Free Psychological Thriller Books の小説・ストーリー

“My name is Christine; I am a renowned medico-legal psychotherapist. Been in the business for over twenty years and that is what a case of Stockholm syndrome looks like. In my years of experience, we see situations similar to this but its our job to help the victims realize” “Wow…” I started, really amazed at what she had said and what her work entails. I was only concerned why they locked me in a room with a psychotherapist “it must be difficult at times” I added. “yeah, its difficult every time” she laughed “but today isn’t about me, I have a question for you.” There was a brief pause in between before she carried on “Does Hunter deserve to go to jail?” At first, I was taken aback by the q

Unaware of the fact that they are mingling with the people who seem the same as us but they are not. Once I was that careful thinking the supernatural world exists in fantasy books, web series, and people's imagination. We, humans, are trained to trust what we see from our own bare eyes and hear from our ears, otherwise, we like to categorize everything else as fantasy. Which you must have heard as well 'It's just a game of mind' or 'it's in your head'. Happened to me too. Nobody believed me when I tried to tell them what I witnessed. It's more like a scientist considered as psycho until he proves his research. Avoiding some known gazes I made my way inside towards his apartment, nobody cam

And for a heartbeat, the air between them crackled with a silent, powerful charge. Then he turned, reached into his desk drawer, and pulled out a leather-bound folder. He placed it on the desk and slid it toward her. “Here,” he said. She took it, the leather cool beneath her fingers. “What’s this?” “A script,” he said. “A new project. Psychological thriller. Female-led. I was asked to invest. I took a copy. Thought you might be interested.” She flipped it open. The title, stark and bold, read: Phantom followed by a tagline: “A woman haunted not by ghosts, but by the life she was supposed to have.”

My throat burned from the scream that never came. He faked my death. I was alive but to the world, I no longer existed. The thought twisted through my chest like a knife. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was gone too far gone. A psycho. A real one. And as the room swayed around me, as the blood slowly crept toward my feet, one thought burned through everything else, clear and sharp how the hell was I ever going to escape him? ****************** AUTHOR’S NOTE Hello my amazing readers!

I had been searching for a hero forever, a man who died protecting the truth, but I had only found another monster. ​The waitress walked by, eyeing the cooling coffee. "You waiting for someone, dear?" ​"No," I said, my voice steadying. " "I’m just finishing up." ​I stood and walked out of the café, leaving the second cup full. The ocean air felt colder now. I had the truth, but it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like a trap. I reached into my pocket and touched the flash drive containing the final pieces of the puzzle. I had to know if Julian knew.

Harry used to tease me all the time but he always charged my devices whenever he found them nearing their demise. Until he stopped. Like everything else he stopped doing — one by one till there was no difference between his presence and absence. When I got tired of staring at my displeased reflection in the dead glass, I shoved the phone back into my bag, wondering whether to continue my novel. I was reading one of Margo’s recommendations — a thriller. Since I couldn’t solve the dilemma heating up in my own life, maybe I could try solving one for fictional characters. I was almost at the end of the book and had my hypothesis, but Margo had warned me that this author was renowned for whiplash

I stare at him watching his clear blue eyes change from peaceful to stormy. "If you don't let me walk you home I'll throw you over my shoulder and carry you home myself." His voice is hard and daring, making me afraid that he might do as promised, but my feet are glued to the ground. I don't move. "So you really want to do this." He lean closer to me. So close that I can feel his warm breath against my ear. "I swear if you scream or fight me I'll drug you for so long you will become a zombie." And with that I am in the air dangling from his shoulder. My ass in the air, again for the second time tonight and my feet to his back. My hands planted on his hard chest trying to position myself so I

I'm much too clever a girl for all of that. "Of course, mom. No signed books. Noted." I blow the dust off several bookshelves. The dust burns my eyes and makes me cough. Why do we have so many novels? I find my parent's old love letters gross. I see a book on psychology and look through all the pages. The human brain is a complex maze that requires studying and discipline to unlock its depths. And that's when I see it, 'Chapter 17: The Psychology of Suicide.' The note in my pool bag haunts me—the ghost letters 'J. D' make me gasp for air. Is it a cry for help, and if so, am I too late? If J.D is dead, is it my fault for not hunting everywhere for them?