Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Served Him Right by Lisa Unger, which releases on March 10th 2026.

Ana Blacksmith has gathered her closest friends and sister Vera for a brunch to celebrate her recent breakup from her boyfriend Paul. But when shocking news about Paul arrives, all eyes are on Ana, the angry ex with a bad reputation. Suspicions only intensify when Ana’s best friend falls deathly ill after the brunch.

But Ana is not the only one who had a score to settle with Paul. As the investigation unfolds, rumors of a secret network that uses ancient methods to obtain justice begin to emerge. Vengeance is sweet, but it can also be deadly. Ana and Vera are determined to find the truth before Ana takes the fall and their own long-buried history comes to light.

EXCERPT

She really needed this job. That’s why she was always there a half an hour before her boss got in, why she was often the one to turn the lights off after everyone else had left, sometimes even there when the cleaning crew arrived at night. She came in on weekends when she knew Paul’s work week ahead was heavy to make sure he had everything he needed for his various meetings, that his calendar was in order.

“You’re meticulous,” he told her. “What would I do without you?”

Meticulous. She carried the word around like a gold star. Meticulous. On top of things. Never missing a step. And her boss, Paul, he was good to her. When he stopped at Starbucks on the way into the office, he picked her up an oat milk latte, left it on her desk. He praised her in meetings, and to his own boss. He put in for her raise, and she got it. She hadn’t even asked.

Of course, she knew all the rumors about him. How he was a different man when he’d had too much drink. How he took credit for his colleague’s work. How he got aggressive, handsy. But Jessica had never seen a hint of any that. He did his job. She did hers.

Sure, there were a couple of office affairs—Beth in Marketing, Marie in Social Media. There had been some drama there; she wasn’t sure what. She tried to stay out of it, didn’t hang out in the break room where people gathered to whisper about this and that. She wasn’t like them; they all seemed so carefree, meeting for brunch and happy hour, driving new cars, taking expensive trips.

But Jessica wasn’t carefree. She had debts—massive student loans. There was no safety net. Her parents both passed and had left her with nothing except more debt. It wasn’t their fault. They’d worked hard, too. That was the way of it for some people, wasn’t it? Work hard and still can’t get ahead. But Jessica was steadily chipping away at her debt, even managing to save and invest a little.

Though this job paid well, if she was doing what she went to college for, she’d make more. But when she’d been applying, this position was offered first. She figured she’d take it just to pay the bills and keep looking. She’d make a change soon. But for now, she needed to be here. She wanted to be here.

So, today when Paul asked her to stay late to help with his client presentation, she didn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” she said. She had plans; she’d cancel them.

“Don’t worry about dinner,” he told her. “I’ll order in Thai.”

Truthfully, she liked Paul, even though many of the women in the office did not. He was funny, kind to her, hardworking. No, no. It wasn’t like that. Jessica had someone special in her life, someone she loved. Paul wasn’t her type. Like, not at all.

The project he needed help with was a big pitch for a brand- new client, a bespoke gym founded by an influencer who needed a full suite of services from traditional advertising buys to a publicity campaign, to website design and social media management. If Paul landed this account, it would mean a lot to the firm, which had lost a few clients last year for various reasons— some said because of the rumors swirling around Paul. But she didn’t believe that.

Anyway, Jessica had been researching the client all day, and she had some ideas that she was excited to share with Paul. She’d dressed for it, too. She wore her new black suit, with a white silk blouse and pumps. Dress for the job you want. Isn’t that what they said? She wasn’t going to be like some of the people her age, showing up in hoodies and pants that could be pajamas.

Now the office was emptying out, people heading out for happy hour. They always invited her. Her colleagues at the firm were warm and inclusive. But Jessica kept herself apart, mainly because she was shy, not a bar person. And her partner worked here, too, in another department. They kept their relationship out of the office. Even the contact in her phone was just the letter M, because they didn’t want to be the subject of office gossip mill.

Her phone pinged.

Hey, there. Ready to go? Still feel like a movie?

Sorry, babe. I have to stay late to help Paul with his presentation.

. . .

Alone?

It’s fine. He’s not like that with me.

Okay. Well, stay in touch. If things get weird, get out.

Jessica smiled. Because M worried about her, and also because Jessie thought all the rumors about Paul were simply not true. She’d never seen that side of him, not even a glimmer. And wouldn’t she have? Working so closely?

She hustled to the conference room down the hall, got set up. She was a little bit nervous. But when Paul joined her, she presented her research, all her ideas; they used the whiteboard to brainstorm. After a while, he ordered the food. And they continued working.

It was after ten by the time they’d finished, the office dark and empty, even the cleaning crew gone. She’d received a couple of worried texts from M, but Jessica offered assurances that all was well and that she’d come by after and spend the night.

As she tidied up the room, keeping her notes so that she could do the PowerPoint for the presentation, Paul left and returned with a bottle of vodka and two glasses.

Jessica really didn’t drink.

“You know,” he said, pouring generous portions into the glasses. “I wouldn’t have been able to do this without you. Especially the social media stuff. You have a real gift for that.”

She had always been good with tech. In fact, her degree was in computer science, which she didn’t talk about much because it was a little embarrassing that she’d worked so hard for it only to find she wasn’t using it at all in this job. She had a gift for coding, too. She’d applied for work in the IT department, but there wasn’t an opening. And she needed the work. So, when they offered the assistant job, she took it, hoping to move when she proved herself.

Her life after college had been fraught. She’d struggled to find her footing after her parents passed. She knew she should be trying harder to get a job in her field; M was always encouraging her. But truthfully, she liked it here. This is where she met M. She’d made real friends here, even though she rarely attended the group outings. She felt safe, secure. There was time for the big job she hoped to have. She was young.

“Social media is such a big part of marketing these days. Maybe the biggest piece,” she said. “People are living online, getting all their news and advice there. And the owner already has such a big following. We can really leverage that.”

“And the idea about pitching the owner for big podcasts and podcast advertising,” he went on, handing her a glass. “I love that.”

