All Those Days Watching From The Windows Novels & Stories

Okay," I replied with a catch in my throat. At midnight, Bruce woke me up and handed me a glass of milk to drink. This had been his routine every day. I reached out my hand when he suddenly grabbed it. "Nancy, why is your hand injured? Did you go out today? It's all my fault for not protecting you. Don't worry. Once we get married, I'll always be by your side." When he saw my body trembling, he held me by the shoulder in reassurance. He placed the glass of milk in my mouth. "Good girl. Drink up and head back to bed." Bruce had told me more than once about how me drinking milk obediently would give him a sense of a happy home. Even if I never liked to, I would do it for him. This time, the mo

It'd make things difficult; she wants me in her space at all times – gisting and trying on outfits. Still in a white towel wrapped over my chest, I went over to the window and opened the drapes. Dark trees bent together as though whispering secrets as the wind blew through them. Cities scattered over the world like ant-hills. Rubbing orbs didn't help much as my mind whirled through undeniable facts. Later in the afternoon. Sitting behind the monitors as usual, I grazed through the footage as contentedly as cattle in a fresh meadow. I viewed the footage outside the mansion.

ADRAIN POV I walked over to the living room and I saw everyone working, I could see them from the window , I was about looking away when I saw Tracy out there . I was so shocked I had to look again because by this time of the day Tracy should still be catching her beauty sleep , sometimes when it noon and I tell the maids to go and wake her up they always come back with scratches and finger marks until I decided that no one would wake her anymore .But look at her today , she is out there in the freaking streets .

Hermosa's POV I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, watching the trees blur into a dark smudge against the horizon. My arm throbbed where the needle had pierced me—a dull reminder of the life I’d just drained out of myself for people who looked at me like a meal.

They were also hurt from before. I had a computer on my lap. It was small and fancy. I was typing on it quietly. There was a device next to me. It was silver and shiny. I had gotten it from Mark Thorne. I did not need to plug it into the computer. I already had the information I needed. I was trying to figure out some things. I was trying to see if I could find a connection between some shipping records and some medical records. This is Day One of Seven. I was counting down the days. I had seven days to do what I needed to do. Seven days to pretend to be someone I was not.

The days drag on, each one longer and more torturous than the last. I've completely lost track of time; without a clock or any reference, the only way to measure the hours is by watching the small gaps in the boarded-up windows, through which the sunlight enters and leaves, tracing a cycle of light and darkness. Five times I've seen the sun rise and disappear again, and with that, I conclude that I've been trapped in this hell for five days.

The way he looked at her. Those images didn’t fade. They didn’t dull. Even after two days, they were fresh. Burning. Brutal. I hugged my knees to my chest and stared out the window. It was afternoon. The sky was painfully blue. Clouds drifted lazily across it. Birds flew freely, dipping and gliding like nothing in the world could ever shatter them. The view from my room was beautiful. Peaceful. But none of it reached me. Not even a fraction. It was like watching happiness through glass.

"Heather, I'm so lucky to have you." In the past, Heather would have blushed under the intensity of his gaze, her heart racing. But now, her expression remained calm. She avoided his gaze and felt no flicker of emotion in her chest. Mitchell leaned in to kiss her, but she subtly turned her head, sidestepping him. "Let's go. We're running late," she said. As she picked up her phone, Mitchell's mind returned to the countdown he'd glimpsed earlier. His brow furrowed as he spoke, "I saw a countdown on your phone—seven days. What's it about?"

I stayed at the window. Watching. Waiting. Smiling. The day had only just begun. And it was going to end exactly the way I’d planned.

Gracie pushed the glass doors open and entered the eatery. It was free of people. It wasn’t even 10 yet. Which means her mum is yet to come. She walked to the first order counter. For the first time in her life, she seemed to be observant of all the stares she was getting from people along the street. I mean they seem to look at her with this ‘I know you are fucking’ look. Was there probably a sign that shows when someone just had sex that she was portraying or what?