3 Some Story Novels & Stories

“They would never do anything to harm their mate.” Henry’s eyes bulge as he looks around all three of us. He lets out a low whistle. “Two mates.” He says to her. A sheepish look crosses over Jamari’s face. “Actually there are three of them, so far.” Another whistle leaves Henry’s lips. “I hope I have the opportunity to hear the story behind that someday.” Sadness crosses his face. Jamari reaches out, placing a comforting hand on his forearm. “I don’t intend to kill you today Henry. Just please tell us what we want to know so that they don’t.” She points behind her at Levi and I, Levi waves at Henry, a smile spreading across his face.

“What history?” The woman looked toward something neither of them could see. “A story that keeps ending the same way.” The taller man frowned. “What story?” “A girl.” The wind moved again. “Three boys.” Another pulse of silver light. “Love.” The room darkened. “And Death.” The shorter man crossed his arms. “That’s incredibly unhelpful.” The woman ignored him. “It happened before.” Silence. “It happened again.” Silence. “And It will happen again.”

As I signed the divorce papers for the third time, I moved through the familiar steps with practiced ease. I could have done it in my sleep, having been through the drill three times already. Henry Johnson clutched the divorce certificate, his eyes darting to his watch, his brow creased with impatience. "Go on ahead, I'll catch a cab back," I offered before he could say a word. A flicker of surprise crossed Henry's face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of regret as he spoke, "Sorry, Melanie just landed, I..."

“You what?!” Amara exclaimed, slamming her palms on the table so hard that the vase almost fell. I winced. We had moved from the bathroom to our tiny kitchen just to talk properly, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her for losing it after hearing the story. I had finally told her what happened a few weeks ago—what I remembered of it—and who probably the father was. “Amara, please,” I urged her, lowering my voice. “Calm down, will you? It’s late. The neighbors might hear us—”

Three lives. Three.

I said "I'm Josy Richard. I'm single and ready to mingle .I'm thirty years old .I'm from a family of six . I have three elder siblings and I'm the youngest .Your turn Riley" I'm Riley Essah ,I'm twenty years old . I'm from a family of four and I'm the youngest . Actually I'm adopted . "Would it be ok if I asked you about your biological parents ?" Sure it's fine Josy we're friends now and friends always share ."

he asked shakily. Alice giggled gleefully and looked at Liam pitifully. "You're hilarious! There's a three-year age gap between me and Vanessa. Can't you tell us apart? "Or is your brain just not all there? Or perhaps you've known the truth all along but are too afraid to admit it? Are you doing this to try to hide the fact that you are a sc*mbag?" Alice seemed to have lost her mind. Right now, it seemed that she wanted to take everyone down with her.

It was a simple dream, yet my brothers had ruined it. I could still remember Phoebe clinging to Gary and bawling her eyes out that day. She'd hiccuped while describing the last time she'd seen the hair clip. At the end, she'd added, "Holly said it was nice, too." Just like that, everyone somehow got it into their heads that I'd stolen the hair clip. They'd refused to believe me, no matter how I'd explained myself. They'd locked me up and forced me to admit that I'd stolen the hair clip. They'd refused to let me out before I returned it.

Because the word was starting to fit too easily. The leader smiled faintly. “There were three.” Rhydan went still. Draven didn’t react outwardly. But I saw it. A shift. A recognition forming. Three. My breath caught. “…three what?” The creature’s eyes locked onto mine. “Three anchors.” The bond inside me pulsed again. Harder this time. I winced. Not from pain— from pressure. Like something pressing outward. Waiting. The leader’s voice softened slightly. “You were never meant to carry it alone.”

Thirty days. One month. A single, heartbeat-stopping wager. Benjamin Parker was the sun. A golden-haired scholarship recruit with flour on his hands and a heart that he wore—vulnerable and beating—on his sleeve. He spent weeks chasing the school’s "Ice Prince," offering handmade tarts and a smile that could melt the coldest winter. He thought his persistence finally paid off when Jonathan Hayes—the obsidian-eyed, terrifyingly beautiful heir to a tech empire—pinned him against the school gates and claimed him in front of everyone. But the "Golden Romance" was a lie from the very first kiss. Jonathan didn't choose Benjamin because of his heart; he chose him because he was a convenient t