Flowing Writing Novels & Stories

Zoya is a girl who comes from a high class home, but is more interested in writing and reading rather than her world that involves attending various business meetings or planned hangouts with Sami, who has been obsessed with her for years and would rather die than not have her. Then she meets Ivandor and she started to feel all she has never felt before. But there is a societal problem here, Ivandor is from the poorest of families and Sami would kill anyone who tries to come in between he and Zoya. And he succeeded, he got her, against her will, one that was disguised as betrayal from her part to Ivandor who didn't know her predicament. And when Ivandor is back, bigger and better, he's not just back for fun, he's back for revenge, to make all the people who spat and looked down on him bite their tongues. But when Sami finds out about all of these, war breaks out, as he would rather die than let any other man have Zoya whether she likes it or not. So sleeves gets rolled up and guns get cocked. Clashes, tears and deaths ensues, secret affairs arises, the eternal love rekindles and it starts to cause chaos and war that seems to never end.

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

My mom often makes an example out of someone when it comes to parenting. Unfortunately, I'm that someone, while my little brother, Raymond Nelson, benefits from it. Ever since I was four years old, my mom had been using this method. If Raymond breaks a bowl, I'm the one kneeling on the floor to pick up the pieces. If Raymond destroys something belonging to someone else, I'm the one writing the reflection report on his behalf. Mom tells me, "You're the older sister here. Since you can't keep your brother in line, you're the one at fault." But Raymond can never get rid of his bad habit of stealing and lying. When Franklin Harris, the owner of a grocery store, comes knocking on our door, Raymond points at me once again. "She was the one who stole your money!" In order to help Raymond get rid of this problematic habit of his, Mom decides to hand me over to the owner. "Sorry, Franklin. It's my fault for not raising my child well. I'll give my daughter to you. You can do whatever you want to her, be it scolding her or beating her up." Little does she know that I will never go home after Mr. Harris takes me away.

Zara Torres has three rules at Harlow University: no athletic dorm drama, no boring elective classes, and absolutely, under no circumstances, no hockey players. She's broken all three before October. Now she's stuck writing a semester-long profile on Declan Mercer — starting center, criminally good at skating backward, and the most inconveniently interesting person she's met since arriving at Harlow. He's easygoing where she's structured, instinctive where she's methodical, and somehow always exactly where she isn't expecting him to be. Which, as it turns out, is a problem. Zara knows how to land on her feet. She's been doing it since the fall that broke her wrist and her confidence in one clean moment two years ago. She doesn't need a hockey player dissecting her skating footage at midnight or texting her things that are too honest for seven AM. She definitely doesn't need him to be right. But just as something real starts forming between them — something unscripted, something she didn't prepare for — a single email pulls the assignment and threatens to take everything with it. Some edges are sharper than they look. And some falls are worth the landing.

I watched Ryan die. So how is Ben wearing his face? Six years ago, I watched my best friend--and secret crush--splatter all over the pavement. He died. I saw him. Yet, in the back of my mind, I've never stopped looking for him. Seeing him in crowds, in the classroom, in my dreams--and my nightmares. It's cost me everything--my identity, my sanity, and maybe my life. So when I walk into class to see a man who looks exactly like Ryan standing before me, I freak out again. My therapist tells me to stay away from Ben. He's no good for me. I'll end up back in a padded room. But I have to know the truth. Is Ben really Ryan? That's not possible. But Ben has scars--real ones and metaphorical ones. If Ben is Ryan, why doesn't he just tell me? Is he trying to drive me crazy? Or worse--is he trying to kill me? The Boy Who Died is the first romantic suspense novel from bestselling romantacy author Bella Moondragon writing as B. Moon. If you love romantic suspense, are a fan of Colleen Hoover, Gillian Flynn, Christopher Greyson, or Paula Hawkins, you won't want to miss this page-turner!

Isaac held her hand with the depleting energy in him, his body shaking as he felt the steady stream of crimson fluid pumping out of his heart and flowing down his skin, staining his vest. She tried to pull the scissors out again, but he held on tighter, squeezing his face at the searing pain. "Love," He mumbled, looking into her cold eyes. Natalie pulled at the scissors, but he held on with every little energy he had in him, shaking his head in plea that she'd stop. She didn't, and his tenacity made her twist the tool, and he let out a painful groan, a hot drop of tear escaping his eyes. ... As he laid there with four bleeding puncture wounds in his body, his bloodshot eyes fell on her unconscious body, and more painful tears trickled down his face. He had failed. He had failed his wife and son. *** Natalie Cabel's life changes from bitter to bittersweet after a one-night stand with Isaac Bardekk, heir apparent to the throne of Bardaen. His love was contagious and bewitching, and she found herself helplessly wanting him in her forever. But a lady without roots could never be a crown princess of such a powerful kingdom, especially not one who lived a promiscuous life. Isaac, however, was not ready to give up as he promised her a new identity, prestige, and immunity in return for her being a faithful wife. For how long, though, and to what extent can she remain immune to hate and adversity from the queen consort? The queen mother? Her father-in-law, the king? And the subjects? If so, can she really uphold her faithfulness and be free from her husband's hate? Even when Vincent, Isaac's stepbrother, targets that?

