A SYMPHONY OF SECRETS The Sins We Hide Series Book 4 – Cree Say

His tone carries mock suffering, but his grin gives him away. “And she said you’re refusing to celebrate today.” I stiffen immediately. He notices. He always does. “It’s not refusal,” I say quietly. “It’s safety.” He nods like he understands, then sets Ray in her chair. “Okay. But hear me out. What if we all stayed inside, dressed the kids up, let them have fun, maybe buy candy for a fake trick-or-treating around the apartment?” “That’s actually not a bad—” “—or,” he interrupts gently, his voice dipping low in that way that makes my spine react before my brain does, “you could trust me to keep you both safe outside.

Just once. Just tonight.” I freeze, spatula mid-air. He moves closer, his voice soft enough that only I can hear him. “You don’t live in hiding anymore, Lys. You deserve to have fun too.” I hate how much those words hit me. I hate how much he wants me to live. But I hate most how much I want to say yes. Before I can respond, Amy bursts into the apartment like a tornado in leggings, holding Emeric on one hip and a red lace bag on the other.

“ALRIGHT, PEOPLE!” she shouts dramatically. “It’s Halloween and nobody is sitting at home crying over their ex-husband tonight! Except maybe the ex-husband!” I glare. Jordan chuckles. Ray claps like this is entertainment. “I told you,” I groan. “I’m not—” “Oh shut it,” she snaps, tossing a costume onto my counter.

“You’re Wonder Woman, Jordan’s Superman, I’m Catwoman, the kids are adorable, and we are going trick-or-treating whether you like it or not.” “I didn’t agree to—” “You will.” She points at Jordan. “Use your charm.” He doesn’t even hesitate.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. For information, contact: [email protected] Table of Contents PROLOGUE 1. ONE 2. TWO 3. THREE 4. FOUR 5. FIVE 6. SIX 7. SEVEN 8. EIGHT 9. NINE 10. TEN 11. ELEVEN 12. TWELVE 13. THIRTEEN 14. FOURTEEN 15. FIFTEEN 16. SIXTEEN 17. SEVENTEEN 18. EIGHTEEN 19. NINETEEN 20. TWENTY 21. TWENTY-ONE 22.

TWENTY-TWO 23. TWENTY-THREE 24. TWENTY-FOUR 25. TWENTY-FIVE 26. TWENTY-SIX 27. TWENTY-SEVEN 28. TWENTY-EIGHT 29. TWENTY-NINE 30. THIRTY 31. THIRTY-ONE 32. THIRTY-TWO 33. THIRTY-THREE 34. THIRTY-FOUR 35. THIRTY-FIVE 36. THIRTY-SIX 37. THIRTY-SEVEN 38. THIRTY-EIGHT 39.THIRTY-NINE 40.FOURTY 41.FOURTY ONE 42.FPURTY TWO 43.FOURTY THREE 44.FOURTY FOUR 45.FOURTY FIVE 46.FOURTY SIX. 47.FOURTY SEVEN 48.FOURTY EIGHT 49.FOURTY NINE 50.FIFTY Epilogue BONUS CHAPTER “Some stories are stitched from both ruin and rebirth.

A heart shatters, learns to breathe again, and discovers love waiting in places grief once claimed. A child arrives as a quiet miracle, carrying the last soft echo of a man who ran out of time but not out of longing. And somehow, in the space between goodbye and beginning, a broken life becomes a gentler one — proof that even the most painful endings can leave behind a light that never stops living.” Prologue The city never sleeps , not for people like me, anyway.

The rain hits the window in a slow, steady rhythm, like a song that refuses to end. I sit by the crib, watching her tiny chest rise and fall beneath the soft pink blanket. My daughter. My miracle. My secret. Her name is Race Faith Martins, but everyone calls her Ray. Two years old, with her father’s green eyes and my stubbornness. The kind of child who laughs with her whole body, who looks at the world like it’s hers already. Sometimes I wonder what Isaiah would think if he saw her.

Would he see himself in her smile? Would he even care? I shake the thought away before it can grow roots. He doesn’t know ,and he never will. New York gave me a chance to breathe again. The city swallowed my past like it was nothing. Here, I’m just Alyssa. The theatre actress. The single mother. The woman trying to piece herself back together. The woman still blindly in love with her ex husband. Broadway isn’t glamorous ,not the way Hollywood was. The lights here don’t blind you; they test you.

They demand truth, not perfection.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

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• Title: –
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• Pages: 315
• Language: English (en)

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