บททั้งหมดของ Wrong Number : บทที่ 1 - บทที่ 10

WRONG NUMBER “Shit!” Arielle Lawson cursed under her breath as her bag slipped off the bar counter, spilling its entire contents across the floor for the uninterested crowd of Midnight Halo Lounge, Manhattan to see. She stared at the mess absentmindedly through her increasingly blurry vision, wondering how she was supposed to gather whatever remained of her dignity. A part of her knew that if she stood up too quickly, she’d land face-first on the cold, filthy tiled floor. Her legs were already betraying her, softened by whisky and regret. Before she could attempt standing, the familiar bartender, Mick, stepped forward and crouched to help her scoop her belongings back into her bag. “Are you about to leave, ma’am?” he asked politely as he handed it to her, but Arielle caught the disguised relief in his eyes. After all, she was the woman who had

Luck has a Shadow Arielle did not wake up gently.She surfaced.Like someone breaking through water.Her eyes opened to her ceiling, but for a few seconds she didn’t remember where she was. Her mouth was dry. Her tongue heavy. Her head felt packed with cotton.Then the memory came.The bar.The call.The voice.Her stomach dropped so fast she actually rolled to her side and pressed her forehead into the mattress.“No,” she muttered into the sheets.Please let that have been a dream.Slowly — cautiously — she reached for her phone.Her fingers hovered above the screen.If the call log wasn’t there, she would never drink again.She unlocked it.Recent Calls.Unknown Number.12 minutes.Her heart started beating louder.She tapped it, half expecting more.There wasn’t.No follow-up call. No messages. No missed attempts.Nothing.The absence sat heavier than anything else could have.If he was weird, wouldn’t he have texted? If he was curious, wouldn’t he have tried again?Silence meant

The Man Who Doesn’t MissKael Virelli’s morning began in silk and silence.The curtains in his penthouse did not open automatically. He disliked automation in spaces meant to feel human. Instead, the light filtered gradually through imported Italian linen, brushing gold across marble floors that had never known dust.The city lay beneath him in obedient gridlines of steel and ambition.He stood barefoot on heated stone, espresso in hand, watching Manhattan exhale its early morning breath.From this height, everything looked manageable.Contained.Small.He liked it that way.Behind him, the penthouse was a study in restrained wealth. No clutter. No ostentatious displays. Just quiet evidence of money so vast it no longer needed to announce itself. Original Basquiat. A Steinway that had never been played by an amateur. A dining table carved from a single slab of black walnut shipped from Switzerland.He did not purchase things to impress guests.He purchased permanence.The only sound i

Mischief, Money, and the Shadows Between ThemArielle woke to sunlight brushing the edges of her bedroom floor, hesitant and thin like it was afraid to intrude on the darkness of her thoughts. Her chest still tightened from the phone call she had endured last night—the voice that had controlled her entire perception of safety and danger, calm and deliberate, whispering truths she wasn’t ready to face. She remembered the alley, the rain-soaked concrete, the way he had ended a man’s life without hesitation, without remorse, just because that man had dared to follow her. The memory made her stomach twist violently, a nauseating mix of terror and disbelief.Her fingers hovered over her laptop, and when she opened it, her eyes widened, disbelief locking her in place. Three emails blinked insistently, impossible and absurd. Job offers. Salaries she couldn’t have imagined in her wildest dreams, positions she had never applied for, companies she didn’t even know existed. One offered an overse

The WaitingArielle didn't use the key for six days.She kept it in her purse, wrapped in a tissue like something shameful. She went to work. She answered her mother's calls about Marcus's fever and Sarah's school play. She had lunch with Kimi, who gave her a look that said I know something's up but didn't press.Kael had stopped watching—stopped sending gifts, stopping paying for things. She knew because she checked. Looked for the black car, waited for the coffee to be prepaid.Nothing.It should have been a relief. It felt like a loss.On the seventh day, her mother called with news that had nothing to do with sick children."Daniel came by the house," Camille said carefully.Arielle's grip tightened on her phone. "What?""Yesterday. He looked... not good. He asked about you. Where you're working, if you're seeing anyone." Her mother's voice carried that particular weight of withheld judgment. Mostly since she has initially withheld the fact that she and Daniel had broken up from