She took the glass, even though she didn’t want to. She was driving and she didn’t do well with alcohol. It was a big part of the reason she didn’t go to happy hour. Liquor hit her too hard, and she didn’t like who she was, or how it made her feel. But she didn’t want to disappoint her boss. So she raised the glass to her lips and took a swallow. It burned going down and she must have grimaced, because Paul laughed a little.

“Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You’re a lightweight.”

It was easy, good-natured. Jessica laughed, too. “I guess so.”

“To you, Jessica. Thanks for always having my back and going the extra mile. You’re the best assistant I’ve ever had. You have a bright future here at the firm.”

He raised his glass again, and she took another deep swallow. She’d call an Uber if she had to, or text M to come get her.

“Thank you,” she said. “For being such a great boss, for encouraging me.”

Another big swallow.

Her phone pinged again.

Hey, it’s getting late. All good?

Truthfully, that’s the last thing she remembered clearly, that text, those words swimming on the screen.

She reached for her phone—she remembered that—and the world seemed to tilt.

Paul’s voice, heavy with concern. “Oh, hey, there, steady.”

His hands on her arms, holding her up. She tried to apologize but the words wouldn’t come, and then his mouth was on hers, and his arms tight around her. And she didn’t have any strength to push him away, or any voice to say no. This isn’t happening, she remembered thinking. It’s a dream. And then everything was just fuzzy, then black.

The next moment Jessica was aware of herself, she was sitting in the driver’s seat of her car. Her seatbelt was fastened. The lights in the lot glowed, casting everything in grayish sodium flicker. The office building was completely dark and there wasn’t a single other car. The moon high and full.

Her mind grappled for context. How had she gotten here?

She’d been working late. With Paul. Then—

She ached. The skin on her face felt raw. In the visor mirror, she saw that her lipstick was smeared across her face, her hair wild. She felt him on her—her arms where he gripped her. Her back where she knocked against the table. Her skirt was hiked high up on her thighs. Her panties. They were gone. She could feel him down there, a terrible sore, rawness.

The truth broke over her like a wave, swamping her, knocking her under.

She leaned over the steering wheel and wept, body heaving, wailing.

What had he put in her drink? How could she be so stupid? She should have known. Women don’t start rumors like that about men unless they’re true. They don’t warn you to watch your back and stay away and don’t get caught alone with him anywhere, unless there’s a good reason. She felt a rush of shame. How could she not have seen it?

She reached for her phone. The screen was filled with missed calls and texts from M, who was frantic.

Where are you?

What’s happening?

Please, please, pick up, honey. I’m so worried.

She looked at the time and was shocked to find that hours had passed since she took the first drink. She was shaking, couldn’t even bring herself to call M. How could she say what had happened to her? She didn’t even remember. She’d been alone with him, drinking with him. She’d taken off her suit jacket, hung it on the chair. She knew her silk blouse was flattering. She’d clocked his gaze. She should have put her jacket back on then. But she hadn’t.

She started the engine, shivering from fear and pain and the cold. Her windows were frosted. She could still smell his cologne.

She pushed open the door and vomited onto the blacktop.

Take a deep breath, her mother would say when Jessica was upset. Just breathe.

She did that, slow and deep, pulled herself together. She texted M.

I’m on my way to you.

She didn’t read the replies which came one after another in quick succession. Ping. Ping. Ping.

Jessica started to drive, moving slowly through the lot. She wondered if she should be driving. She’d go slow; she’d be okay. That’s when she saw him, waiting. He sat in his Porsche over by the exit, just idling. As her car approached his, he rolled down the window.

“Great job tonight,” he said. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

He gave her a wide smile and she saw what others before her had seen. A predator. A monster. He lifted a single manicured finger to his lips.

“Hush now,” he said. “Not to worry. I won’t tell anyone how you behaved tonight. It’s between us.”

Then he closed his window and roared away.

The shaking—it was almost comical. Her hands could barely hold the wheel, her teeth were chattering. The fear. The shame. The rage.

The tangle of feelings manifested themselves not in a scream, but in a deluge of tears.

That rage. It would find a home in her belly, a pot of pure molten lava.

She would drink from it, and it would make her stronger.

Everything that came next would come from that place.

Excerpted from Served Him Right by Lisa Unger, Copyright © 2026 by Lisa Unger Published by Park Row Books.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Served Him Right’ by Lisa Unger appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Learning to Whistle by Tess Perko, which releases on April 7th 2026.

When she is supposed to be having the time of her life in college in California, Leonie loses her mother to breast cancer. After taking her last college course in Buenos Aires, she cashes in her return flight ticket and refuses to go home, erroneously believing that her grief will subside if she avoids her family. Narrating in her own grief-stricken voice, Leonie travels across Argentina, makes friends, and falls in love. She discovers her vulnerability and strength while working at a winery in Mendoza, riding over the treacherous Andes Mountains, and hiking the ancient pilgrimage to Machu Picchu—and, in doing so, slowly begins to heal.

Vividly rendered and full of heart, Learning to Whistle will resonate with every person who has ever been forced to venture into the world when they didn’t feel ready for it—with or without the guidance of a parent.

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from I Did Not Kill My Husband by Linda Keir, which is out now.

LA lifestyle influencer Cara Campbell is living the rags-to-riches dream with her plastic surgeon husband, Karl, and posting all about it on social media. But her happily ever after evaporates when she’s given a life sentence for murdering Karl during a romantic getaway. All evidence points to her, and her platform-as an unabashed gold digger-makes her look guilty as hell. Karl’s struggling business and million-dollar life insurance policy add plenty of motive. But the one thing Cara knows for sure is she didn’t do it.

En route to the maximum-security prison where she’ll begin serving her sentence, the armored transport vehicle is torn apart in a horrific collision that sparks a wildfire at the scene. Desperately seizing this unexpected chance at freedom, Cara flees into the Sierra Nevada Mountains armed only with a cracked phone she found on the highway.

