Page 25 of Stormy Knight

Why am I surprised?she asked herself.I’ve written this. I know how it ends.

Still, despite the logic, despite the facts, her heart refused to listen. She wanted to believe Reeves had feelings for her. Feelings he needed to reconcile. Their connection was more than just a story. His kisses, his touch, his eyes—hadn’t been to prove he could tear down her walls. She wanted to believe it was real for him, as it was for her.

And yet,his body—his warmth, his scent—clung to her in a way that made it hard to think clearly. She could feel the tension in her muscles as he leaned in, his lips brushing lightly against the back of her neck, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around her like a trap.

She had no answers, no sense of clarity, only the overwhelming desire to make sense of it all.

Maybe...she thought,maybe this is what I get for being too much of a dreamer.

After all, wasn’t it always the dreamers who fell the hardest? The ones who believed the impossible could be real. That love, the way she’d written about it, could exist?Maybe that’s the biggest fool’s hope of all.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for the first time since she’d arrived, she allowed herself to feel it—truly feel it—the weight of sadness, of the hollow feeling inside her chest. The bitter, aching realization that maybe this wasn’t just another story. Maybe this was just life. Justreallife. And maybethatwas the biggest cliché of them all.

But as the minutes passed and the silence settled in like an uninvited guest, Stormy couldn’t help but wonder: Was it all just a matter of timing? Had she misread something? Or had shesimply walked into the arms of a man who never intended to stay, no matter how sweet the words, no matter how much he made her believe?

The thought struck her like a bolt of lightning… sudden, brilliant, and just what she needed. Her relationship might go nowhere, but her writer’s block was now gone.

Maybe it was time to step away from the sweet, dreamy romance novels. Maybe it was time to write something darker, something where the women didn’t just get their happy endings after all the heartbreak. No, maybetheywere the ones who had the power. Maybe they didn’t wait for the man to come around, and when they did, it wasn’t to forgive him.

Stormy glanced up at the ceiling, her mind racing as the idea took root.Murder and suspense.She let the words play in her mind, the sweet thrill of it building. In this new world, the women got to turn the tables. No more self-sacrificing heroines who bent over backward for men who didn’t deserve them. No more kissing frogs in the hope they turned into princes. Inherstories, the women would take charge. They exacted their own revenge. They made their own fate.

She thought of Reeves—his charm, his smirk, that goddamn irresistible swagger.He’d be the first to go,she thought wickedly. Not a bullet to the head. No, that would be too easy. Maybe something more poetic. A slow burn. A set of consequences that started small and spiraled out of control until he didn’t even recognize the life he once had.

She could picture it—him, thinking he could just walk away and go back to whatever life he wanted. But no. Not in her new world. In this one, there was no happily ever-after. No forgiveness. Just retribution, sweet and calculated, until every piece of him that had once seemed so perfect was left in ashes.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Stormy smiled… a little bitterly.Maybe this is the kind of story I need to write.Maybe this is what would save me from the mess of my own life. Maybe I had had her story all along and refused to listen to the words in my head.

The sudden thrill of it made her pulse quicken. Maybe it wasn’t even about him anymore. Maybe it was about her reclaiming control. She had let herself fall into that old pattern, the one where Reeves being absent would send her spiraling into insecurity and disappointment. Since coming to Texas Creek and being at Devil’s Perch she’d let her feelings for Reeves be what defined her. But no more. Not anymore.

The page, she realized, could be her escape. Writing it all down—what happened to the women in her books, what shewishedshe could do to the men who hurt them, who hurt her—maybe that would be the way to getting over him.

Maybe the revenge, the thrill of their victory, could help her release the anger she had buried for so long. She’d stop writing about the women who always forgave, who always hoped, and start writing about the women who took back what was theirs.

Her fingers itched for the keyboard, for the feel of the words pouring out of her. She didn’t have to write about the fairytale anymore. She could write about the aftermath—the bitter, raw reality of heartbreak, and the satisfaction of seeing the ones who caused it pay the price.

The thought of creating the perfect, twisted revenge story sent a new fire through her veins, something that felt good, felt alive.Yeah,she thought,maybe that’s exactly what I need. A whole damn novel of vengeance.

And as for Reeves?

Well, she’d let the female lead of her new story deal with him. He could be charming, conniving, and absolutely certain he could get away with it all. But inherstory, he wouldn’t. He’d meet his match. And when he did, he wouldn’t see it coming.

Her smile widened as the idea unfurled before her. It was perfect. And as she sat there, already thinking of the opening line, she couldn’t help but feel a tiny, satisfying flicker of power ignite in her chest. To her surprise, all it took to find a new story idea… a new direction to overcome her writer’s block was doing a deep dive into her own screwed up love life. And all of it, every last bit down to the tiniest of emotion would go into it.

It would be a beautiful, seductive story full of vengeance with no regret.

Rushing out of the chapel, she headed to tell Whiskey about her crazy story idea. She could hear her now saying, “Stormy, you better change Reeves’ name where he doesn’t know you used him.”

Laughing, she quickened her pace… she was giddy with excitement. Maybe if Reeves was around later, she’d be nice to him for inspiring her next best seller.

14

Reeves sat in the office, the ledgers in front of him were a maze of numbers, codes, and notations that made his eyes ache as he looked for discrepancies. It was the meticulous task that he hated but knew was necessary. Jackson had made it clear: if he was going to step into the role of consigliere again, he’d need to understand every detail of the family’s operations. Every. Single. Detail.

Monroe, ever the opportunist, had no qualms about piling the work on Reeves. While Jackson might have been the one to push for his return to a more formal position in the family, Monroe, however, was always quick to remind him they all needed to contribute to keep things running smoothly.

Reeves sighed, rubbing his temples as he flipped through the pages of another ledger. As much as he hated being bogged down by paperwork, he couldn’t deny there was a certain satisfaction in knowing every dollar coming in and going out. His brothers might be more comfortable with the power plays, but he was better at handling the turf wars.

It wasn’t the first time they’d buried him in paperwork. In the beginning, he’d been saddled with plenty of it. He was forcedto get familiar with every transaction… every agreement… every subtle shift in the business. If it meant pulling long hours in a quiet office with only the sound of a ticking clock to keep him company, then so be it.

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