice is quiet, so quiet I have to lean in closer.

“Do you want to tell me?” I shoot back.

“I am going to die tonight.” She says it with a smile on her face, something desperate and dark but something real.

My own heart thunders against my rib cage, so hard it is almost painful.

“And who would dare kill the princess?” I ask.

Because she can’t know.

Can she?

Helen is still smiling, but the look in her eyes is distant now. She is far away from me, far out over the stormy blue sea beyond the windows.

“What is it you want, Paris?” she asks.

You, I almost answer. At my mercy.

“An introduction,” I tell her after a beat. “To your father.”

Disappointment flashes in her face, sharp and clear before her expression smooths over, and then she steps back toward the great windows looking out over the sea, alone on the symbol carved into the marble floor, a Z and an L, tilted and interwoven. Zarek and Lena. Their family, their godship, their love for each other, immortalized in marble.

How fitting that Helen will die on the anniversary of the bomb that started it all.

They will crowd Helen soon, but now, just briefly, she stands alone, framed by windows that open to the yawning mouth of sea and storm. She looks almost wistful.

I am going to die tonight.

What is it you are planning, Helen of the gods, or what is it you have learned? What bloody nightmare will these families unleash tonight?

It is the right moment for something, though. The moment Zarek will call for everyone’s attention, when Milos will descend the steps and kneel in front of Helen, ring in hand. When she will pretend to be surprised, ecstatic, perhaps a little teary but still somehow perfectly composed. She will smile for the first time tonight—other than the smile she sneaked me when I stole the whiskey from her soft, perfect hand—and the guests in the room will fall even more in love with her than they already are.

It is Zarek’s moment.

Except it is also Helen’s.

Except Helen is alone for a breath of time that lasts too long, and I smell something faint, something out of place, something devastatingly familiar.

I flick my lighter open out of habit, but the soft comfort of its click cannot calm me. Because this smell, it is an acrid smell, like flame, like—

Bomb.

I am moving before I can call it out; I am moving on instinct and instinct alone; I am faster than guard and god alike. Because Helen is mine.

I am hurtling straight into Helen of the mansion, Helen of the island, Helen of the gods, my body colliding with hers, just as the windows behind us explode in a shower of glass.

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About the Author

Mary E. Roach is a former early childhood teacher who now writes across genres and age categories. WE ARE THE MATCH is Mary’s debut adult romance. Her debut YA mystery, Better Left Buried, was published by Disney Hyperion in 2024, and her follow-up YA novel, Seven for a Secret, will be published in September 2025. 

When she is not writing stories for and about powerful women, Mary enjoys running, teaching martial arts, and disappearing into the wilderness. Mary lives in St. Paul with her fiancé and their very disagreeable cat, Lulu.

Giveaway

Enter to win a copy of the book. This will end August 29, 2025. Only open for readers in the US and Canada.

Spotlight: Skylark by Megan Michelle

Being the first female Navy SEAL is no easy job, but someone's got to dismantle the patriarchy. Rachel Ryker, call sign ‘Skylark,’ can outrun and outgun just about anybody, and with her second in command, Christopher Williams, by her side, she’s practically unstoppable. Christopher would follow Rachel to hell and back… or maybe just to the Middle East. When a top-secret malware code is stolen from the CIA, Rachel and Christopher lead their SEAL team through the Middle East in an attempt to recover it. 

They both have their own reasons for fighting, but as the team gets closer to finding the stolen malware, Rachel discovers that the man they're looking for may be closer to her than she thinks. Will Rachel’s obsession with completing their mission override her common sense and cause her to lose sight of what is really important- keeping women and children safe from the oppressive patriarchy they are all living in?

With secrets, pride, and a strict no-fraternization policy keeping them apart, falling in love would mean sacrificing everything Rachel and Christopher have worked for. But when Rachel gets injured in combat, everything changes. Now Rachel will have to choose: does her devotion to the Navy outweigh her love for Christopher?

Excerpt

“Can you get people out of Afghanistan?” Shabana sounded hesitant.

“Like, put them on a plane, or do you want them to be able to legally stay wherever they get off the plane?” Rachel asked.

“Preferably the second option,” Shabana said.

“That’s more difficult.” Rachel looked at her quizzically. “Who?”

“My sister, Pari.” She paused, uncertain, before the words spilled out of her. “My brother-in-law raped her. Then my husband forced her to marry him when he found out she was with child.”

