Diary Of An Oxygen Thief Novels & Stories

She is mine. It was all there. The diary started when I was a teenager. This arrogant, tyrannical Mafia boss, my sworn enemy, had been secretly, almost pathologically, obsessed with me for years, like a worshipper at a twisted shrine. Just as I was reeling, the study door opened. Lorenzo stood in the doorway, his eyes full of a deep, dark despair. "Back again? Stealing my secrets for that man?" He gave a hollow, bitter laugh, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Daisy, my patience has a—"

It clicks. The footsteps are getting louder. They are right outside. I have nowhere to put the diary. My pockets are too small. I shove it down the front of my dress. The cold leather presses against my skin, right between my breasts, hidden by the loose fabric of my cleaning smock. The door handle turns. I grab the feather duster. I turn back to the shelf. The door opens. Aureliano walks in. He stops. He looks at me. He looks at the ladder. He looks at the shelf I’m cleaning.

The two of them looked at each other and started running, I waited for them, watching them make that futile attempt to escape me, and in my mind I wondered if they knew what would come next, and how meaningless their attempting to escape was. "Why not just fight and die with your dignity still intact?" I whispered. Then in a flicker, I dashed towards them, catching the first and throwing him against a wall, I heard something crack and it was the bone of his thigh, the second one made a final attempt to redeem himself, he shoved down a wooden stake into my chest as I grabbed him by the neck and screamed loudly, I waited for him to let it all out before biting into his neck, my fangs pierced h

"Jacob, I know you. You are a traitor. You and Arthuro are the same. He thought of only one solution for everything. To stop his punishment. The flash drive that Arthuro is holding now. That flash drive contains many files. Everything, a small flash drive, is equal to all the chaos in Anastashia's family, in the secret world, in wealth, in lies, in murder, and in the mafia world. She wiped her tears. She went to a diary app. She was even surprised why Owen had such a thing. Her son also likes to write. Owen really got more of Arthuro's genes. Arthuro is also a writer. The diary app has no password. She looked at the door. She stood up and closed it. "What is Owen writing here?" she asked her

Naomi’s. My gut tightened. If it was here, she wasn’t. That meant trouble. I grabbed it, shoved it into my pocket, eyes already scanning the room for anything else useful. Then I spotted a leather-bound diary tossed on the bed. Maria’s handwriting carved across the cover in firm strokes. I flipped it open without thinking. Pages crammed with her thoughts, sharp and unfiltered: Pages filled with her thoughts. Words about me. "Darian’s eyes cut through me, making me feel alive."

He intently looked at me, "It's not easy to search for it. It may took you years to find one. I advised you to search for Talia. She lives in the woods of Texas. Do you have your things with you?" I know he's pertaining to the diary, pocket watch and the key. I looked at the floor as I shook my head, "No, I don't. The only thing I have is the watch and the key." "That's fine. Do you remember your last diary piece?" "I tried writing everything in a piece of paper. everything that happened to me, still noted though I don't have my diary with me..." I showed him the paper I was able to salvage along the way. He smiled, "Smart ass."

My mind leapt immediately to the worst possibility. The diary. They’d done it. Whoever had it—Dana, one of her little helpers, or some nameless opportunist—they’d sold it to a tabloid. Every page, every raw confession, every private thought about Leon, about the baby, about Dahlia’s manipulations, my rebirth—out there. I pictured headlines twisting my words into weapons, strangers dissecting my life like they were entitled to it. My throat felt tight. “Is it—” I swallowed. “Is it my diary? Did they—”

🖱️Victor🖱️ The diary sat in my hand like it was alive, breathing, watching me, judging me, and the blue fire wrapped around my fingers didn’t burn anymore, it just existed like it belonged there, like it had always been waiting for me to notice it. I stared at it for a long time, longer than I should have, my thoughts drifting somewhere I had been trying very hard not to go. Jayden.

Her diary. I felt around blindly, my fingers tracing the lines of an old, wooden chest. I found the catch and undid it. There, under a thin layer of dust, was a leather-bound book. Lira Mooncrest's diary. I grasped it firmly, a silent prayer on my lips. I caught the sound of a noise above me. The floorboards creaked. I remained motionless, my heart pounding in my chest. My name was spoken in a low, male voice, and then there were footsteps, slow and strained.

Episode 49 – The Confessional Diary The attic smelled of dust and forgotten things. Ophelia’s fingers traced the spine of a leather-bound journal, its surface cool and smooth, tucked away in a cedar chest that had belonged to her grandmother. She hadn’t been looking for secrets; she’d been looking for old photo albums. But the moment she lifted the diary’s cover and saw the elegant, looping script, her own script, from years ago, a peculiar heat bloomed in her chest.