Cerita Line Novels & Stories

The fabric was incredibly thick and soft, the distinct scent of winter air and faint tobacco lifting from the cotton. Tucked into the front pocket was a small, white square of paper. I grabbed it, my fingers shaking as I flipped it over. Written in that same rough, heavy dark ink was a short message: Locker code 24-11-06. Put it on. Don't let anyone else see you look like that.

I want to hear everything. Then I opened my laptop, cursor blinking against the white screen, and started a new document. The title came easily this time. “Crossing the Line: When Love and Ambition Learn to Breathe Together.” I wrote the first line slowly, smiling to myself. Some stories don’t end when you close the chapter. They just learn how to keep going. That night, when Ethan’s face filled my screen — tired but smiling — I realized it wasn’t the distance that defined us anymore. It was the choice to keep showing up. And that choice was love.

And your contact photo is adorable, by the way. A strangled, inhuman sound ripped from my throat. My contact photo. My baby picture contact photo. My mother was dead to me. I slammed out a reply, fingers flying. Me: Delete my number. Tristain: No <3 I choked on air. This man. This man was Satan with cheekbones. Another text came through—longer, somehow worse. Tristain: Also, next time you want to insult my jaw, at least pick something creative. The skull bit was funny, though. I’ll give you that.

I said. “Makeup kit?” She asked. “No, of course not! I said. Why are you so centered on makeup? It's a brand new MacBook laptop,” I typed. “Wow! You finally have a new laptop. Congratulations,” she said. “Thanks. I also opened the gift from my step brother,” I said. “What gift did he give you?” she asked. “It's a toy,” I said. “What?!” Melissa reacted with a laughing emoji. “What do you need a toy for?” she asked.

And he wasn't alone. The girl walking beside him was about 5'7, with warm brown hair that had bright blonde highlights catching the cafeteria lights. She moved easy, like she belonged anywhere she landed. Marcus had one hand lightly on her back as he guided her toward the table, grinning like he just heard the funniest thing. "Yo, team," Marcus called, voice cutting through the noise. "This is my friend, Lila. She just got back from Sweden-exchange year and Lila, this is the crew. Guys, behave." Marcus warned knowing well how annoying these guys could be.

The one I left behind in a dressing room full of silk, vengeance, and defiance. “I believe you left this,” he says, handing it over. Nestled inside the clasp is a single envelope—thick cream stationery, sealed with a wax insignia. Nathan’s. That subtle coiled serpent. I take the bag slowly, suspicious. “Anything else?” He nods once, almost reluctantly, and slides a small black card across the counter. My name is embossed across it in silver. Lana Reyes. My breath hitches. He gave it back.

A minute later Rodrigo dragged the big olive green canon and Pete's eyes widened with fear. "So, the godfather dies like this..." Blair said as she gestured Pablo to remove the tape from Pete's mouth. "What are you going to do? Don't do this!" he pleaded in fear and Blair seemed to stay impassive. Expressionless. Tough. Arrogant. These were the words to describe Cliterella...she is called by this name for a reason. "Isn't it amazing that one tiny egg and one tiny sperm can make one massive twat?" she spoke in a mocking tone and the man didn't answer.