TANGLED: Crazy For You
Twenty-one-year-old Hazel has always lived in a safe, comfortable bubble, meticulously guarded by her fiercely protective older brother. Her life is predictable, quiet, and perfectly ordinary. Until he steps into it.
Silas is twenty-four, dangerously captivating, and her brother's best friend. He brings with him an aura of dark secrets, ink-stained skin, and a predatory gaze that strips away all her carefully built defenses. He is everything she has been taught to avoid, yet living under the same roof makes him impossible to escape.
What starts as a temporary living arrangement quickly spirals into a suffocating web of stolen glances, unspoken desires, and a dangerous obsession. Silas isn't just looking for a place to crash; he's looking at her. And once he pins her in his sights, the thorns of their forbidden attraction will bind them together in ways that could destroy them both.
In a house where walls have ears and her brother is always watching, giving in to the madness is a risk. But Silas is a temptation she might not survive.
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Chapter 3
The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of Hazel's bedroom, casting soft, honeyed streaks across the hardwood floor. Usually, Hazel loved the quietude of the early hours, but today, the air in the house felt different-charged with a static electricity that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up. Silas was here. He was just down the hall, and the mere thought of him being a permanent fixture in their home sent a flutter of panicked excitement through her chest.
She stood before her full-length mirror, smoothing the fabric of her cream knit top. It was a soft, form-fitting piece that hugged her curves in a way that felt both modest and dangerously feminine. She paired it with high-waisted caramel trousers that elongated her legs, cinching at her waist to emphasize her delicate frame. She brushed her vibrant red hair until it shone like polished mahogany, letting the waves cascade down her back. She wanted to look put-together-professional for her university classes-but a treacherous part of her mind wondered if Silas would notice the way the cream color made her skin glow.
A sharp knock at the door broke her trance. "Haze? You ready? Breakfast is getting cold, and we've got a schedule to keep."
Leo. Her brother's voice was the anchor that usually kept her grounded, but today, she felt like a kite caught in a gale. She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the hallway, the scent of coffee and sizzling bacon greeting her. As she entered the kitchen, she saw Leo already plated up, looking every bit the doting older brother. But her eyes instinctively flickered to the empty chair at the breakfast nook. Silas wasn't there yet.
"You look nice, Pip," Leo said, using his childhood nickname for her as he nudged a plate of eggs toward her. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, familiar plastic device. His expression shifted from playful to sternly protective. "But before we go anywhere... inhaler. Now."
Hazel sighed, though there was no real heat in it. "Leo, I'm fine. I haven't had a wheeze in days."
"And I'd like to keep it that way," Leo countered, holding the inhaler out like a royal scepter. "The humidity is up today, and you know how that campus walk is. Two puffs, Hazel. Don't make me pull the 'big brother' card."
Hazel took the inhaler, feeling his watchful eyes on her. She shook it, exhaled, and took the first puff, the cool mist hitting the back of her throat with a familiar medicinal tang. She waited a beat, then took the second. Leo nodded in satisfaction, tucking the device back into her bag's side pocket himself. "Good. I don't need you fainting on me because you're too stubborn to breathe."
A heavy footfall sounded on the stairs, and Hazel's heart performed a frantic somersault. Silas entered the kitchen like a storm front moving into a clear valley. He was dressed simply in a black t-shirt that strained against his broad shoulders, his muscular arms on full display. The intricate ink of his tattoos-the dark scales of the snake, the jagged lines of his history-seemed to pulse in the morning light. He didn't say a word, merely grabbed a piece of toast from the center of the table, his dark eyes locking onto Hazel for a fraction of a second too long.
"Ready to head out, Silas?" Leo asked, oblivious to the sudden drop in the room's oxygen levels. "I'm dropping Haze off at the psych building first."
"I'll ride with you," Silas said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated in Hazel's marrow. "I've got some things to handle near the campus anyway."
***
The car ride was an exercise in sensory overload. Usually, Hazel sat in the front passenger seat, but Leo had moved his gym bag and a stack of files there. "Jump in the back with Silas, Haze," Leo said casually, as if he weren't sentencing her to a beautiful, claustrophobic torture.
