Shattered Demons by Elly Ann
She’s a survivor afraid to trust. He’s a rock star with scars of his own. Together, they’ll have to fight for a love worth saving.
Zoe Mya, a celebrated classical musician, has spent years building walls to shield herself from the haunting pain of her past. Her focus on her career leaves no room for vulnerability—until Robbie McClaire enters her life. A charming and persistent rock guitarist, Robbie’s carefree demeanor hides a broken heart, but he’s drawn to Zoe’s brilliance and her guarded strength.
As their worlds collide, passion ignites, but so do old wounds. Zoe must confront the shadows of her trauma, while Robbie grapples with his own demons. In the face of their emotional battles, their love will be tested in ways neither imagined.
Can Zoe find the courage to let Robbie into her heart? And will Robbie’s devotion be enough to help them both heal?
Shattered Demons is an unforgettable story of love’s power to mend even the deepest scars. Perfect for fans of emotionally charged romance, this gripping tale explores vulnerability, resilience, and the strength it takes to build a future together.
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Excerpts:
One
Gabriella’s Mementos
Gabriella Gregorio Castille sifted through a large box of memories, her heart tight with a grief time refused to heal. The death of her beloved husband, Alexis Castille, had left a crater in her life—an emptiness no amount of work or success could fill.
Six years earlier, Alexis’s fatal car accident had thrust all responsibilities onto her: raising their three children—one son and two daughters—and salvaging the shaky textile business he had worked so hard to build. Unwillingly and swiftly, Gabriella realized she had no one else to rely on.
She surveyed the moving boxes scattered around the room and stifled a sigh. Damage control is my entire life now, she thought. These boxes were the result of her latest “solution” to an ongoing challenge: Zoella Mya Castille, her fourteen-year-old youngest daughter. Stubborn and spirited, Zoe had taken her father’s death harder than anyone.
Pushing aside her worries, Gabriella continued sorting through a box she’d packed herself, one that held crucial family keepsakes. She smiled faintly as she pulled out a worn photo album—her wedding pictures. Running her palm over the cover, she recalled walking down the chapel aisle in the Castille family home in Greece, the happiest moment of her life. Oh, Alexis, she thought, remembering the bright intensity of his blue eyes on the day they vowed forever. She could still feel the gentle brush of their wedding kiss, as vivid as if it had happened that morning.
With tender care, she set the album on the desk and reached for a square of red silk—one of her most treasured mementos. It had been cut from the first roll of fabric produced by the fledgling Castille Textile Company, symbolizing her husband’s dream to branch out from the family’s primary venture, Castille Media. Alongside his brother, Thaddeus, Alexis had worked tirelessly to expand their shared empire. For a while, it was a shining aspiration.
But when Alexis died rushing home to celebrate Zoe’s eighth birthday, those bright plans turned to sorrow. Gabriella closed her eyes, recalling with a shudder the policeman who handed her a bloodstained teddy bear that fateful night. That was also Zoe’s birthday, she reminded herself, grief tightening her throat. For a long time afterward, the family couldn’t bear to acknowledge Zoe’s special day.
Taking a steadying breath, she set the silk on top of the album and picked up a small scrapbook. On the first page lay a dried red rose to mark the birth of her eldest child, Daniel “Danny” Alcaeus Castille—now twenty-two and attending Yale. Next, a pink rose for Jessica Elena Castille, twenty, at Princeton. Finally, a white gardenia for Zoe, the only one of her children who hadn’t received a rose from her father, thanks to complications from her premature birth. Alexis had nicknamed her his “feisty little princess,” vowing to protect her at all costs.
Gabriella’s fingers lingered on the delicate gardenia, recalling Alexis’s delight whenever Zoe chattered or flashed her dimples. Then came the accident, which fractured the family irrevocably. She swallowed hard, gently closed the scrapbook, and took up a framed photo of Alexis in a white suit. His wide grin still warmed her heart.
I’ve managed six years without you, she told him silently, but it feels like centuries.
After his death, she stayed in New York to finalize the launch of Castille Textile. Thaddeus stepped in to help stave off disaster. When Alexis’s will divided the corporation—Castille Media for Thaddeus and Castille Textile for their children—Gabriella took on the role of acting CEO, devoting herself to the business day and night with Thaddeus’s help. In that frenzied process, her youngest daughter slipped through her fingers.
Three months ago, Gabriella made a startling discovery: Zoe, just fourteen, had been sneaking out to play guitar for an underground rock band. She’d done so for three years without anyone knowing. If her brother-in-law, Thaddeus, hadn’t insisted on seeing Zoe one afternoon, they might never have found her at that dive bar, dressed as though she were years older. Gabriella’s relief that Zoe was safe mixed with anger and hurt over being shut out of her daughter’s life.
