Novel & Cerita Did They Die At The End Of The Notebook

' Serena, stripped of my support, went bankrupt. This was her intended ending anyway, so I felt no pity for her. As for Lark, without the abilities I bought for her, she died at the hands of her stepmother. The system was ruthless to the core. Before she died, she told her she was only good with the gun because of the purchase I made. Her lips moved, but she never managed to even say the words, "I'm sorry." Still, I no longer cared for their apologies. Finally, the system transferred my last reward. Two billion.

Someone connected to the original events. Someone everyone believed had died years ago. According to Victor's notes, they hadn't. They were alive. Living under another identity. Hidden. Protected. Waiting. Elena slowly closed the notebook. Her thoughts were moving too quickly to organize. The past had just shifted beneath her feet. Nothing felt as certain as it had yesterday. Not the scandal. Not the conspiracy. Not even Matteo Moretti's role in it all. One thing, however, had become crystal clear. Victor Hale hadn't left them answers.

Nova only knows that she died. "Is Yvonne perhaps, trying to remember how she died?" Since no one in the book knew how she died, it wasn't recorded in the book, it was just, there. She just died with no explanation; like a stage actor that went out as fast as she came in the stage; like an extra with only a few lines to say; Yvonne was only there as a factor to make Lucas realize his feelings. "What are you trying to remember?" I rested my back on the back of the bed and sighed. The book refreshed me of the events, but it didn't really have any clues that can point me to what Yvonne's looking for.

I heard Kira's voice, and I blacked out instantly as my head hit the roof of the vehicle. Finally, I managed to find the dead. I just hoped my team had enough time to escape, and I prayed they would never get caught again until death. T.b.c ©2021

Its end with Sophie'd death. To be continued.....

“God, I’m dying.” In the underground library, surrounded by piles of books on the cold floor, I’m sitting leaning against a bookshelf. It’s been three days since we found that notebook. Two days since Lady Starcovesky’s daughter-in-law was swiftly executed by one of Lukas’ people. One day since I’ve slept for longer than an hour.

Nobody knew what his thoughts were during his last moments. Perhaps he regretted using Heart Eater to control the Southland District? Perhaps he was reluctant to die in such a lousy way. Nobody knew his final thought. Everyone just knew that a dagger had been plunged into Bernard’s neck, and he was already dead. Bernard was dead, so there was nothing to concern themselves with anymore. The men in suits pointed their guns at Giovanni, and gunshot sounds rang out as they fired their bullets at him. Giovanni died on the spot too.

And then I stopped. My grip on the file tightened as my breath caught in my throat. Tobias. Langley. Julia. The three people who had died. They didn't die when Helena said they did. They died much earlier. Shortly after I entered Alden’s house. My fingers dug into the pages, my nails pressing into the paper so hard it almost tore. I read the words again, slower this time, hoping I had somehow misread them. But no. It was as it was written. They had all died shortly after I entered Alden's house. I continued reading through, my eyes instantly going to how they had died and my eyes widened, "What... What the hell is this?"

But Irene was already dead. The chapter outline said she was found hiding in a remote location. That there would be a final confrontation. Diro realized the error immediately. "She's dead," he said to Murphy during a planning session. "We watched her shoot herself. She's been cremated. There's no final confrontation to have." Murphy looked at the notes they'd been reviewing. "You're right. She killed herself at the mansion. We were there. We saw it happen."

He is elsewhere—halfway between stupor and the abyss. Then, his voice emerges, broken, foreign. "Cassandra is dead." Silence falls. A silence so heavy you could almost hear the ticking of a clock through the walls. I close my eyes. I knew she was injured, but not this. Not this end. I sit down. The paper trembles between my fingers. The newspaper details everything: the journalist who came to the hospital, the notebook handed over, the notes written in her hand, the evidence gathered with an almost cold meticulousness.