Local sheriff Jordan Burke is first to respond and follows in hot pursuit. His desire to apprehend Cara is personal: he’s vulnerable in the next election, and a quick capture will help his chances. But as the sensational case explodes in the headlines, he finds himself second-guessed at every turn by a noisy chorus of murderinos, internet sleuths, and podcasters-as well as his blowhard political opponent.

In the woods, Cara’s flight for survival becomes a journey of discovery. Who killed Karl, and why? Was her marriage built on lies? And who is she, really, without her millions of followers?

As Jordan draws relentlessly closer, he, too, begins to question the truth. But to find the answers, he has to catch a fugitive …

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Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Primrose Murder Society by Stacy Hackney, which is out now.

Lila Shaw stopped trusting anyone the minute her husband went to jail for white-collar crime, taking their country club lifestyle with him. Now Lila is broke, friendless, and losing her house—and to make things worse, her true-crime-obsessed daughter, Bea, was just expelled from fourth grade. Desperate for a fresh start, Lila agrees to temporarily move in and clean out an abandoned junk-filled apartment in Richmond’s palatial Primrose building. The luxurious Virginia landmark is filled with retirees who start their days early drinking bourbon and gossiping, in that order.

Soon after Lila’s arrival, the Primrose is thrown into chaos. The owner of the building’s splendid penthouse has died and in his final days he set up a two-million-dollar reward for any resident who helps to solve the 21-year-old murder of his granddaughter at the Primrose. A fan of all detective stories and true-crime podcasts, Bea is inspired to investigate. They really could use the reward money, so Lila reluctantly agrees, in a questionable attempt at family bonding. She’s certain the killer is long-gone after all these years anyway. That is, until another resident is murdered… and Lila becomes the prime suspect.

Now Lila needs to solve both murders to avoid jail, and even worse, losing her daughter to her snobby in-laws. To catch a killer and clear Lila’s name, she and Bea must rely on their elderly neighbors—Jasper, a shy former detective, and Evelyn, an opinionated socialite—along with Nate, a good-looking reporter who keeps appearing at the most inconvenient moments. As the amateur sleuths expose the truth about the Primrose, Lila hopes she can also unravel the trickiest parts of her own life and start fresh.

The Primrose did not look like a typical murder site. Stretching up five stories to a peaked roof and a circular tower, the building itself was clad in elegant rose-colored brick with large arched windows and cream stone trim. The circular slate driveway was lined with red azaleas and Mercedes sedans. The building looked safe and luxurious, a place where nothing bad could happen. Bea would never have to know about its dark past, and Lila herself had plenty of other problems. An unsolved murder from twenty years ago didn’t even rank in the top fifty.

“It’s pretty,” Bea said, tipping up her pointed chin to stare at the top of the Primrose.

Lila exhaled at the unexpectedly positive comment. She had feared Bea would proclaim her hatred for the Primrose at first sight.

“This is a fun adventure. We’re going to love living here. I know it,” Lila said and squeezed her daughter’s arm, injecting as much enthusiasm as she could into her voice. An adventure was not what she would call it if she was being honest. Desperation was probably a better description of their current life status.

“I do like it already.” Bea beamed a rare smile. “Mostly because of the murder.”

Lila swallowed, snared in her daughter’s expectant gaze. “What . . . there’s no . . . I mean, how do you—”

“Google,” Bea said by way of explanation.

Of course. Google. Anyone who spent two minutes researching the Primrose would come across the story of Sophia Kent’s unsolved murder. Lila really needed to put those parental controls on her laptop.

“Let’s see what the inside looks like,” Lila said, changing the subject. If she pretended like the murder never happened, maybe Bea would forget about it.

Lila picked up a suitcase in either hand. One was filled with photo albums and her grandma’s candlesticks, the other with clothes. Bea pulled a single roller suitcase behind her. It was all they had left. Lila missed her Breville espresso machine (confiscated by the government) and Isabel Marant sandals (sold to pay the electric bill) and the currant rose-scented candles (broken by Bea in a fit of anger).

They made their way across the gray cobblestones. The cream awning over the front double doors announced the name in grand, black script—The Primrose. Lawrence Pfeifer, a noted Virginia architect, had designed the building back in the early 1900s as a luxury apartment hotel. Considered a historic landmark due to its aesthetic influence on the Richmond landscape, the Primrose was now an upscale condo building for adults over the age of fifty-five.

They stepped through the heavy wooden double doors into the lobby. Cream marble floors stretched out in either direction, and the ceiling was at least fifteen feet high with elaborate gingerbread trim. The walls were clad in a gold damask wallpaper, which shimmered above and below the large arched windows. An ornate chandelier dripped crystals and sent shards of rainbow lights flickering on the polished wood of a gilt-edged round table, topped with an impressive arrangement of fresh hydrangeas and peonies. Bea drew in a breath of delight, and Lila was suddenly hopeful that this was the right decision after all.

Two women and a man were seated on twin taupe velvet sofas facing each other in a small seating area off to the right of a grand piano. It was only one o’clock in the afternoon, but all three sipped large glasses filled with ice cubes and bronze liquid that was clearly alcohol. They were over the age of seventy-five and staring straight at Lila.

“She’s not even wearing a crop top.” One of the women slid on a pair of glasses that hung from a chain around her neck, sounding disappointed. She wore the odd combination of a sweater embroidered with cats and Alexander McQueen platform tennis shoes.

“I told you not every young person wears crop tops.” The other older woman was taller with a gray bob that hit at her chin.

“But that’s all I see on the TikTok,” the cat-sweater woman protested. “That, and a lot of girls applying their makeup while they talk about who hurt their feelings.”

“Men are allowed to get their feelings hurt too. I learned that from my granddaughter’s therapist,” the man said. “I meant to tell Florence that she hurt my feelings yesterday when she told us about the Faberleys’ divorce.”

“I was stating a fact. It has nothing to do with you,” the woman with the gray bob said.

“Divorce is trigger-happy for me,” the man said solemnly. “I don’t think you’re using that term right,” the woman with the gray bob said.

Lila stepped forward and called out, “Hello. We’re looking for Susanna Moore.”

