“He did more than break your heart, didn’t he?”
Emma Marshall is haunted by memories of a horrific attack she can’t bury deep enough. Most of all, Emma is haunted by fear — fear that she will never be free of her abusive ex’s control, fear she will never be able to trust another man again.
No one knows the unspeakable truth of what happened between Emma and her ex-fiancé Beaux. It’s a secret Emma plans to carry to the grave, until Julian Cole, a music executive with a dark past of his own, moves in next door and opens Emma’s mind and heart to the possibility of love after a violent betrayal. As the reporter and music executive grow closer in the historic French Quarter of New Orleans, Emma realizes she must face her past in order to heal and move forward with Julian. But Emma soon learns Beaux will do anything to keep his sins a secret.
Emma must risk everything to protect her newfound happiness and Julian from Beaux’s threats. Putting her investigative skills to good use, Emma embarks on a dangerous journey to gather evidence and bring Beaux to justice. But the deeper Emma gets into Beaux’s wicked world, the more complicated things become. How far will Beaux go to keep his secrets? How far will Emma go to protect the ones she loves? Find out in this women’s empowerment thriller about life and love after abuse.
About the Author
Three winners will each receive a print copy of The Truth About Unspeakable Things (US only)
Ends June 30, 2021
I sit on the edge of my mattress and watch as the rising sun invades my room. It illuminates my pale walls as the light shines through the windowpane. To my left, remnants of last night’s fire crack within the confines of my fireplace. On each side, shelves lined with my favorite books glisten in the morning light, as do the dust particles floating in the air. In front of me is my mirror and dresser with travel polaroids displayed on top.
Yet, the space feels foreign after months of sleeping on the couch. I had to repaint and clean and get rid of things that reminded me of him, of that night. Still, I sit nine months later, and I still feel him in this room, watching me, touching me, hurting me.
I wrap my arms around myself and tug my comforter up higher over my chest. Despite it being new, in the right light, I sometimes think I see the remnants of splattered blood staining the white surface.