What Is The Plot Summary Of 10 Stories Down?

Ten years after my wealthy family took me back, I died in the rental house my billionaire parents had dumped me in. My son was three. Just to mess with me, the kidnapper gave me three chances to call for help. If even one person was willing to come see me, he'd spare my child. The first call was to my father, the man who'd spent fifteen years searching for me. He was busy directing the staff as they set up my adoptive sister's birthday party. When he picked up, he barked, "Estelle Emerson, seriously? Can you go one week without causing a scene? It's your sister's birthday. I'm busy. Don't kill the vibe." The second call was to my mother, the woman who brought me home and changed my name from Dixie to Estelle. But Vera snatched the phone and laughed so hard she could barely get the words out. "Estelle, seriously? If you're gonna make something up, at least make it believable. You look so broke you probably don't even have fifty bucks. What kidnapper would pick you?" The third time, I called Luca's father, my legal husband. He said he was in a meeting and didn't have time to play games with me. He also said that if I behaved myself, he'd agree to take me home for dinner next week. After the final call ended, I looked at the grinning kidnapper in despair and sent the last two messages of my life. A photo of myself covered in blood. And a short message, every word sincere. [I'm really going to die. In my next life, don't bring me home.]

To save up for my wife’s expensive asthma medication, I worked the dangerous high-rise job around our apartment complex, even on a day with winds strong enough to knock someone off their feet. However, that was when I accidentally witnessed my wife cheating on me with her ex-boyfriend, and to entertain him, she picked up a fruit knife and slowly cut through my safety rope. My body slammed into the ground so hard that the impact shattered the bones in my leg. Only later did I learn the truth: the one with asthma wasn’t my wife at all—it was her first love. All the money I’d been saving for her? She had been giving him every cent. Eventually, the same cold, proud woman I once married ended up on her knees in front of me, begging for help. I called the building security over and had them drag her out. “Get that filth out of here,” I said. “It’s hurting my eyes.”

As the only expert in the world capable of rescue dives below 3,000 feet, I received a once-in-a-lifetime salvage contract worth tens of millions of dollars. I had dived in those same waters over a decade ago. My son's research submersible had been damaged on the ocean floor. After his oxygen ran out, he suffocated in the dark. The grief nearly destroyed me. My husband, Griffin Lattimer, held me through it, staying by my side through countless miserable nights. I found out later that he had personally redirected the only rescue vessel capable of reaching the depths our son was at to save his childhood friend's daughter. That girl had merely choked on a mouthful of water in the shallows. I divorced Griffin and threw myself into deep-sea salvage like a woman possessed, diving over and over until I knew the undercurrents of those waters better than I knew my own home. I never wanted another child to die the way mine did. Today brought the same stretch of ocean, the same crushed hull, the same depleted oxygen, and the same impossible odds. When I opened the client's file, I went completely still. I recognized the name and face inside instantly. I would never forget either of them for as long as I lived. I smiled and slid the folder back across the table to my partner. "I can't take this one."

The Rowan estate has stood for centuries, its walls bearing witness to generations of triumph, tragedy, and a quiet, inescapable weight. Known for influence and misfortune, the Rowans guard a secret: the house is a memory vessel, absorbing the emotions and events of its inhabitants. Only one child per generation—“the one who carries it”—feels its imprint. For Jace Rowan, that child is him. Haunted by flashes of his brother Elias’s mysterious death in the sealed west wing, Jace lives with hallucination-like memories, déjà vu, and a physical sensitivity to the house’s presence. When Ava arrives at the estate, the house takes notice. Her father’s disappearance connects her unknowingly to the Rowans, and her grief fuels an emotional resonance the house cannot ignore. Objects from her past—her father’s watch, sketches of the west wing, and a brass key—materialize mysteriously before her, drawing Ava deeper into the estate’s labyrinth of memory. Jace knows the danger: the west wing reacts to emotion, and Ava’s connection could awaken truths meant to remain buried. As tension mounts, Ava and Jace confront both the house’s power and their own growing fears. The west wing does not seek to harm but to claim understanding—feeding on memory, fear, and revelation. In the shadows, a presence lingers, one that Jace fears is connected to Ava’s father. Bound by fear, curiosity, and an unspoken attraction, Ava and Jace must navigate a house that remembers, reacts, and judges, uncovering secrets about Elias’s death, Ava’s father, and the legacy of the Rowan family itself. In a world where emotion is power and the past is never truly gone, the house holds its breath—and waits to see who will survive its memory.

Noel had a great life, or so she thought. She had followed all the rules that a woman is suppose to. She got married, she had children, and she was a dutiful wife. One fateful day will change her life dramatically, and end the love story that was her life. Lost and alone, Noel must learn how to navigate the world of love all over again. Finding her way through the fast paced world of dating, and failed relationships will she ever find love again?Wrong Way Up is a story about the modern dating world, and navigating relationships. Follow Noel as she learns about the new rules for her world. Dealing with abusive relationships, treacherous friends, and breaking the values she was taught as a child. Will she find a way to fly again, or will she choose to end it all?

"You built an elevator on a mountain. It's obviously a code violation!" Walter Grady lifts his walking stick, the muddy tip coming inches from my nose. The massive mountain completely boxed in our town, forcing everyone to endure a brutal two-hour hike just to leave town. That is why, the moment I made my fortune, I paid out of my own pocket to install a massive outdoor elevator. For five years, I've been charging a 50-cent fee just to cover the costs of electricity. Knowing the town is mostly comprised of elderly folks and children, I bought the most expensive, heavy-duty materials available and hired a 24-hour maintenance crew for the elevator, never expecting them to report it to the city council as a code violation. I feel completely blindsided, but I still hold out hope that the people I spent years helping will stand up and speak for me. Instead, Martha Bell rolls her eyes and remarks, "Who ever heard of an elevator charging a fee? You're just ripping us off!" Marcus Crowe chimes in with a sneer, "You're just lazy and using us as an excuse to line your own pockets." I let out a bitter, angry laugh. To keep the residents comfortable, I keep the air conditioning running inside the cabin. Now, the city council is giving me a three-day deadline to tear it down or face a fine. Walter is practically gloating, saying that it's about time. I sign the citation on the spot and immediately call a demolition crew. If they enjoy hiking so much, they can be my guest. I'm officially done serving them.