Before the elderly trio could respond, a door swung open to Lila’s left and a thirty-something woman in a severe black dress appeared in the doorway. “I’m Susanna Moore.”

“Oh hi! There you are, appearing out of nowhere. Sorry we’re a little late. This place is gorgeous,” Lila enthused.

“One moment.” Susanna disappeared back behind the door without explanation.

Meanwhile, the two women and man rose from the sofas as quickly as their canes and walkers would allow and scattered down the hall. No one spoke to Lila. She looked down at herself and brushed at her pilled pink sweater. Why was she surprised? She didn’t look as if she belonged in this expensive building. Heck, she didn’t belong. Everyone had probably vowed to steer clear of the new resident who was maybe a criminal, abandoned by her husband, and didn’t wear crop tops. She thought of how her old tennis partner, Linley Moore, had pretended not to see Lila at the grocery store last week. She considered Patricia’s deep sigh over the phone when Lila broke the news about Bea’s expulsion—good Lord, Lila, can’t you do anything right? Lila’s face flushed. Her life was such an embarrassment. No wonder people avoided her.

The door swung open once again. Susanna’s face was pale, and her expression was no-nonsense. “I expected you ten minutes ago.”

Lila plastered on a smile. “I’m sorry. I left a message there was a big accident on the highway and—”

“I’ve had to push back my other obligation.” Susanna’s thin lips puckered up into a smaller, firmer line.

Several beats passed. Lila scrambled for something to say. Ten minutes wasn’t that late, especially when she had driven over two hours in traffic from Norfolk. “You don’t need to worry about us. We are good at finding our way. Just point us in the right direction, and we’ll get out of your hair.”

“But first can you tell me about the murder of Sophia Kent?” Bea asked. “I love murders.”

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Primrose Murder Society’ by Stacy Hackney appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Only One Who Knows by Lisa M. Matlin, which releases on March 3rd 2026.

Something is lurking below the surface . . . and it’s hungry.

With her polished persona as a morning show co-host, Minnow Greenwood seems to have it all. But behind the camera, something’s about to break. When a public meltdown shatters her facade, Minnow flees back to Kangaroo Bay—a grimy fishing town on Australia’s southern coast, where locals vanish and something deadly hunts in the water.

On her first night back, a horrifying shark attack rocks the town, adding another body to the unsettling list of deaths and disappearances. Then a former colleague arrives to investigate, so she reluctantly teams up with him to find answers for herself and keep her own dark secrets buried.

But with danger closing in, Minnow must unearth her town’s deadly past—and face the darkness festering inside her—before she becomes the next to disappear.

Here’s what the TV producers of Morning, Sunshine! want you to know about their three co-hosts:

Joy Marriot is a grandmotherly TV veteran of fifty-­seven years.

Lynny Stewart is her hooting sidekick.

Melanie (me) is the new kid on the block. The timid voice of reason to Joy’s opinions and Lynny’s nonstop shrieking.

Here’s what they don’t want you to know:

One of us tiptoes out to the staff parking lot to enjoy an early-­afternoon pounding from the sports reporter who is definitely not her husband. (Lynny.)

One of us released a Paleo cookbook three years ago and pledged 15 percent of the profits to a cancer charity. They’re still waiting for the money. (Joy.)

One of us is staring at a terrifying text from her fiancé and stuffing her palm against her mouth to hold back the screams. That one is hanging on by a f***ing thread. (Me.)

I sit stiffly on the edge of the white leather couch, angling my phone away from the bustling set designers as I read my fiancé’s text over and over. The studio lights are bright and burning hot, but I’ve never felt so cold. Somewhere in the darkness the director yells, “Showtime in five minutes, people!”

I stare at my boots, hyperventilating. I cannot sit through two entire hours of this live taping and pretend to give a damn about this morning’s news when my own life has just gone to hell in one text.

Everything is a blur of noise, color, and movement. Aqua skirt. Red hair teased to maximum height. Skin stretched so tight it looks like it hurts. Joy.

Bright pink and plunging blouse. Lemony perfume and a shrieking laugh. Lynny.

My co-­hosts sink onto the couch beside me, crossing their legs like synchronized swimmers. Their stilettos gleam under the studio lights, the heels so thin and sharp, you could use them to play darts.

My shirt is seashell white and buttoned so tightly at my throat, it hurts each time I swallow. My culottes are hideously ugly and the color of iced coffee. My suede ankle boots are blocks of concrete.

White. Camel. Neutral. That’s me. I’m the one brought in once a week to, in the producer’s words, “connect with the Gen Y crowd.”

It’s not working. The ratings are appalling, and the network has no money. I only got this job because I knew the right people, and no one else could stomach Joy’s on-­air bullying like I do. But I’m an expert at blending into the wall and the couch until the threat disappears. Survival instincts I carried over from childhood.

Underneath my neutral shirt and neutral bra is a stinging rash with raised red bumps. Hives, my doctor said. Have you been stressed lately?

Joy sips at a coffee as bitter and boiling as she is. She’s the first of us to reach for a tissue when a Z-­list reality star brims with dutiful tears. The first to pat their knee and cut to a commercial while staring grimly into the camera, only to reappear smiling three minutes later. How can you trust someone who shuts off their emotions like a light switch?

Lynny opens her cavernous mouth wide while the makeup artist applies another coat of gloss. She’s forty-­two, shrill as a whistle and easily bored, and I’m pretty sure she loves gossip and screwing the sports reporter more than her four children.

Look at them, these two brightly colored fish. Seventy years of showbiz experience between them. They gleam. They preen.

And they scheme.

You have to hand it to these pretty, dirty bitches.

“Two minutes!” someone yells out, and I jump. My co-­hosts stare at me like they’ve just remembered I’m here. That’s me. I’m so agreeable, so neutral, I might as well be the couch.

Lynny practically shoves the makeup artist away and inches over, her whole body an exclamation mark. Instinctively, I place my phone face down in my lap. My entire body trembles.

