Novel & Cerita 100 Years Of Solitude Audiobook

Day Twelve. The Sterling estate library was a cavernous, two-story marvel of dark mahogany, winding spiral staircases, and thousands of leather-bound first editions. For three years, it had been Silas’s exclusive sanctuary. I had rarely crossed the threshold, knowing it was the one place he retreated to when he wanted absolute silence from the burden of his marriage. Tonight, the sanctuary was mine. It was 1:00 AM. I was seated at the massive, claw-footed desk in the center of the room, illuminated only by the warm, amber glow of a brass reading lamp and the harsh blue light of my laptop screen.

I bit my lip, feeling a bit embarrassed, and could only offer a brief explanation. “Farrell drives a long-haul truck. He only comes home a few times a year.” “I see…” Hearing this, Cowell nodded knowingly, though I did not notice the fleeting gleam of shrewdness that flashed beneath his eyelids. As time went by, all my heat seemed to converge on my lower abdomen. It felt as if a furnace had suddenly been activated in my core. I wanted it so badly… No, I cannot make a fool of myself in front of Jetson’s friend. That would be utterly humiliating.

Just pressure and warmth gripping my thighs and slowly pushing them apart. "Get the fuck off me!" I kick and swing at the empty air and my fist connects with nothing and the hands don't move. They hold my thighs open with a strength that makes my struggling pointless. A voice fills the room. Not from a direction. From everywhere. It’s low and the accent is acient. It’s deep and hot, the kind of voice that voices out erotica audiobooks for me. "I've been waiting two hundred years for someone to stay past midnight. Don't make me wait any longer."

At the DeLuca Family banquet announcing its new advisor, Matteo said he was going to end nine years of secrecy and finally acknowledge our relationship in public. I stood in the back row of the banquet hall, so nervous I'd crumpled my prepared speech into a ball. Over nine years, I'd cleaned up the port books for him three times, negotiated two cross-border shipping routes, and taken a bullet for him. Everyone knew the DeLuca Family had a female advisor who never showed her face, but no one knew I was that woman. I thought that after tonight, I would finally stop being his shadow. Until the screen at the front of the banquet hall lit up. There was no photo of us. Instead, there was only a si

The most you could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other and hope that eventually, you got somewhere. Of course, he’d gotten here. To this mountain with the beautiful home he shared with a housekeeper he paid to be there. To solitude that sometimes felt like a noose around his neck. To cutting ties to his family because he couldn’t bear their grief as well as his own. Kaleb gulped down a swallow of hot coffee and relished the burn. He stared out the shop window at the relentless snow and listened to the otherworldly quiet that those millions of falling flakes brought.

Auntie murmured, voice low. She nodded. “I know. But we’ll make it work. We always do.” But the truth was, Autumn had never felt more alone. Everything she had been reading for months in that book was coming to fruition. The silence in the house after dark was so complete, she sometimes pressed her palm to her chest just to feel her own heartbeat.

Christmas was the reading of the book. This Christmas, Don's book was a novel—Norwegian, which was not a coincidence, a novel by the same writer whose essays were in the Norway reading programme. The novel was called The Dark Year, and it was about a man who spent a winter alone in a cabin in the far north of Norway, experiencing the full darkness for the first time. Don had been saving it since September, when he had finished the essays. He had placed it on the shelf above his desk, the designated holding place for the Christmas book, and had not opened it once.

Since I didn’t own much, it didn’t take long. Then, I noticed something tucked beneath the bed. A navy blue journal. It was mine. Flipping it open, my eyes landed on memories I couldn’t recall but had once written. "Day one of our marriage. Shawn didn’t come home." "He said I was manipulative. That I drugged him to marry me. But I don’t even remember that night." "Attempt 1: He said even if I died in front of him, he wouldn’t flinch." "Attempt 100: If he still doesn’t care, and my parents still don’t love me, then maybe I’ll stop trying since no one in this world sees me."

Hunter, unfortunately, had been insufferable. Medicinal soup. I almost smiled at the audacity he had at being cocky. Almost. I returned my attention to the book. A faint sound came from somewhere outside. I stopped. Listened. Nothing. Purple Gardens had extensive grounds. Even at this hour, the property was never entirely silent. Security moved. Animals moved. Wind moved through the trees. I turned the page. Another sound. This one closer. I raised my eyes. Footsteps. Not hurried. Security. Two people from the spacing. They moved along the eastern side of the residence. Stopped. Then continued. I waited. Nothing followed. If there were a problem, I would know. I returned to the book.

From a hidden compartment deep inside the wardrobe, she retrieved an old, specially modified phone. It had lain dormant there for many years. After entering a string of numbers she knew by heart, the call was answered almost instantly. The man's voice was still the same: careless, teasing, and dangerous. "Well, what a rare caller. What made you think of me all of a sudden, hm?" "I lost our bet." Sensing something off in her tone, he fell silent for a few seconds before his voice turned serious. "I told you long ago that someone like Anthony has too much room in his heart. He can hold the world, he can hold his brothers… But he can never hold just you alone. You wouldn't listen. You insisted