I'm the only daughter of Marcus Nightbloom, the former Alpha King. I'm also the fated mate of Lucas Ashbourne, the new Alpha King. On the night before the coronation ceremony, I happily whip out the spirit stones that I've been saving up for the past three years, hoping to craft Lucas a new scepter. But I find an exile proposal with my name on it as well as a stack of close-up photos of the Rogues violating me in a hidden room of Lucas' study. His handwriting can be seen on the back of one of the photos. "She's defective, so she's not suitable to become the Luna Queen." I grab the photos and rush off to confront Lucas. But he merely toys with the crown meant for the Luna Queen. "Although you're my fated mate, you're still tainted, Elena. An Alpha King's mate must be perfect and flawless. You, on the other hand, reek of Rogues. Whenever I pick up your scent, I feel so nauseous that I want to puke. "If werewolves are scarred, those scars are their medals. But if she-wolves are tainted by other wolves, they are impure and deserve to be discarded." I find Lucas' logic very ridiculous. "I did that just so I could save your life five years ago!" Lucas merely chuckles icily in return. "I never asked for your help. Anyway, I will never mark a defective she-wolf who's tainted by other wolves." At the coronation ceremony the next day, Lucas showcases the evidence of me getting violated by the Rogues in front of the entire Kingdom. I never shed a tear at that moment. After all, Lucas has no idea that the she-wolf, whom he has just discarded like trash, has the bloodline that's capable of conquering all wolves flowing through her veins.

The crowd starts a countdown to midnight like New Year’s Eve. I close my eyes and smile, holding Liam’s hand tightly. Everyone yells “ONE!” and cheers. I open my eyes and see the iridescent liquid light of the full moon pouring out of the giant orb flowing down over us. People around us ooh and ahh at the beautiful sight.  When the first rays of moonlight cascade over my skin, I feel a heat inside me turn into a burning fire. I gasp and look up at Liam. He looks at me with wide, surprised eyes. “Mate,” he murmurs and squeezes my hand tighter. It isn’t a comforting feeling. There are no sparks like people describe when they touch their mate. Maybe it takes a few minutes to develop. I smile and try to admire Liam, but I don't want to say it back. Nothing feels different. I still love him, but he’s not the one. Liam is looking at me, but it isn’t a look of true love. It’s lustful and carnal. I feel a pit in my stomach. Liam isn’t my mate. How can this be? And how was he able to call me his mate if he’s not mine? “Zara,” a woman’s voice says in my head, “My name is Lavender. I’m your wolf and you’re in grave danger, my dear. You need to run. You need to run now. Your life depends on it.” “My… wolf?” With everything that happened the past couple of hours, I forgot she was waking up. “L-Lavender, what’s happening? What do you know?” Lavender repeats her order. “Zara, you need to run. I can explain later. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, sweet girl.”

"I love you." She blurted out, eyes wide, filled with unshed tears as they both stared at each other. "I love you and I know you know that so please don't say what happened was a mistake or that you're leaving me." Her cracked at the last statement. "Don't destroy us." She moved closer to him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. He lifted his gaze to hers and she feared whatever it is he was going to say the way his eyes looked. They've never looked so....empty. "Darling, there is nothing to destroy if there was nothing to ever break. There was never an us Idalia." He stated venom lacing his words. "What?" Her voice cracked "Whatever happened between us was a mistake. I regret it." Her face crumpled as her hand dropped from his arm, putting space between them. "Don't say that." "Just leave Idalia." He turned his back to awards her and continued stuffing clothes into his bag. After some time, "Okay." She nodded her head in understanding, wiping her tears, trying to stop the already flowing tears. Glancing at him one more time, she walked out of his room. When Idalia Bianchi confesses her love to Ivan Volklov, her best friend and the heir to the Italian mafia, he does not reciprocate the feeling. Years after walking out of the room of the one she loves, he is back in her life. Her brother's best friend. It’s finally time for her to find a husband and according to her family tradition it has to be an arranged marriage and what better and safer match for her than a member of the Italian mafia. Even though there is already an alliance between the families, a marriage makes it more "sophisticated", like her father says.

When I opened my eyes, I found myself supposedly transmigrated to some ancient era. Every morning, before light touched the sky, someone would yank me out of bed to haul trash, chop wood, and do whatever filthiest job needed doing. Somehow, I'd become the lowest-ranked servant in the entire estate. The estate lord's son would climb onto my back and ride me around the courtyard like some pet he was proud to show off. Anyone in the household could hit me, kick me, or shove me aside, and not a single soul would speak up. Five years passed like that, so awful that I almost lost my mind, as if I were living in hell. Then one day, a group of servants cornered me. They didn't bother hiding their intention. The moment I saw their faces, I knew I was in trouble. Fists flew, boots landed, and everything blurred. Just before I passed out, I heard them whispering, "We're going to kill him if we keep this up." "Come on. This place only looks like some old noble estate. It's not an actual one. If he dies here, we're the ones who'll get dragged to court!" "Relax. Ms. Shaw will handle it. The idiot pissed off her childhood sweetheart. Getting tricked into this place is exactly what he deserves." Fear swallowed everything, and the world went dark. When I woke again, the lady of the house had conveniently "returned from visiting her family." The lord threw a grand celebration with tables full of food, wine flowing, and musicians playing like nothing had happened. I carried dishes into the banquet hall and lifted my head. Her face was the same as my wife's, Melissa Shaw. I set the final dish down, stepped closer, and in a voice only she could hear, asked, "Ma'am… are you enjoying your little game?"