“Melanie, dear!” she yells, as if she’s surprised to see me. I’ve sat beside her once a week from 5 to 7 a.m. for nearly four months now. “And where were you this morning, missy?”

I missed the morning briefing. All of it. I stumbled into the makeup chair five minutes ago, stumbled out again, sat on the couch, and received the worst text of my life.

She doesn’t wait for me to answer, that’s how short her attention span is. “How’s that gorgeous man of yours?”

Oliver is my fiancé of three months, boyfriend of seven, a meteorologist on a rival network, one that actually has money. He proposed to me right on this couch, live on air, despite me telling him repeatedly that I hate surprises. My fiancé loves grand gestures, but it was at that moment I realized that none of them were for me.

I hesitated for long enough that Lynny cried out, “Melanie! Put the poor dear out of his misery!”

“Okay . . .” I finally stammered. “Sure.”

Oliver drove us home in steaming silence and didn’t talk to me for two days. That was not the first red flag I ignored.

“He’s good!” My voice cracks and I blurt something to cover it up. “Busy. We’re both so busy lately.”

We are indeed busy. I am, anyway. I left him again this week.

“You hold on to that one,” Lynny says, giving me a playful tap on the arm. “He’s a keeper.”

Like hell he is. But it’s one thing to want to leave. It’s another thing entirely when it’s eleven o’clock on a Friday night and your fiancé is screaming at you, again, because you looked at the Uber driver too long, and your dress is too short, and you’re suddenly, startlingly aware that your confident, assertive fiancé is actually a controlling shithead who’s stealing pieces of you little by little and you’ve allowed it.

Maybe you weren’t even fully aware. I wasn’t. But that night, I looked into my fiancé’s eyes, and I saw my father.

#  #   #

Excerpted from The Only One Who Knows by Lisa M. Matlin. Copyright © 2026 by Lisa M. Matlin. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

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Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Woman and Her Stars by Penny Haw, which releases on March 3rd 2026.

She must find her own place amongst the stars.

Caroline Herschel has always lived in the shadows. Beholden to her wildly popular older brother, William, who rescued her from servitude, she’s worked hard to build a life for herself – one where she can go unnoticed and repay the debt she believes she owes him. But when her brother becomes obsessed with sweeping the stars, everything changes.

Newly appointed as the King’s Astronomer, William is rushed away from the bustling streets of Bath to the quiet countryside of Windsor. When Caroline makes a discovery that could send her right back to the people she was rescued from, she has no choice but to leave her carefully constructed life and follow her brother. Taking up the position as William’s assistant, Caroline resolves to learn everything she can about astronomy. But the more she understands, the more she falls in love with her telescope, and soon, she discovers that she might be good at the science, great, even, and that the stars could offer her the freedom she’s always secretly wanted. When it’s clear that Caroline is just as much the astronomer as her brother, she realizes she must break free from the life she has lived and find her own place in the night sky. 

Based on the true story of Caroline Herschel, The Woman and Her Stars shines a light on a woman who was raised to believe she was worth nothing more than to serve others, but whose genius and resolve made her one of the world’s leading astronomers. An awe-inspiring story set within the societal boundaries of the Georgian era, it’s a hopeful journey of self-discovery, familial bonds, and passion.

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Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from When Justice Comes by Colleen Coble and Rick Acker, which releases on March 3rd 2026.

Hezekiah “Hez” Webster and his fiancé, Savannah, stand on the brink of a new life, but their dreams are haunted by specters of the past. Just as they’re getting ready to adopt her nephew, two other petitioners also file for custody–both of whom only want Simon for their own gains.

Between the financial company that Hez outmaneuvered to save the university from ruin and the bad blood from the head of the Willard family, it’s hard to say who wants them out of the way more. Hez and Savannah’s quest for justice leads them through a labyrinth of family law, where loyalties are tested and trust is a dangerous luxury when every decision could be their last.

With the clock ticking, Hez and Savannah must confront the ghosts of their past and their deepest fears to secure a future for Simon. But with every secret revealed, the stakes grow higher. Can they build the family they’ve always dreamed of, or will their enemies succeed in tearing them apart forever?

The Tupelo Grove series reaches its breathtaking conclusion as an enemy’s agenda for revenge runs darker than swamp water and justice remains as precarious as quicksand in this heart-pounding narrative that underscores the power of redemption and forgiveness.

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The post Read An Excerpt From ‘When Justice Comes’ by Colleen Coble and Rick Acker appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Aubrey Wants To Die by Pip Knight, which releases on March 3rd 2026.

Aubrey is not what she seems. She’s young, beautiful, romantic, obsessive and … a vampire. All she wants is to be human again, and failing that, she wants to die. But the problem is, she can’t. Not by stake through the heart or holy water or crucifix or garlic or fire. And she’d know, she’s tried every method … Twice.

So she’s stuck here on this earth, all alone. Even the vampire who made her this way – an aristocratic douchebag called Oscar – has abandoned her.

But everything changes when one fateful night, she meets Jonathan. He’s everything Aubrey’s ever dreamed of, and what’s more, he’s her soulmate. Her Bella-Edward story. For the first time in 150 years, she has a reason to hope – eternal life might be bearable after all. So when Jonathan unexpectedly breaks up with her, she’ll do anything to get him back.

But that’s the exact moment Oscar swoops back into her life. And he has other plans for her. Soon, she’s thrown into a world of glamour, glitter, blood and hedonism, a world that has her questioning everything she knows to be true-about life, but also about herself. A world where nothing is simple … And no-one is safe, either.

CHAPTER TWO

I woke up 150 years ago in a low-lit room, a gasolier hanging from the ceiling above me, my pale blue dress wet with blood. As my eyes flicked open, I knew nothing, but I could sense everything. A conversation taking place through the walls somewhere, the buzzing of a fly before it landed. And if I stared at it, zoomed in, I could see the veins on its wings, the green metallic sheen of its body.

Where am I?

I scanned the room. I was on a bed. There was a dark wood armoire, a free-standing wash basin, a dressing table with a brass vase and an oval mirror, and I was … hungry. Ravenous.

