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Chapter 6

last update publish date: 2026-02-04 03:57:43

Paris, seven years ago.

Ethan adjusted his laptop, but the pixelated face of Mr. Pierre remained, the café's Wi-Fi bars dropping from two to one.

Outside café de la Mairie, the rain poured down like a torrent, making the air in the café cool despite the air conditioning turned off.

“….considering… prop-…” Mr. Pierre’s face was now frozen mid-sentence with the infuriating spinning circle.

He moved his laptop again, “Hello? Mr. Pierre?” The circle kept spinning for a few more seconds before the c
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  • Scripted Disaster: When Life Refuses To Follow The Script.   Chapter 6

    Paris, seven years ago.Ethan adjusted his laptop, but the pixelated face of Mr. Pierre remained, the café's Wi-Fi bars dropping from two to one.Outside café de la Mairie, the rain poured down like a torrent, making the air in the café cool despite the air conditioning turned off.“….considering… prop-…” Mr. Pierre’s face was now frozen mid-sentence with the infuriating spinning circle.He moved his laptop again, “Hello? Mr. Pierre?” The circle kept spinning for a few more seconds before the call dropped entirely. He bit back a curse as he opened his email and quickly drafted out an apology email.He had spent three months working, trying to secure a meeting with this particular investor, and had even flown all the way to Paris to meet with him, only to be informed via email that the investor had an impromptu trip out of the country. But he was benevolent enough to give him fifteen minutes on a Zoom call, but even that had failed.He wasn’t about to give up, although it seemed like t

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    The next morning, Nora barely registered Martha’s greeting and her own response as she came down the stairs and headed straight for the living room.Her brain had entered autopilot mode as a coping mechanism from all her overwhelming emotions, and she was grateful for that for several reasons, especially the fact that she was detached from her feelings for the time being.The living room was quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and the sound of Martha moving around as she cleaned the remnants of the previous night.Nora lay on one of the couches, blankly staring out the large window opposite her as the fog from her brain slowly cleared, and every action, every word of the night before replayed, and then the emotions came flooding back, almost drowning her with their intensity.She curled herself further into the cushions of the couch, like she could physically hide from the guilt, or the shame, or the pitying look Martha was probably giving her.Nora knew she looked the way she f

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    Nora blinked against the camera lights, her expression steady in the way only years of media training could teach. She’d done this hundreds of times — interviews, book signings, late-night talk shows, book tours — but tonight, something felt off. The lights were too bright, and for a fleeting second, her practiced smile faltered.“Nora,” the interviewer began — a woman with hair so precise it might’ve been carved, and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s been two years since The Paper House — your third novel, the one that cemented your reputation in psychological thrillers. A runaway hit, optioned for film before it even left the bestseller list. A phenomenal success. Yet… we’re still waiting for book four. Your fans are eager.”There it was. The million-dollar question. The one she’d rehearsed answers to a dozen times and still couldn’t stomach. Nora adjusted in her seat; the silk blouse that once made her feel powerful now felt tight, constricting. She could sense the au

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