Alexander Hawthorne Novels & Stories

Sometimes about nothing important at all. Emma learned that Alex was terrified of disappointing her father, a retired judge with impossible standards. That she'd been working toward Harvard since middle school. That she had a younger cousin with autism who she called every Sunday. That she hated cilantro and loved terrible reality TV and could recite the entire opening argument from To Kill a Mockingbird from memory.

His hesitation appeared to irritate the Alpha further. Harrison stammered and began to cough, clearly struggling to respond to Alpha Riel's question. The Alpha's patience wore thin, and he raised his voice, demanding a clear answer. His frustration was evident, and it was clear that he shared a trait with Hawthorne – a dislike for being kept waiting. In the end, Harrison could do nothing but nod.

I would never have agreed to this ridiculous plan if I'd had to work for someone like Aiden. Once my heart rate slowed to a bearable level, Emily helped me note all the meaningless facts concerning CEO Hart. By the time I finished my fifth coffee, I knew that Alexander Hart's current wife was actually his second since the first one died of cancer. He had three sons: Caesar, Christopher, and Aiden. Alexander Hart was known for participating in numerous charity galas and donating money to orphans. He loved to play Go and even sponsored an international Go tournament in New York. This man's reputation was flawless.

Unfortunately for him, Alexander had thwarted it. As the battle continued, the shouts and cries gradually diminished. Most of the assassins had stopped charging forward. They were fearless of death, but such pointless sacrifices held no meaning. After fighting for so long, they had achieved nothing. Eventually, one of the attackers turned on a flashlight. Upon seeing Alexander's face, he cried, "Wait, no! He's Alexander Kane!" Alexander was infamous for slaughtering numerous semi-Empyreans at Hawthorne Seafort, his notorious reputation spreading far and wide. The mere mention of his name struck terror into people's hearts.

It was late already, but he couldn't wink. The thoughts of Madison had been in his head. He had been thinking of different ways to turn things back to normal, even though he knew it would be very difficult. He wasn't the kind of guy, who just did things and kept a blind eye to it, he had a conscience, and it always pricked him, that was his biggest weak point. Whenever he did something wrong, he couldn't face the person he offended. Now making out with Madison, with the image of Alexandra in his head was the height of it, he couldn't do that to Madison.

Then I looked up. Alexander Hawthorne stood at the altar like a monument carved from monstrous darkness. He was so tall he made everyone else look insignificant. His eyes held no warmth, only disgust. The air grew thin as I reached him. He stood with the nonchalant air of a Victorian model, perfectly still. My father’s hand left mine and was instantly replaced by Alexander’s grip. Goosebumps erupted on my skin. He leaned in, his lips brushing my veil. The scent of bergamot and sandalwood surrounded me. Charming, yet lethal.

They let us go at the border, shaking my limbs. I was kinda glad to finally be released. I hate being held like that. I know this isn’t real that they can hear everything I do and that I can hear them. But honestly it feels good to be back in the woods. I’ll admit I miss being on the run. I was never really being chased but I had to keep going to stay alive, I didn't smell like a rogue so that attracted them in my direction. Alex doesn’t really know much about me and my past before I met him. It wasn’t too horrible being out in the woods alone going from town to town. This walk is sad, Henry hasn’t said anything yet and honestly I’d rather be walking on my own at this point. Kicking rocks an

Watching. The crackle of the fire filled the silence. When I finally turned, his eyes were already on me. Alexandro sat on the edge of the bed, his dark tunic unbuttoned slightly at the collar, the faintest edge of a scar peeking out along his collarbone. He looked impossibly calm, as if the moment on the cliff had cost him nothing. But I knew better now. He had waited a long time to let someone close. And he had chosen me.

"I saw you on the shore when I woke up this morning and attended to you. There is fruit in the house, do you want some?” I followed her confused, trying to connect one information with the other, but this woman spoke very fast. “Do you let any stranger into your house? You have even asked my name.” “Your name is Alexander Hardy; you live in New York and you’re a vigilant.” "I'm a security agent, girl,” I said annoyed, "And how do you know all that about me?" "It was in your wallet." She opened the door and let me pass. “Do you have gas on the stove?” I asked confused.

WRITER’S POV A man in his early forties is in his house when he heard a sudden knock on the door. His name is Detective Joha. Once a public detective but retired by himself when he couldn’t bear to watch the injustice in the police department. Certain he was expecting no visitor, he stood still for seconds wondering who it could be. But when the knock came again repeatedly, he knew whomever was knocking wouldn’t leave until he steps out. He firstly peeped through the tiny door hole but whoever was knocking was smart enough to shield his face from the angle of the door hole.