My jaw ached. My mouth watered.

I stumbled out into the hallway, my head throbbing, that hunger inside me growing. ‘Hello?’ I called, even though I didn’t know who I was calling to. All that came back was silence.

Holding onto the banister tightly, I made my way downstairs to the living room. There was a newspaper on the oblong coffee table: The London Evening Standard. May 5th, 1876.

As I stared at it, I tried to make sense of everything. I knew what a newspaper was. I knew the months of the year and the days of the week. I knew the fundamental working parts of the world. I just had no recollection of my place in it. I—the version I had been before—had been erased.

Who the hell am I?

‘Hello?’ I called out again as I surveyed the furniture in the room, searching for some memory of it.

It’s just me here. A twinge of fear rippled through me, but that hunger was getting stronger and stronger.

My nostrils flared as I picked up an intoxicating scent: rust and lust mingled together. Blood. An electric jolt rolled up my spine and I rushed towards the smell, into a kitchen, and scanned the shelves.

An icebox. In the corner.

I ran towards it, and wrenched open the door.

Now the scent was so strong I could almost taste the iron. I felt my upper jaw tingle, a strange sensation on my gums … What is that feeling?

But then I didn’t care what the feeling was, because: meat.

Raw meat. The hunger took over. I held it in both hands and sucked on it, but it was almost dry and made me gag.

I looked around wildly, searching for more. But there were just jars of grain and beans and bowls of fruit, and my head was throbbing now. I needed blood … blood … blood …

It rolled round my head like a mantra.

I ran to the front door and as I pulled it open, I was hit by the stench of horse dung, the sound of hoofs. A carriage was passing, and there were people walking up and down the darkened street. I wasn’t in a city, I was in a village. The people I could see were well dressed and none of them were covered in blood like me. Panic gripped me.

I’m different from these nice, normal people. And not in a good way. I can’t let anyone find out.

The panic grew stronger, and I shut the door.

I ran back up the stairs, searching for a clue, something that would help me make sense of this, tell me what to do, and then there, in the mirror at the dressing table, I saw myself for the first time. My golden hair was pinned up, but pieces had come loose, were red with blood and hanging in my face. And my dress … I’d known I was covered in blood, but I hadn’t realised how much blood until I saw myself. It was everywhere. Was I injured? I checked my body, but nothing hurt. I leaned in to inspect my face, searching it for memories. What the hell happened to me? There were golden rings around my irises that seemed to glow, and my skin was pale and translucent … But as I leaned in closer, my eyes caught on my mouth, on my teeth. I flinched.

Do I have … fangs?

A flicker of memory; that feeling in my gums when I saw the meat, smelt the blood, fed. Horror rolled through me as I traced the sharp tips with my finger. What was going on? I knew what a vampire was: a monster from books, from folklore. Not real.

Oh god.

I pressed against my fangs, trying to push them back into my gums, but they wouldn’t budge.

Frantically, my hands moved to my chest. Where the hell is my heartbeat? I raised my fingers to my neck to feel my pulse, my actions instinctive. But thank the lord, it was still there. Just very, very weak and slow.

How did this happen? Did someone do this to me? Where are they?

But the only thing I knew for certain was that whatever had happened, I needed to hide it.

I stripped off my clothes, found a sponge and cleaned the blood off myself as best I could. And when I reached for a towel to dry myself afterwards, there, embroidered onto it was the name Aubrey.

Is that my name? Or my family name?

It had a familiar ring to it. Either way, it was the only name I had, so I took it.

I went over to the armoire and pulled it open. It was full of shoe boxes, petticoats and dresses—bodices, skirts—some plain and made of cotton, others ornate and silk, decorated with embroidery and beads. Where did I wear these? I had no idea.

But there was a plain navy dress, so I put it on quickly, then some simple boots, and a bonnet to cover my hair, still damp from trying to get the blood out. I packed some underclothes into a small suitcase along with a second dress and my silver hairbrush from the dressing table.

I carried the case downstairs and stepped calmly outside— Keep your mouth closed, no smiling—then walked down the cobbled street and crept into a garden. I huddled on a bench out of sight, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. I was helpless. Alone. A tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away, then glanced at my finger and it was … blood. I was crying blood.

Honestly, could anything else go wrong?

And I was still hungry, so, so ravenously hungry. I licked the tear from my finger but it did nothing for me. What was I going to do? How would I survive? I knew I needed blood but what kind of blood? And how would I get it? It felt like I didn’t have a chance in hell.

Then a man appeared and sat down beside me.

I quickly wiped my face. My shoulders tightened as I took him in. Would he be able to tell? Should I run?

He was almost entirely bald with a dark beard, wearing a well-cut grey suit. His eyes were brown … as I studied him, my breath caught. There were golden rings around his irises, just like mine. And then he smiled, revealing pointy canines.

‘I’m Hans,’ he said. And I didn’t trust him, not at all, but in this world that made no sense, he was the only one holding out an olive branch. What else was I to do but take it?

I replied with the only name I had: ‘I’m Aubrey.’

***

We travelled to London that same night without so much as a backward glance.

The nights that followed were a smudge of waking up as grey dusk fell, catching glimpses of flower sellers with baskets and men in top hats driving carriages and buskers playing harpsichords in the street outside the window. Then the inky night would descend and we would make our way out into the dimly lit street, full of soot and smoke—a perfect setting for vampires like us.

Hans was kind—it seemed he was as relieved as I was to find another vampire. He helped me with the basics and answered my immediate questions.

Was he my sire? ‘No, but it was probably a man,’ he’d guessed. ‘A woman wouldn’t have abandoned you. Whoever he is, he must have been far older and more powerful than me to turn you.’

Why couldn’t I remember anything of my human-self? ‘That happens to all of us when we’re turned. It makes the transition easier.’

Soon, he’d given me my first fake birth certificate, and opened a bank account for me with a bank manager on Lombard Street. It was something I would have struggled to do without a man by my side. He’d also made my first sizeable deposit and then got me a job in a dressmaker’s shop. Luckily, it turned out I could sew.

And, of course, he’d taught me to feed.

Our first victims were all middle-aged men, for no reason other than there were a lot of them out alone at night. Drinking blood was addictive, it felt like glitter in my veins, like I was plugged into a wall and lit up from within. Colours were brighter, sounds were musical, and I felt almost weightless. Pure, undiluted euphoria.

Life was nothing but sparkle and bliss, until our fifth night together.

In the hour before dawn, we walked through a small street, Hans trying each door, gently rattling the handles. And then— click. One opened.

We crept inside. It felt fun, naughty, like we owned the night. Upstairs, we found a man in the master bedroom, sleeping alone. Hans leapt forward and attacked him in the darkness. As soon as I smelt the blood, I felt my gums tingle and my fangs emerge. I joined Hans, feeding eagerly.

With the taste of salt and rust came the electric lightness that I had come to crave. My senses sharpened, and I could hear everything, feel everything. Bliss pulsed through me … I never wanted it to stop.

I think I heard the footsteps a moment before Hans did, but I was too busy gorging myself to look.

Then came the sharp inhale of breath, a small whimper.

I swivelled towards the door.

Watching us was a small boy of maybe nine years old. He was clutching a stuffed bear, its legs dangling. And the look in his eyes was of absolute terror.

Hans let go of the man and grinned, blood dripping from his chin as he threw himself at the boy. I heard teeth puncture skin.

A harrowing yelp pierced the air.

It hit me in the chest like an arrow. And the moment it did, something hot burst inside me. I could almost hear it. My vision blanched for a moment—like I was staring at a bright white screen—my ears rang and a heat, a white-hot fury I’d never felt before, rushed through me. It was dizzying.

I had to save the child. It was an urge stronger than hunger or self-preservation. It was like a wildfire burning through my veins.

I lunged at Hans.

But he swatted me off—he was older and stronger and faster than me. I tried again, but he just held me back as I flailed against his grip. I clawed at his face.

‘Do NOT!’ he boomed.

He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me across the room. I hit the wall and crumpled to the ground. He stood over me, the little boy laying in a pool of blood behind him. And all I could do was glare up at him.

‘How dare you,’ he growled, his eyes flaming. ‘You’re on your own.’ With that, he turned and stormed out.

I rushed to the boy and cradled him in my arms. As I carried him to the bed, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My hair was a mess and I was covered in blood, so much blood. My eyes were wild, the rings around my own irises glowing like fire.

It was the first time I saw myself with total clarity. I was a monster.

When I looked back down at the boy, he was dead, all the light gone from his eyes.

The hunger that had consumed me just minutes before was nothing but an echo now, the spell broken. And in its place lay a deep sense of shame and self-loathing. And, for the first time, my conscience ignited.

As the nights passed, I couldn’t shake that image of myself, standing holding that child, stained black-red with blood. I was terrified. Terrified of my hunger, of becoming like Hans. Terrified of the searing rage that had come out of nowhere, that I didn’t understand, that I had no control over. Because when would it come out again? And what would I do? What if I lost control and attacked a child myself next time?

How bad would I become?

And also, I was all alone again. Hans had left me after just five nights, my sire had left me instantly. Everyone would leave me if they ever saw my rotten core. I was barely a vampire, no longer a human. And I could see exactly what kind of life I would have: always hiding, always running from my darkness, a monster that nobody could ever love.

That was the first time I tried to die.

I stood on Waterloo Bridge, staring down at the black water. I could smell wrought iron as tears gathered in my eyes and whatever was left of my threadbare soul realised this was it. The end. Soon I would be gone. As I peeled my fingers away from the railing one by one, my insides twisted and my head got light. I clenched my eyes shut as tears rolled down my cheeks. And then I … let go.

Icy air hit my face. My eyes flicked open—a blur of lights in the distance—and then crash.

The arctic water sucked me in and down, swirling me as though in a drain. I waited for the water to fill my lungs, for oblivion to find me … But oblivion did not come. Instead, I bobbed to the surface.

As I swam towards the shore, I thought: I must have done it wrong.

And then: Maybe it wasn’t high enough?

But I tried again and again and again—altering my methods each time—and still, it didn’t work. It dawned on me that there must be something I didn’t know.

There must be a specific way I needed to die, a vampire way, I thought. Without Hans around to ask, I turned to books. But, if there is a way for me to die, I’ve yet to find it. Which is why, after 150 years, I’m still here.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘Aubrey Wants To Die’ by Pip Knight appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from The Book of Judges by Gary Fields, which is out now.

A beloved judge is murdered. His virus-infected laptop holds an ancient secret. Young lawyer Joshua Sutton, together with doctoral candidate Samantha Bollinger and tech wizard Mark Roth, are thrust into a deadly three-day quest for answers—a quest that leads them across millennia.

As Mark extracts clues from the computer, Josh and Sammi are chased around Florida by the hulking murderer and others who desperately want the laptop.

Josh and Sammi realize they’ve both been haunted by dreams about historical judges. In Mongol-ruled China, Imperial Rome, Byzantium, post-Renaissance Venice, Henry VIII’s England, and Charlemagne’s Frankish kingdom, judges heroically seek justice in life-and-death cases that come to define human rights. As they do, they are exposed to a startling secret.

Josh, Sammi, and Mark end up in a pulse-pounding race to New York City to stop the murder of another judge, one who could potentially save humanity.

PROLOGUE: YIN

1260—Beijing

Huang Tse Abdonchai stumbled up the mountainside trail, panting hard, lunging ahead, frantic. For years, he’d awoken each morning all but certain he would not see the next.

Today he was sure.

As he strained against the steep path ascending the Taihang Mountains just west of the city, a thousand voices in his head screamed over one another; a field of banners raced in a blur inside his eyes.

“Softer! Slower!” he begged, desperate to understand their commands. He shook himself, pushing harder. The thousand voices fell to a whisper, replaced by his quickening pulse pounding in his ears, a drum call to the blood-bittering wind. And then, ever so faint, he picked up the sounds of others . . . approaching.

