Four Thousand Five Hundred Novels & Stories

"W h a t....a b o u t... f i f t e e n... t h o u s a n d s...w o r d s?" "Ten thousands it is then." *l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l l*

So much worse. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. I fainted.

"One thousand." OmO

My tone and voice were sharp, reflecting all the feelings I had bottled up. He fell silent. His face tensed, as if he wasn’t ready to face my firmness. "I—I don’t know where to start. In these five years... I've realized something." I held back a bitter laugh. "In these five years, I’ve realized many things, one of which is that life without you has turned out to be easier than I thought." My words bit, and I knew they were painful for him. He bit his lip, as if holding back something.

Number forty-six sold for one hundred and ten thousand. “Number forty-seven.”

Sharon smiled and told Frederick, "Don't worry about serving me anything, brother. I'll transfer 1 million dollars to you now, and if you manage it well, I'll give you another. But I hope Remy doesn't find out. He keeps loading my account with money and wonders why I don't spend it on ordering shoes and bags to look nice for him."

FIFTY THOUSAND SUBSCRIBERS. FIFTY!

According to the address, I’m going to the fifteenth floor. When I reach apartment number twenty-two, a very tall guy in a tight black sweater opens the door. Along with the Roman numeral five tattoo, a series of large and small tattoos runs across his skin. The sweater clings tightly, outlining every muscle. When I react, his eyes are no longer hazel. Streaks of sensuality flood his irises, turning black as night. He stands still, devouring me with his gaze, taking his time. “Hi, Estela!… you look beautiful… come in, come in,” he invites, stepping aside.