Within forty-eight hours, Gabriella uprooted Zoe and moved them both to Lake County, Ohio, to live with her sister, Julia, and Julia’s lawyer husband. A quieter place means fewer temptations, she told herself, hoping—perhaps clumsily—that she could reconnect with her youngest child simply by taking Zoe out of the city. It was a hardline decision, but she didn’t know what else to do.
She was placing Alexis’s photo carefully on the desk when a sharp scream echoed upstairs, followed by a slammed door. Gabriella winced, bracing for another confrontation with Zoe.
A knock on her door drew her attention. Julia peered in, smiling wryly.
“I handed her the enrollment forms for St. Jude’s Academy and the uniform,” Julia said. “She accused me of conspiring to kill her spirit—then slammed the door in my face. I tried telling her they have an excellent music program, but…”
Gabriella’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry you’re stuck in the middle.”
Julia shrugged, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Don’t apologize. We’ll handle it. Think of it as practice for when my twins become teenagers.”
Gabriella managed a sad smile. “I’ve left Zoe alone too often. I thought I was providing for her, but I see now how far we’ve drifted.”
Julia gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “You’re here now. We have the whole summer. I’ll feed her our family’s manicotti and Mom’s marinara sauce until she’s too full to think of New York.”
Gabriella nodded, gratitude mingling with guilt. Part of her prayed this move would help heal her relationship with Zoe. But another part knew the damage might already be done.
She gave her sister a wan smile. At least she wasn’t alone this time. It felt good to have someone to lean on.
* * *
Two
Managing the Awful Move
Old Man Winter refused to release his grip, and spring crept in at a snail’s pace. The unsettled wind couldn’t decide whether to blow cold or warm, and freezing rain fell in icy drops. Earlier, the weather had shifted drastically, sending snow and rain tumbling from the sky and chilling everything in sight.
Zoe Mya Castille fiddled with the car heater, turning it up, then increased the volume on Debussy’s Symphony in B Minor. Her music instructor had assigned it for St. Jude’s upcoming April Music Recital, and Zoe grimaced at the irony. She was a rock musician—why was she letting Debussy fill her car?
She’d been away from Manhattan for ten months, eight days, five hours, and fifty-five minutes—an eternity in her eyes—and she couldn’t believe she’d survived that long in quiet, chilly Eastlake, Ohio. Her mother’s “brilliant” idea had exiled her here to study classical music under a strict instructor, someone who kept her ensnared in violins, cellos, violas, and other orchestral instruments. Zoe had even grown to like the piano—an appalling admission for someone who still considered herself a rocker at heart.
Shaking her head, she exited the highway, thinking of how much she missed Manhattan. She missed her friends, the life she’d built, and especially her closest friend, Leila. Video calls didn’t make up for the real thing. Eastlake felt like a different planet. Her mother had tried to make up for it by letting her get a driver’s license at fifteen, but that hardly replaced the buzzing chaos of city life.
Living with her aunt and uncle felt awkward. Aunt Julia didn’t understand her. Uncle Steve, with his unsettling stare, made her uncomfortable. Their twins were too young to care. And high school at St. Jude’s Academy was a machine geared toward Ivy League goals. Everyone already belonged to an established clique; Zoe had no interest in forcing her way in. She told herself she didn’t need them. Who cared what they thought?
Still, she admitted there was one bright spot: Kenny Williams. Twenty years old, British, and a Case Western Reserve University student, he was her single point of light in Eastlake. She’d met him two weeks after she arrived when her bike got a flat. He teased her; she yelled at him. Somehow that turned into friendship. He listened to her vent about leaving Manhattan, and Aunt Julia seemed to approve—apparently, he’d once babysat for her.
Zoe braked in front of the Harden mansion’s tall black gate and pulled into the long driveway, parking haphazardly by the front steps. A young man hurried forward, grinning, and gave her a thumbs-up as she tossed him the keys. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, she grabbed her violin case, ignoring the book bag on her passenger seat. I’ll get it later, she thought, eager to escape the cold.
She shook her head at her relatives’ audacity. They had gone on a spending spree, taking advantage of her mother’s financial backing, joining prestigious clubs, and throwing lavish parties. Zoe refused to attend these gatherings, so she had no idea how her mother was handling things. It felt strange, watching her aunt and uncle work to win her over.
Steve Harden used Gabriella Castille’s influence to bolster his business connections, while Aunt Julia seemed just as enamored of her new social circle. Zoe sighed. It annoyed her to notice such things; she wished she could remain blissfully unaware. At least in Manhattan, she didn’t have to deal with her mother’s business.