They’d come for The Words!

Ten years before, a band of Turkish nomads, the dreaded Mongol “warriors of hell,” had thundered across the land on horseback. As each archer, at full gallop, launched sixty arrows with deadly precision, local militias had toppled like dominoes. Fortresses had crumbled before the invaders’ catapults and battering rams. The Mongols had needed no help to conquer his beloved Song dynasty.

Ruling, however, was another matter.

And so, Huang Tse, a former local administrator, had been appointed by the regional Mongol overseer as yin, the supreme magistrate for the entire province—though tightly tethered to his new masters’ leash. Year upon year, he’d imposed their savage edicts—until The Words had appeared.

He’d first encountered The Words in a matter of life and death, with the fate of two young lovers placed in his hands. A Chinese man had dared to marry a “Mansi”—an intercaste union forbidden by Mongol law. Conviction would have ensured executions for both bride and groom. Perhaps Huang Tse had tired of meting out death; perhaps it was the couple’s tender ages. At the close of testimony, he’d rushed to his private library—a treasured remnant from the Song dynasty—and wrestled with the matter deep into the night. As he’d traced a weary finger over a series of symbols on a page of a Chinese legal codex, its supple Xuan paper quivered, and a language character seemed to lift into the air.

木

The symbol for a tree.

He’d shaken his head, but then, from the withered goat-kid-skin parchment of a purple-bound text of Roman laws, a Latin word appeared to rise.

anima

The word for soul.

Was this a spell, he’d wondered, conjured from a shaman’s drum dance? As these apparitions swayed before his eyes, suddenly from all corners of the room symbols and letters flew in to join them, forming what surely must have been phrases and sentences. But before he could dissect any meaning, the mass had split into columns and swirled as whirlwinds.

As the letters and symbols had billowed throughout the chamber, it seemed a hundred voices were screaming in his head—their tones instructing, urging, demanding, but their languages and words unclear. Frightened that he’d slipped past the point of reason, he’d closed his eyes, clenched the edge of his desk, and prayed to be released from the spell. When he’d opened his eyes, the voices were gone, but a message seemed to hang in the air before him:

AS each soul is a SEED PLANTED

by the gods, SHALL WE NOT embrace

THE forest of mismatched trees?

When he’d reached out to touch those words, he’d realized they were not in the air at all, but inside his eyes. As the message faded to mist, his mind returned with heightened clarity to the legal issues he’d researched. And a simple miracle was revealed: the Mongol edict had failed to specify a penalty.

The next day, with vigor belying a sleepless night, he’d ruled that the law merely voided the intercaste marriage. The young couple was admonished to leave the territory before the regional overseer could amend the edict.

The Words, as he’d come to call them, had returned innumerable times over the ensuing years, often to aid in his legal decisions, but once, oddly, to guide his choice of horse. Shortly after The Words’ first appearance, his steed had gone lame. As he was about to purchase a black mare, The Words again seized his thoughts. Their message, strange as it seemed, was that he could dispense their wisdom only from a white mount. What mattered the hue of his horse, he wondered. Yet, afraid not to heed this powerful force, he’d followed its command. Thereafter, whenever he’d ridden into a village in need of justice, the villagers would point to his glorious white stallion and proclaim “the yin has arrived!”

But the wonder of The Words, as the years proceeded, had become a two-pronged curse. Their powerful projections had grown so great his mind could scarcely bear them; it was as if the blazing sun of enlightenment would set his inner eye on fire, bringing searing pain inside his head and delusions that lingered ever longer, leaving him begging for relief. The second prong of the curse was the Mongols. He’d come to believe they’d learned of his secret and its powers. They would surely come for The Words, or his life.

And now, it seemed, time was collapsing in on Huang Tse Abdonchai. With the shadowy fingers of nightfall tightening their grasp on the mountains, the voices, the banners, came roaring back, as unforgiving as ever. He trembled from the force of The Words.

The trees rustled. A quiver of arrows? Was it the Mongols? Or was this all in his mind?

A beam of moonlight shot down through a crack in the charcoal sky, illuminating the path ahead. Huang Tse lurched to a halt in the frigid night air; he was one stride from the cliff. He slid forward and peered down into the endless, welcoming black. Were those footsteps he heard behind him?

The ground swayed and his mind surrendered. He could no longer see past the fire within, could no longer be sure of anything. The voices raged in unyielding fury—The Words that had led him to untold miracles and driven him to madness.

Suddenly his body heaved forward, off the edge of the cliff.

Had he slipped? Or was that a hand he felt nudge him? Looking up for his killer, he saw only the unreadable, swirling whirlwinds of The Words, ablaze in fireworks across the sky.

As he plummeted into the dark, terror and relief met at the center of Huang Tse Abdonchai. He could no longer live with this dance of power and pain.

The Words were too strong.

The post Read An Excerpt From ‘The Book of Judges’ by Gary Fields appeared first on The Nerd Daily.

Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from All In Her Hands by Audrey Blake, which releases on February 24th 2026.

One woman physician. A group of talented midwives. A deadly disease spreading.

1849. Dr. Nora Gibson is the only female surgeon in London. In all of England, even. After earning her medical degree and overcoming the prejudice of those who wished to see her fail, she’s finally earned her place at the Great Queen Street Hospital alongside her newlywed husband and her eccentric but ailing adoptive father, the great Dr. Horace Croft.

But peace is hard to come by as a physician, and for one like Nora, it’s almost impossible. When Nora takes up the fight to bring midwives into the medical field, her already fragile reputation comes under fire by colleagues and London society itself. And if the possibility of losing her rights to practice medicine wasn’t enough, a dangerous enemy has made itself known: the deadliest cholera epidemic in over a century. It’s a swift disease that wreaks havoc and tragedy across the city, especially amongst the working classes, and Nora will do anything she can to help. Soon, she finds herself on the frontlines of the disease, and as those around her begin to fall, she’ll have to find the strength to stand alone and maintain her greatest oath: to save lives. Whether she’ll make it through, though, is up to fate.

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