“Your husband forced her?”

“Our father died when we were children. He was her closest male family member,” Shabana explained. “From his perspective, he was doing the right thing and protecting her. It’s better this way, for her reputation, the family’s reputation.”

“That man is going to keep treating her terribly.” 

“Yes, I assure you that he is. He leaves her home sometimes for weeks on end, never with enough food . . .” Shabana took a steadying breath and stared straight into Rachel’s eyes. “Can you help her get out of the country to someplace safe?”

 “Is she being abused?” That small tidbit about being left without food was bad enough, but Rachel couldn’t commandeer a plane whenever she wanted.

“Depends on who you ask,” Shabana said sadly.

Rachel knew domestic violence was prevalent in Afghanistan and rarely, if ever, prosecuted. Some international reports indicated that as many as eighty to ninety percent of women in Afghanistan were the victims of physical abuse at the hands of their husbands and fathers. “He hits her if she doesn’t do what he says?” Rachel tried.

“Yes.” Shabana nodded. “Do you consider that abuse?” Her voice was shaking, and her arms were wrapped tightly around her stomach as though she were trying to hold herself together.

Every muscle in Rachel’s body tensed. “What about her child? Or children?” Rachel asked.

“She has two young children. Girls, ages five and three,” Shabana said.

Rachel nodded. “Are they in Khost?” A plan was slowly taking shape in her mind.

“Yes.”

“I’ll need her address and a date and time when I can pick her up.”

“Her husband is traveling,” Shabana said. “He’s gone until Sunday.”

“Call her now,” Rachel said. “Ask her when I can come pick up her and her children. They’ll need to pack bags, whatever they absolutely need to bring. They should take as few belongings as possible.”

Yamna walked over to them, having overheard their conversation. “Use my telephone. We don’t want it in the call log on your cell phone that you spoke with her right before she vanished,” Yamna told Shabana. “Call her now.”

“Are you sure?” Shabana asked. Her eyes were filling with tears as she looked back and forth between Yamna and Rachel.

“You will likely never see her again, Shabana.” Rachel noted. “You’ll have to say your goodbyes over the phone unless you’re going with her.”

Shabana nodded and a tear rolled down her cheek. She went to the kitchen to make the phone call.

“Anyone else want a flight out of here?” Rachel asked.

“No. We cannot leave,” Yashfa said.

“Too many children relying on us,” Yamna added. “Besides, our husbands and our lives aren’t terrible. Not great, but not terrible. Much better you help those who truly need help.”

After finishing her phone call to her sister, Shabana said, “She can be ready in one hour, and her husband will be home on Sunday in time to escort her to midday prayers.” Her voice shook, though she seemed to be vacillating between grief at saying goodbye to her sister and joy at the hope of Pari’s new life.

“One hour?” Rachel raised an eyebrow.

“That’s when she can be ready. She’s packing now.” 

Rachel nodded and pulled out her phone to text Ryan over their encrypted messaging app.

 “What?” Shabana asked, staring at Rachel wide-eyed with hopeful desperation.

“I’m figuring it out,” Rachel assured her. “So you know though, the newspapers will report that she and her children are dead. There will be some story about how she was a victim of the Taliban. It will be framed in such a way that will cause outrage from the international community and put pressure on the Afghan government to stand up to the Taliban and Al-Qaeda.”

“But you’re not a spy?” Yashfa sniffed.

“No, of course not! I’m obviously an academic researcher at Princeton University!” Rachel insisted. Her phone buzzed a minute later with Ryan’s response.

 Rachel looked up from her phone. “Shabana, call your sister back and tell her I’ll be at her house in ninety minutes. Make sure she doesn’t tell anyone.”

Shabana nodded and ran back to the kitchen to use the phone again.

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About the Author

Megan Michelle writes dark romance for the fearless women who are ready to reclaim their power and confront the shadows of their past. Her stories blend the raw emotions of military life, the strength of feminism, and the passion of forbidden love, all while guiding readers on a journey of self-discovery and healing. Through dark romance, she explores the complexity of love, power, and identity. Her stories invite you to dive deep into the hearts of women who don’t just survive—they thrive, reclaiming their power and rewriting their stories on their own terms.

Stay in touch with this author by subscribing to her website's newsletter and following her on Instagram.