Frozen Suns and Broken Hearts - Written by : Sheila Brown

I had destroyed moons for her. I had halted the spin of distant planets, froze entire suns just to cool her fevered skin. But it was never enough, never what she wanted. She loved another man—the money man. The one who sat atop towers of steel and glass, who could make entire economies dance at the flick of his pen. In his position, I might have chosen her too.

  She was of that caliber: prime, unattainable, the kind of woman you’d demolish worlds to possess. So I let her go. At least, that was the plan, until one day I received a message—unexpected, like a dying star sputtering back to life.“Hey, Reese,” she wrote. “I heard your brothers moved to Texas.

 Who’s taking care of your mom?” My heart stilled. Why was she asking about my family? Before I could make sense of it, more messages followed. Something about how we “had motion” now, how we should meet.

 Her texts crackled with old chemistry, with promises I knew better than to trust. Yet I found myself agreeing to come over. I soared through the night toward her address, silver-surfing on a craft of my own design, breaking through the cloud line until her home came into view. The place was enormous—no, humongous—far beyond what I’d ever pictured for her. It rose out of manicured grounds like a temple to desire and wealth. I knocked.

 Silence. Minutes passed, then the door swung open. She stood there wearing a black-and-red jumpsuit that hugged her body like a second skin, looking every bit as astonishing as I remembered. A small red smear decorated her shoulder—paint, maybe? Or something else?

 I tried to ignore it. She was mesmerizing, and I was already struggling to keep my mind clear. She led me inside, through hallways that gleamed like polished obsidian, into a kitchen lit by a soft, amber glow. I wondered if this was the start of something new. Would we pick up where we left off?

  Would she finally choose me? Then I saw him—her man, the money man, sprawled on the white-tiled floor, lying very, very still. At first, I thought he might be passed out, but something was off. The angle of his limbs. The shallow pool of crimson spreading beneath him. 

His eyes were open, vacant. He wasn’t sleeping. He was dead. My heart thundered in my chest as I turned to face her. She tilted her head slightly, as if appraising my reaction. In that silent moment, countless questions collided in my mind, but one rose above the rest:What the hell was going on?

Frozen in shock, she stared at me as if caught in a pair of headlights. Her voice was unsteady: “I’m in some serious shit, and I don’t have anyone I can trust.” I’d seen warzones and battled monstrosities on distant worlds, but this was different—messier, smaller-scale, and yet somehow more dangerous. Questions swirled in my head, and she tried to answer, stumbling over details. Something about foreign bank accounts, secret safehouses that had long since ceased to be safe, hired hits on faceless targets.

 The whole mess boiled down to one terrible fact: she had access to his accounts—her dead lover’s—and needed the information he kept hidden. But why kill him? She insisted she found him that way, lifeless on the floor. Before I could press for details, a voice crackled from the hallway. Police. 

Their shouts echoed through the corridors. In an instant, the situation was as desperate as that brawl back in high school—the one where I fought her college boyfriend. He put me in a coma, but rumor had it I stabbed him before blacking out. That’s me: always rushing headlong into chaos for her sake. We didn’t have time to think.The cops were nearly on us.

She led me to the back of her house, onto a second-floor patio. From there, we dropped down to the garage roof, then to the ground below. My heart hammered as we slipped into her car. I took the passenger seat this time, and before I could buckle in, she floored it. Tires screeched, and we sped off into the night.

“I’ll explain more when we’re safe,” she promised, voice tight with fear and adrenaline. I wanted to believe her, but I never truly felt safe with her. She, on the other hand, could always rely on my protection—my loyalty. That had never changed, not since we were kids. As the city lights blurred and sirens wailed in the distance, I realized just how deep I was in this time. Yet some part of me knew I’d go deeper still, if she asked.