She slid into the backseat, pressing herself as close to the window as possible. Silas climbed in after her, his sheer bulk making the spacious sedan feel like a cramped elevator. As he settled in, the scent of him hit her-a potent, intoxicating blend of cedarwood, cold air, and something uniquely masculine. It was an earthy, grounded smell that made her feel dizzy.
As Leo pulled out of the driveway, Silas shifted, his long legs stretching out. His knee brushed against hers-just a momentary contact through the fabric of her caramel trousers-but it felt like a brand. Hazel stopped breathing for a second, her fingers clenching the strap of her bag. She looked out the window, her reflection showing wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Silas didn't move away. In fact, he seemed to reclaim the space, his arm resting on the back of the seat behind her head. He wasn't touching her, but his presence was a physical weight, a heat that radiated through the inches between them.
Every time Leo took a turn, the sway of the car threatened to push her closer to Silas. She was acutely aware of his hand-the one with the dark tattoos-resting just inches from her thigh. She could see the veins on the back of his hand, the way his knuckles were dusted with fine hair. He was so intensely *there*. The silence in the backseat was thick, a living thing that hummed with everything they weren't saying. Silas wasn't looking at her, but she could feel his focus. It was a predator's focus, quiet and absolute.
***
When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of the University's Psychology department, Hazel felt like she had just finished a marathon. The tension was so high she half-expected the windows to shatter. Leo put the car in park and turned around with a bright smile.
"Have a good day, Pip. Study hard," he said, reaching over the seat to plant a loud, affectionate kiss on her cheek. "I'll pick you up at four, okay?"
"Okay, Leo. See you then," Hazel whispered, her voice sounding thin to her own ears.
As she stepped out of the car, she realized Silas had followed her out. He stood by the rear door, leaning against the frame as he surveyed the campus. The reaction was instantaneous. A group of sophomore girls walking toward the library stopped in their tracks, their hushed whispers and giggles carrying on the breeze. They were staring openly at Silas-at his height, his brooding face, and the dark, dangerous allure of the tattoos snaking down his arms.
Silas didn't give them a second glance. His eyes were pinned on a group of fraternity boys standing by the fountain, who were currently staring at Hazel with predatory interest. One of them nudged another, pointing at Hazel's knit top and the way it fit her. Silas's expression darkened instantly. His jaw set, and he took a single step toward Hazel, his shadow falling over her. He didn't touch her, but he didn't have to. He threw a look at the boys-a cold, lethal glare that promised a very specific kind of violence if they didn't look away. The boys suddenly found their shoelaces very interesting, turning tail and hurrying toward the dining hall.
Silas looked back at Hazel, his eyes searching hers for a moment. "Go to class, Hazel," he said, his voice a low command. It wasn't a suggestion; it was a directive to get into the safety of the building before he lost his temper with the rest of the world.
***
Forty minutes later, Hazel was sitting in the third row of the lecture hall, her notebook open to a fresh page. Professor Miller was at the front of the room, droning on about the "Architecture of the Human Psyche" and the "Limbic System's Role in Emotional Response."
Hazel tried to take notes. She really did. She wrote the word *'Amygdala'* and then stopped. Her pen hovered over the paper as her mind drifted back to the car. She could still feel the phantom heat of Silas's knee against hers. She could still smell the cedar. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the way his black t-shirt had clung to his chest.
"The limbic system is responsible for our most primal instincts," Professor Miller said, his voice echoing in the large hall. "Fight, flight, and... desire."
Hazel's heart gave a traitorous thud. She looked down and realized she had been doodling. It wasn't a diagram of the brain. It was a series of dark, interlocking scales-a mimicry of the tattoo she had seen on Silas's forearm. She felt a hot flush creep up her neck. She was a psychology major; she was supposed to be the one analyzing behavior, not the one falling victim to a textbook case of obsessive fixation.
She was in trouble. Deep, tangled trouble. And as the lecture continued around her, all she could think about was the four o'clock pick-up, and the long, silent ride back home in the dark with Silas sitting just inches away.
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9.3
Born into privilege, Eleanor never imagined her life could shatter in a single night. Then her father disappeared with his mistress, her mother fell from a building and slipped into a coma, and everything she once owned turned to dust.
