A Man Like No Other Novels & Stories

The man laughs, obviously delighted with his joke. Sophia turns to him, offers a polite but dismissive smile, and pulls out her phone to check emails. The man does not take the hint and continues, "You don't need to be intimidated. I am just like any other guy." "Excuse me?" Sophia questions. Moving closer to Sophia, the man chuckles, "Yes, I am THAT Davis Reeceman." "Who?" Sophia asks, feigning ignorance. She, of course, has heard of the extremely popular celebrity but is not about to humor his arrogance.

Without another word, I slum on the couch opposite him and start serving myself some food with my heart beating in my throat. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a very horrible impression of this man. The rumors term him as a brute and a heartless monster whose favorite recreational activity is killing people regardless of whether they are guilty or innocent. They describe him as a man with no soul or conscience. A man who gets whatever he wants from anyone no matter the cost.

Before the birthday party starts, my boyfriend, Edward Parker, casts his phone onto the large screen in the private room. He starts an anonymous poll in the group chat we share with our friends. The question is, "Tonight, should I stay and cut the cake with my girlfriend, or go to the premiere with my childhood friend?" A 30-second countdown begins as the votes keep climbing. His childhood friend, Renee Lane, gets 17 votes while I get just one. Everyone thinks I'm the one who has voted for myself. Edward leans back against the couch and smiles. "The minority yields to the majority." Renee hands him the movie ticket. "Guess everyone agrees that I need you more." Meanwhile, I'm standing

I wanted to run as fast as I could, but my knees wobbled, my chin trembled, and my body shivered. “He’s useless now. Nirvana, the daughter of Sophie, the descendant of Katzius. Do you know me?” His voice was echoey, as if we were in a theater. The man stopped just a yard away from where I stood. He was a black man, tall, in his fifties, but I had the feeling his age was ten times than his look, or maybe way older. He wore a classic brown suit with a scarf in its pocket. “Should I?” My voice shook.

"Common sense should tell you to stay the fuck away from me but you have obviously lost the screws to your brain so your cells are floating around in your head without any purpose." The bastard did nothing else but laugh which made me so mad that I wanted to reach over and strangle him but I held back as the door to the restaurant opened and my unlikely savior walked in looking like he belonged on the cover of a GQ magazine. He was dressed in a white shirt that had the Clothes Over Bros logo on the sleeve of one hand and black jeans that did wonderful things to his muscular thighs then paired with black boots. If he were a chocolate bar, I'd savour him without any rush.

Then, he would crouch in front of me and grab his ears like a child who was awaiting punishment. This time, he did not budge. I tried to convince myself that the random woman must have gotten the wrong man. Alas, Ryan kept his silence. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt with his thumb and index finger. It was a nervous tick of his. "Maddy, hear me out…"

In the picture, Harold was listening intently to a doctor in a white coat, while Jacob sat obediently beside him. Susan's face was only half visible in the corner of the frame, but she was smiling brightly. The caption read. "I thought I'd hit rock bottom, only to realize a new path was waiting just ahead. I'm so lucky that you're always here." I thought I'd be angry when I saw the post. Yet, to my surprise, I felt nothing. It felt like I was observing two strangers who no longer had any connection to me. I liked the post and commented, "Such a lovely family. Congratulations."

three months ago. Our marriage was like a well-acted movie, perfect on the outside, empty on the inside. Cipher D’Amato, billionaire, tech mogul, and coldest man alive. To the world, we were the perfect couple. In reality, I was just his shadow. I pushed the door into his study softly, and there he was as usual, his head over the desk surrounded by documents and folders, while his glowing tablet was still warm to his hand. His curly, dark hair covered his forehead. Even in his sleep, his jaw was still strained as if something was making him angry in his dream.

Thayer had spent every night in bars, his body deteriorating day by day. To chase thrill after thrill, he manipulated every woman he met, never using protection. Each conquest ended the same way: he disappeared afterward, refusing to acknowledge any of them.

The city blurred past, streetlights flickering across the glass like a heartbeat trying to escape. The man across from us wasn’t like the others I’d seen in Vex’s orbit. His suit was new but didn’t fit right across the shoulders, his cufflinks shining brighter than his future. He smiled too wide, laughed too often, the kind of man who mistook bravado for power. “Name’s Gennaro,” he said with a flourish, then smirked. “Most people just call me Naro.” The way he said it told me he was the only one who liked the nickname.