Novel & Cerita End Of The Great Gatsby

**The Final Gambit** The wind howled through the trees, rattling the branches like bones. The cold air bit at Lillian’s skin as she stood next to her father on the hill, looking down at the darkened estate behind them. The fire they had set in the vault below still smoldered, sending faint curls of smoke into the night sky. It felt like a symbolic end to everything they’d been running from for so long. But the weight in her pocket—the coin—told her it wasn’t over yet.

But Thomas was dead. I made sure of that. Didn’t I? I exhaled sharply, locking my phone and gripping the wheel harder. The past was supposed to stay buried. But maybe… it never really was. (The End)

His soft and tender tone sounded so far away to me. He used to speak to me like that, once upon a time. Now, his tone held nothing but impatience. “Cyrus said he's only going through the wedding to make it up to you. After six years, the least he could do was give you an official title as his wife. Still, I'm the only one he truly loves,” Serena gloated in the voice message. I chuckled. “Sure, then I wish you two a happily ever after.” It was time. I put the medical report, the used tissue, and Serena’s earring on the most prominent spot on the dining table, then I took a cab to the airport.

All the blood-stained memories of Manhattan drifted away with the cool evening breeze, left forever in the ruins of a life I would never return to. THE END

Maisie continued for a while, but when she saw she wasn't getting any response, she stomped her foot and left. After sitting for so long, Margot began to feel tired and just wanted to go rest. After all, the real guest of honor at the birthday party wasn’t her, was it? Just as she was about to leave, Maisie, surrounded by the crowd, suddenly shouted, “Ah, the necklace Joey gave me is missing! There’s a thief here!” Margot turned around and, sure enough, saw Maisie’s bare neck. For some reason, an uneasy feeling suddenly surged within her.

Alessio carried him up the stairs slow, steady, secure each step echoing the same truth: The story was done. The war was over. The ending was good. And in the doorway of their bedroom, Noa whispered the last line of their entire journey: “Alessio… welcome home.” THE END.

Anyone would perceive them as a happy family of three. I was rooted to the spot. The noises around me had been drowned out. I thought I was mentally prepared. I thought the memories during the drive here had already hurt me enough. But only when I saw their happiness with my own eyes did I truly understand how devastating it was to be betrayed by the two people I trusted most. It felt as if someone had reached into my chest and crushed my heart, leaving only its remains behind. I trailed behind them the whole day, never daring to tear my gaze from their smiling faces.

Mitch was a pain in the ass and I'd prayed so much for him to get a girlfriend or a damn wife. First, it was Eddie running back to me. Now, my asshole of a boss. Could my life get any worse? ************ After grabbing the files from the office, I quickly hopped into the latest brand of Lexus Jeep he sent his driver to get me with. New York was definitely the most beautiful city to me. The streets were always mesmerizing and I didn't think I'd ever leave it for anywhere. The car halted and the driver pulled out the key from the ignition. "We're here ma'am." He locked gazes with me from the rear view mirror and I nodded, tipping him with what I could find in my purse.

His gaze was shocked—he hadn't realized it was me he'd pushed. But his attention was fleeting. He turned away after a brief pause and jumped into his car, speeding off. The roar of the engine was deafening, and the thick exhaust fumes choked me until my nose prickled. I watched as the red Porsche vanished into the distance. Then, I slowly closed my eyes. … When I woke again, my stomach was flat. The heartbeat was gone. I'd already decided not to keep the child, so why did losing it still hurt so much?

We sat on his couch with our legs tangled and our laptops open and we showed each other the things we’d hidden. He went first. A folder on his desktop – no label, just a date. Essays he’d written and never submitted. A piece about the first time he stepped on ice after the expulsion and how the sound of his blades was the only thing that had ever sounded like forgiveness. A half-finished page about his mother’s handwriting – how he’d memorized it from a birthday card she’d sent when he was nine and tattooed it on his ribs so she couldn’t take it back. Notes in the margins of his Gatsby copy that I’d seen before but never read closely, and now that I did, the breath left my body. She sees the