Determined not to ruin Jonathan's future with her family's disgrace, she ended their relationship and became the bride of a man trapped in a vegetative state.
She believed that was the last time their paths would cross. But two years later, Jonathan pinned her in the dark and whispered, "Long time no see, my sister-in-law."
8.3
EDEN
8.3
Elianila, an AI Architect, is part of an elite team tasked with designing a global system meant to prevent threats, manage disasters, and distribute resources to vulnerable regions. After five years of tireless work with her colleagues, she uncovers disturbing anomalies, code-named, X-variables, that flag individuals according to criteria she never programmed.
As Elianila digs deeper to understand what the X-variables measure and where their origin, she finds herself in direct conflict with the authorities. Soon, the System marks her and her daughter as threats - targets to be eliminated.
With a small band of colleagues and dissidents, Elianila goes on the run, hiding in places beyond the Systems reach. As they evade surveillance, they race against time to warn others, expose the truth, and fight back against the omnipresent authority of the System.
9.1
He postponed putting my name on the deed 18 times.
Each time, his mentee Ciera had an “emergency.” Each time, he ran to her.
I watched him give her his prized Montblanc pen—the one he wouldn’t even let me borrow. I saw her post their late nights on Instagram. I ate anniversary dinners alone while he “mentored” her.
Then he bought me a necklace—identical to the one she just flaunted online.
That was when I stopped feeling anything.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t fight. I simply packed two suitcases, resigned from our firm, and booked a one-way ticket to London.
He thinks I’m coming back in a week.
He has no idea I’m gone for good.
Nineteen broken promises. One silent goodbye. And a new life waiting across the ocean.
7.2
Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt.
Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake.
After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust.
Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders.
Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her?
But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet.
"Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever."
He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.
7.2
Allie Patterson poured fifteen years into her husband Grayson’s tech startup, living in a cramped San Jose apartment. Every penny, every late night coding session, was for their shared future, built on his constant claims the company struggled, always on the verge of its big break.
Then, a grant deed arrived: a stunning $4.2 million Atherton villa, paid in full, listing Grayson and an unknown Kacey Schmidt as joint tenants.
Her coffee mug shattered as Allie’s world imploded. Driving to the mansion, she found Kacey in silk pajamas, flaunting a massive pink diamond and, beneath it, Grayson’s grandmother’s heirloom ring – the one he’d tearfully claimed to have lost years ago.
Kacey purred, "He's in the shower. We were so tired last night."
The words were a serrated knife, twisting, confirming years of lies.
Humiliation and rage burned out, leaving a terrifying, absolute silence. All her sacrifice and trust were a cruel, elaborate joke, orchestrated by the man she loved.
Allie calmly took photos, then gave herself one minute in her beat-up car to mourn. When it passed, her tears stopped, replaced by cold, calculated murder in her eyes. She typed a text to Grayson:
"Come home early tonight. I have a surprise for you."
9.0
The biopsy report slid across the cold metal desk, stamped with a brutal death sentence: advanced gastric cancer. Aretha had exactly ninety days left to live.
It was her twenty-sixth birthday, but her phone only rang with a furious call from her husband, Anders.
"Do you have any idea how much of a joke you made this family look like today? Post a public apology to Kelli right now."
He had completely forgotten her birthday, only caring that she skipped her adopted sister's yacht party.
When Aretha dragged her failing body back to the family estate, her biological mother slapped her across the face just for looking pale and embarrassing them in front of guests.
Seeing Aretha wasn't submitting to the usual abuse, Kelli deliberately threw herself down the stairs, playing the innocent, depressed victim.
Anders rushed in and shoved Aretha brutally against the wall to protect Kelli, while her biological father delivered his ultimate threat.
"I am freezing your trust fund. Get on your knees and apologize to Kelli right now, or you won't see another dime."
A massive, suffocating sense of absurdity washed over Aretha. She had spent six years lowering her head and begging for their approval, only to be treated like a disposable placeholder. Why should she spend her final days enduring this agonizing torture for people who didn't even care if she breathed?
Aretha wiped the blood from her chin and laughed. She publicly severed all ties with her family, whipped the signed divorce papers directly at Anders's face, and walked out into the freezing storm—ready to fight for her own life.