Novel & Cerita Beneath This Man Book

he muttered, more to himself than anything else. His eyes landed on the shelf. Books. He walked over, scanning the titles until one caught his attention. “How to Be a Better Man.” He let out a small, dry laugh under his breath. Of course. He pulled it out and stared at the cover for a moment before opening it and flipping through the first few pages. The words were simple. Straightforward. Advice. Steps. Explanations. He tried to read. He really did. But after a few lines, his mind drifted again.

Even most of the nine could not compete with him on that level. After Mane picked that manual, the other books disappeared. A bright light was once again released from the 3rd mountain. This time, a prepared Mane did not have to close his eyes. When the lights faded, there were a cluster of books hovering around him. Unlike before, he did not read their descriptions before making his decision. No, his hand reached for a manual before he could even think.

I heaved a breathless sigh and turned around, astounded by his behavior, I lacked the strength to debate with him when my stomach is on rampage. I toured around his house until I stumbled upon a library, my eyes broadened at the books, no, number of books lying casually, it was a fucking bookstore, except the store. It was clear that this was his personal sanctuary, a place for him to find solace and breathe freely. A man like him, is he interested in books? Excitement fueled my steps as I meticulously explored each section, discovering an abundance of science titles. He loves science? It felt like unravelling a captivating mystery to know what lies beneath this mafia Kai Eldorado’s stoned h

Manik smiles. The white Iru enveloping him vanishes. “Harasho is the most reasonable dogma. You can say that it projects the current life.” Manik reaches into his jacket pockets and draws their contents. There are two books on his hands. A pink book with a couple smiling at each other on a heart frame on the cover is on his right hand and a red book with a short hair woman crying on the cover is on his left hand. “Which Doujin do you like, Your Highness?” Manik asked.

Shame and desire twisted together until I could barely focus on the parchment. By late afternoon, another storm rolled in. Thunder rumbled overhead as I carried books back to the main library. The rain lashed the tall windows. I was reshelving a heavy volume on church history when a loose paper slipped out, similar to the one I had found earlier. It was handwritten, Perpetua’s script again. “Jordan Brick must not learn the blood truth. The son returns.” The son returns. What did that mean? I tucked the paper into my sleeve just as Detective Luca Moretti entered the library, shaking rain from his coat. He looked exhausted, and his eyes were sharp despite the fatigue.

"I know who you are. I just didn't recognize you and apparently, dad never got the chance to introduce me to you either." Adriana ignored his hand. Her eyes remained cold. "No. He never mentioned you. Not even once. So tell me… who exactly are you? Because as far as I know, my father only loved one woman and that was my mother." The young man's smile slowly disappeared. "I wish that was true. Our father wasn't as perfect as you believed. He made mistakes. Like every other man, he gave in to temptation and I am the result of that mistake."

The man chuckled, and she caught a glimpse of movement behind him—just the shadow of Enzo’s figure blending into the darkness, waiting for her signal. “Well, lucky for you,” the man continued, stepping closer, “I know a few people who’d be very interested in you.” Sienna smiled faintly, taking a steadying breath as she prepared to play her part. “Lucky me,” she replied, her tone edged with defiance. And as she met the man’s leering gaze, she knew exactly what she had to do.

And he had a long nose that looked like a cursive L – L. “Sal Maan Roos Dee. He is a big writer. One of the biggest of all times. This man, see,” revealed my brother, showing the back cover of the book he had in his hands. The passport size photograph of the man on the back cover was exactly like the man I saw in my visions. I AM NOT KIDDING! I mean it! The front cover read: “An Extraordinary Novel” – The New York Review of Books ________________________________________________ MIDNIGHT’S CHILDREN

Holy fucking bees on a stick, was this man just trying to tempt me because tell me why he was standing here in front of me, shirtless with those damn grey sweatpants? My eyes ran down his body, and goddamn, I had never seen what Adonis looked like. I mean, come on, it was not fair that a man had to look this good. His chest was chiseled, a rock-hard six-pack and a very strong vline, and that delicious trail of hair that led down to his… Desmond cleared his throat. “You see something you like, little menace? You can take a picture if you really want to,” he said.

I preferred my books to people, and my imaginations to reality. One evening, as I was casually returning back a stack of books to the shelves, my eyes scanning the names for their proper places, I noticed a man sitting in the far corner of the library. He was deeply focused on a large, ancient-looking book, his brow furrowed in concentration. I paused, looking at him curiously, and I found myself stealing glances at him, intrigued by his presence and level of concentration in my peaceful domain.