The editorial desk is buzzing with excitement for M.L. Lexi’s highly anticipated new romance, *The Guilty Woman*, a powerful novel about **fated love, profound sacrifice, and second chances**. This story introduces Francesca, a strong woman trapped in a devastating marriage, whose only hope for light appears in the form of Father Matthew—the man who was once her first love, but who now carries the weight of a cassock and the shadow of amnesia. Lexi weaves a tapestry of intense emotional connection against a backdrop of increasing danger, asking: Can love conquer a tragic past, or is true commitment destined to be a sacrifice?
With a compelling narrative and the heart-stopping tagline, "GUILT COMES IN MANY FORMS," *The Guilty Woman* forces its heroine into an impossible situation. The long-lost love she cherishes returns only to witness her darkest hour, pushing their rekindled, yet impossible, connection to the devastating climax of a life-and-death struggle. The excerpt below plunges you directly into the scene of reckoning, where a violent moment of survival immediately gives way to a life-altering choice. It is here, amidst chaos and blood, that the true, self-sacrificial nature of their bond is revealed, promising a romance of exceptional depth and risk:
THE AIR WAS raw and thick with death. A river of blood, still red and fresh, flowed from the man’s smashed skull soaking and spreading on the ivory carpet like a Rorschach inkblot. Sofas, chairs, tables, and walls were splashed red. Pearl buttons from Francesca’s silk blouse lay scattered in the pool of red, looking up like lifeless eyes, staring, judging, condemning. The coffee table Francesca had fallen back on when she’d managed to escape his grip lay upturned. Shards of crystal and glass from shattered tumblers and bottle sparkled like diamonds on polished wood. The scene before her belonged in a horror movie, not in her living room, Francesca thought as she violently threw up her dinner.
For Francesca’s sake, when the sickening smell of warm blood slammed into Father Matthew’s gut, he didn’t let emotion slip into his eyes or his voice. He’d keep the nerves kicking in his gut like sharp fists making the sour waves of nausea rise in his stomach at bay. With a calm, Father Matthew didn’t feel he set the blood-covered candleholder in his hand on the end table before lowering two fingers to the man’s neck. “He’s dead,” Father Matthew, confirmed when he didn’t feel a pulse and wiping his bloodstained hands on his cassock, reached into his pocket for his stole. Kissing it, he draped it around his neck. “In Nomine Patris,” Father Matthew said, piously crossing himself and launching into prayer. Watching the ritual performed over the lifeless body, made the taste of sickness claw at Francesca’s throat again. She swallowed hard to prevent herself from heaving whatever she had left in her stomach as she stared at her bloody, trembling hands. “Deus animae meae miserere.” Father Matthew begged God to have mercy on his soul before blessing the body and rising to his feet. “It’ll be all right, Francesca.”
Reeling from the violence she had endured moments ago under the dead man’s hands, Francesca’s voice trembled when she said, “How’s this going to be all right? This is never going to be all right. He’s dead on my living room floor.” Francesca’s eyes shifted to the lifeless body, willing it to come to life. When it didn’t, she was glad he lay face down. As much as she believed his demise was the outcome he deserved, Francesca couldn’t look into the eyes of death. “What am I going to do?” She let her head drop weakly and let the tears flow. “It’ll be all right, Francesca. I’ll be right by your side.” Shock flew into Father Matthew’s eyes when the face that carried the night’s violence rose to meet his. Her face was swollen and raw. Her left eye was puffed shut. There was a deep gash on her cheek where the ringed hand-delivered the fisted punches, and her lip was split open. Blood ran down from both. “You’re hurt.” “I’m fine.” Francesca pushed away the hand Father Matthew raised to her face with the defiance of a humiliated woman. “What am I going to do?” she asked again, this time her voice sounded defeated.
“Don’t worry. I’ll sort it.” Father Matthew crossed to the telephone. The blood-soaked hem of his cassock painted the floor like a Pollock painting. “Leave everything to me. I’m going to call the police now.” Bolting to her feet, Francesca stepped over the body and crossed to Father Matthew. “You’re not calling anyone,” she said, tearing the handset from his hand and setting it back in its cradle. “We need to call the police Francesca.” Father Matthew tried to reason. “No, we don’t. We’ll take care of it ourselves.” The smell of warm blood all at once filled Francesca’s lungs, and she began to tremble.
Father Matthew walked a shaky Francesca back to the only unstained chair in the room. When he’d coaxed her into it, he sank to his knees beside her. “Take a deep, calming breath. Do it. Now,” he ordered. He watched her breathe in deep, exhale, and repeat when his rolling hand encouraged her to do so. “We can’t take care of this ourselves. We have to get the police involved.”
Feeling steadier, Francesca forced herself to set emotion aside and set her lawyerly, logical mind to think. Mulling the facts in her head, she said, “Go ahead and call the police, but I don’t want you here when they show up. I’m going to plead self-defense, and I don’t want you involved in any of this.” “No, Francesca, I’ll admit to the attack. I’ll confess my sins to the police.” Father Matthew looked down at the motionless body. The gouge in the back of his skull had welled with blood. Father Matthew couldn’t begin to imagine the blades of pain the blows to the head inflicted. “God forgive me,” he murmured under his breath. “But…” “You will say nothing. Do you hear me, Francesca?” Father Matthew firmed his lips in determination. “Nothing.” “I have to. It’s my house. It’s my husband lying dead on the floor.” “You don’t have to say a word. I’ll confess, turn myself in. I’ll tell them exactly what happened. He was viciously beating you, and I jumped in to stop him. And…” He raised a hand to silence her when she started to speak. “I need to confess, Francesca. Understood?” The initial shakes had passed, and Francesca laid her throbbing head back against the chair for a moment to let herself think. “All right, but as your lawyer, you do as I say. Understood?” Nodding Father Matthew murmured Deus animae meae miserere.
This breathtaking moment reveals the depth of the characters' commitment. Father Matthew, risking his calling and his life, immediately offers the ultimate act of self-sacrifice to protect the woman he loves, while Francesca, the resilient woman, fights to shield him in turn. *The Guilty Woman* is not just a story of survival, but a powerful exploration of **redemption** and the enduring question of how far one will go for the one they are destined to love. This is high-stakes, passionate romance at its absolute finest. Pre-order your copy today and prepare to be swept away.