Alberto, the butler, opened the front door. He smiled warmly. “How was your day, Miss Zoe?” he asked.
Zoe managed a faint grin. She liked Alberto—he actually cared.
“So-so,” she said with an exaggerated pout.
Alberto helped her out of her coat. Underneath, she wore sleeveless black-and-white top and skinny jeans tucked into black fur boots. Dress-down day, she thought wryly, recalling St. Jude’s lenient Friday uniform policy.
“My math teacher hates me,” she complained. “I told her I lost my homework, and she just looked at me. Then she piled on extra worksheets.”
“Did you really lose it?” Alberto asked, arching an eyebrow.
Zoe shrugged. “I thought it might be in my car, but—”
“You didn’t do your math homework,” Alberto said, shaking his head. “I found it on your desk.”
Zoe sighed, a dramatic huff escaping her. “Now I have detention and a test. I can’t wait until my math teacher calls Mamma.”
“Detention isn’t so terrible,” Alberto consoled her. “As for the test, complete those extra worksheets. Then she’ll have nothing to say.”
She rolled her eyes. He’s right, of course. But she hated admitting it.
“Did you finally get it?” Alberto asked, nodding toward the violin case.
A flash of excitement lit her eyes. “Yes! Danny sent me money for my birthday, and the music store texted me that it was ready. I picked it up on my way home.”
Music had always been Zoe’s salvation. Alberto understood her drive to create—he never judged her for it.
“Is anyone else home?” she asked, peering down the hall.
“No. Your mother and aunt took the twins shopping. There’s a note for you on the usual desk.”
Zoe let out a relieved breath. “So, I’m home alone?”
“I’ll be leaving soon myself,” Alberto said gently. “You should invite Master Williams to keep you company.”
Zoe’s mood brightened. “I will. Thanks, Alberto. Have a great weekend.”
He gave her a courteous nod as she headed to the study, violin case in hand. Once inside, she placed the case on a glass table and flipped it open. A smile tugged at her lips as she ran a fingertip along the violin’s polished wood. Despite her resentment over classical training, she couldn’t deny the allure of a stringed instrument. It’s a new obsession, she admitted.
With one last glance at the gleaming violin, Zoe decided to read the note her mother had left. She sprinted out of the study and bounded up the staircase, two steps at a time, heading for the drawing room. This place is so weird, she thought. I miss Danny, I miss Jess, and I really miss Manhattan.
She found the usual basket on a desk, rummaged around, and discovered a single folded note. Skimming the contents, she saw it only stated that her mother would be out late, leaving dinner in the fridge. Good, she thought. No chores.
Slipping her phone from her pocket, she dialed Kenny’s number.
“Williams,” he said, his British accent as teasing as always.
“Are you going out tonight?” Zoe asked, trying not to sound too needy.
“I have a mountain of homework,” he replied. “Reports to finish, twerp.”
She whined playfully. “You can study here. Don’t abandon me on a Friday, Kenny. I’m home alone and have nothing to do.”
Kenny laughed. “Hmm. I do have a new movie my friends sent from London.”
Zoe wrinkled her nose. “Not more extreme hard-rock stuff, I hope.”
“No, it’s documentary footage about those ‘ancient men’ you secretly listen to,” he teased.
She snorted. “Okay. Come at five. I’m sure Aunt Julia left manicotti in the fridge.”
“Bribing me with food? You know I can’t resist.”
“That’s because all you have in your fridge is moldy cheese.” She laughed, then ended the call.
Setting her phone aside, Zoe realized she had nearly two hours to practice her new violin. She wandered into the library—an ornate room stacked with books on business and finance, none of which appealed to her. Tracing a finger over the thick volumes, she scanned the spines.
“Advanced Accounting, The Analytics of Business Law and Ethics, Macroeconomics…” She wrinkled her nose. All the things Mamma wants me to read, she thought cynically. The difference between them felt glaring.
Her gaze landed on a slim paperback, the title making her laugh. “Business Tactics for Idiots. Clearly written for me.”
Zoe pulled the book off the shelf. A loose paper fluttered to the carpet. Frowning, she bent to retrieve it and bumped her hand against something hard—a small knob. Curiosity flared, and she peered under the shelf.
A round black button gleamed, half-hidden by shadows. Without hesitation, she pressed it. To her shock, a section of the bookcase swung silently inward, revealing a dark, narrow corridor.
Zoe’s heart thumped. She stared into the darkness. What on earth is this? Glancing over her shoulder at the empty library, then back at the secret passage, she thought: No way…
Holding her breath, she stepped closer to peer inside, wondering what she might find in the hidden heart of her aunt and uncle’s mansion.
* * *