Can't Stop Reading Novels & Stories

" Anna commanded the thugs beside her, her face contorted with malice. As the thugs approached me with wooden clubs, I ignored the pain in my throat and tried to untie the ropes around my wrists while distracting Anna. "Anna, I've already broken up with Lucas and married Clayton. I won't appear before you again! Can you try to calm down? Murder is against the law!" Upon hearing this, Anna walked toward me with a cold laugh. "You two may have broken up, but Luke still likes you! He's been unable to eat or sleep because of you. "Now he's even searching through the landfill, saying he needs to find some marriage contract! He'll never look at me as long as you're still alive..."

It read. \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \

I sank down, leaning back against the cushions, pulling my legs up slightly as if that small movement could shield me from the weight of everything I had just read. The ring was still in my hand. The letter was still nearby. And the urge to keep reading was still there—stronger than before. Despite the fear curling in my stomach, despite the unease pressing in from all sides, my fingers moved again. I clicked another link. Then another. Page after page. Story after story. Each one darker, older, more disturbing than the last. The deeper I went, the creepier it became. And still— I couldn’t stop.

“That would be up to you.” Anna licked her lips, an evil spark flashing through her eyes. She lifted a finger and drew circles across his chest with it, staring at him with enchanting eyes. “Should I do this? Or this…” Her finger continued its downward journey… “Enough!” Liam caught her finger, “We should control ourselves. In some areas.” “Why? You can’t do it anymore?” Liam’s expression darkened, “You can’t tell a man he can’t do it!” Anna laughed, “Then how come you want to control yourself today?”

Thanks for reading ❤️‼️ Hope y'all are enjoying the book❤️💯‼️ Double updating today‼️

Bea is sitting on the couch in the living room while reading a book she couldn't understand. She had been stuck on chapter one and can't seem to get over it even if she already had read the first sentence over a hundred times. Her mind continually drifts away somewhere because of the text he received the other day. "Urgh." She tried to focus on the book and continued to read from the start. She rolled over the couch and fixed her composure in different styles to find comfort yet it was ineffective.

***** Book Two: Betrothed to the Ruthless Barbarian King Leila’s point of view I just ran out of pages, I closed the book slowly, reluctantly….. like the story would disappear forever if I shut it too fast. It didn’t, it never did. That was the problem with reading fictional books. The stories didn’t end when you reach the last page, they stayed. They clung to your chest, wrapped around your thoughts, sank into your bones like something permanent, leaving you stranded in the last paragraph like someone pulled the ground beneath your feet mid step.

"You're doing that thing again." Rolda stood near the kitchen holding a cup of coffee. "What thing?" I asked in confusion. "The overthinking thing." Rolda explained. I rolled my eyes at her while she smiled before speaking again. "You've been reading that email since breakfast." "I just want to be sure," I said quietly. "You are sure," Rolda countered. "No, I'm not," I persisted. Rolda pointed toward the door. "Then go find out." The response was typical Rolda.

He unfolded the paper. "I can't save you from yourself anymore. - C" He read it once. Then again. Then again. And again. And again. Seven times. He counted. He couldn't stop himself. The words burned into his retinas, seared themselves into his brain. I can't save you from yourself anymore.

You can read the book for curiosity's sake but not reading the book will not disturb the flow of the story so enjoy ! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *