Novels by SanRose

In the pale, crystalline light of the moon, Shane Cross stood as a living testament to the brutality of the last five years. As the shadows shifted, Tessa Thorne saw them—the jagged, puckered terrain of his skin. There were long, silvery tracks left by blades, the chaotic stippling of shrapnel bursts, and the deep, circular indentations where bullets had found their mark.But it was the exit wound on his back, a massive, star-shaped crater of scar tissue near his shoulder blade, that stole the air from her lungs. It was clearly the mark of a high-caliber sniper round—a shot that should have ended a life instantly."How... how are you even standing?" Tessa's voice was a fractured whisper, her heart breaking under the weight of the visual evidence.Shane turned toward her, his expression serene, almost detached. He pulled his shirt back on with a fluid motion that belied the trauma his body had endured. "I am a soldier," he said simply.Those four words

"What do you think you're doing, you pathetic loser?"Thomas Thorne's voice, though strained and trembling from the crushing weight of Knox's grip, still managed to carry that particular brand of arrogance unique to a man who had never faced a real consequence in his entire life. He stared at the surgical utility knife in Shane Cross's hand, yet his brain refused to register the danger. To a man like Thomas, Shane was a permanent fixture of low status—a Grunt who had spent five years polishing boots and changing oil. In his twisted logic, even a weapon in the hands of a "nobody" was merely a prop for a bluff."If you so much as scratch me, the Thorne family will bury you alive," Thomas sneered, his spit flecked with blood from his shattered teeth. "Be smart for once in your miserable life and let me go. Maybe I'll let you keep your legs."Standing in the corner, Knox remained a silent monolith. His face was a blank slate of military discipline. He had seen kings

In the sterile, fluorescent-lit corridors of Thorne Industries, the air hung heavy with the scent of floor wax and stale air conditioning. The grand corporate headquarters, usually a hive of administrative bustle during the day, had transformed into a silent tomb. Because Thorne Industries operated on a leaner budget than the titans of the Five Dynasties, the family-run firm did not employ a twenty-four-hour security detail. There were no night watchmen to hear a struggle, no patrols to notice a broken lock.Worse still, the digital eyes of the building had been blinded. Before Tessa Thorne had even parked her sedan, Thomas Thorne and Marcus Reed had breached the security hub, disabling every camera in the north wing. The digital loops they installed would show nothing but empty hallways to anyone checking later.Sitting in his car across the street, Thomas Thorne watched the twentieth-floor lights through a pair of high-powered binoculars. A sharp, vicious cackle escaped

The binge drinking session between the two men lasted until the world seemed to spin on its axis, a haze of expensive scotch and fermented resentment. After settling a tab that could have bought a modest car, Thomas Thorne led Marcus Reed toward a high-end massage parlor in the Financial District, a place where the steam was thick and the secrets were thicker. Between rounds of indulgence, Thomas leaned in, his breath reeking of high-end malt and low-end desperation, to offer a final, venomous instruction."Listen to me, Marcus," Thomas hissed, his eyes bloodshot and narrow. "I need this handled with surgical precision. No loose ends. Make it so beautiful that she can never show her face in Thorne Industries again."Marcus, his face twisted into a permanent, predatory smirk, chuckled as he adjusted the towel around his waist. "Don't you worry, Brother. This isn't the first time I've cleaned up a mess for you, but it's certainly the most enjoyable job you've tossed my way.

The possession of fifty-one percent of the shares in The Falcon Group would grant any individual absolute hegemony over the massive commercial engine that drove a significant portion of Harbor City's economy. To a common entrepreneur, it was the ultimate prize; to Barron Lee, it was his life's work.But to Shane Cross, those shares were nothing more than scraps of paper. He didn't even acknowledge the offer. Instead, he reached up with a slow, deliberate movement, smoothing the collar of his heavy military overcoat. He finally turned his head to look at the man bowed before him, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on his lips."I told you earlier that your name was Barron, yet you lacked the vastness of the sea to receive the rivers. Tell me... do you accept that judgment now?""I do, sir! I accept it wholeheartedly!" Barron Lee remained bent at the waist, his forehead nearly touching his knees. He didn't dare straighten his spine. The physical strain was nothing compare

In the aftermath of the encounter by the lake, the air inside the grand study of Estate No. 9 felt thin, as if the oxygen was being sucked out of the room by an invisible vacuum. Barron Lee, a man whose reputation was built on his unflappable composure as the Director of The Falcon Group, was currently the picture of a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Every time his mind drifted back to the recent acquisitions in Harbor City—the sudden change in ownership of the Zenith Hotel, the high-end Azure Club, and the massive corporate entities like Royal Capital Holdings and The Titan's Guild—his heart would hammer against his ribs like a trapped bird.These were not just business transactions; they were seismic shifts in the city's power structure, all orchestrated by a single, shadowy figure."Eleanor... tell me the truth. You aren't playing some elaborate joke on your father, are you?" Barron's voice was uncharacteristically thin, lacking its usual gravelly a