Ghost Boyfriend Novels & Stories

But not even a long, lingering kiss could quell this nagging feeling in my belly. ~~ Ghost patiently waited for me in a cafe outside the train station, nursing a cup of coffee, probably his second, and an empty plate. “Sorry, I’m late.” I pulled the wooden chair across from him. A server instantly came to the table, taking my order. He shrugged. “It’s fine.” “Where’s Rain?” I asked, looking for her girlfriend. “Paying Amanda a visit,” Ghost murmured, typing on his phone, and soon mine pinged with a new notification.

“Benefiting how? What... he has a ghost he’s secretly trying to resurrect or something?” I froze. Because that… made much more sense than any theory I had. If helping us means figuring out how to bring a ghost back to life… then maybe he is doing all of this for someone else. But who? A girlfriend? A wife? His mother? His father? Someone he lost? Someone he can’t let go of? It was at that moment I realized that our relationship has been mostly about me since we met... I know practically nothing about him. Not about his family or the life he lived before now.

Go back to the dorm and reflect on yourself. I ignored him and turned toward Mason, who was sitting on the sofa in the lounge area. Mason had one leg crossed over the other, holding an iced Americano, watching the drama unfold at his leisure. When he saw me looking, he raised his brows provocatively and waved his phone. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out. Mason had posted a private story. The photo showed him sitting on the hood of my race car, one foot planted on my new tires.

Brandon has appeared out of nowhere; he’s standing just behind Gideon with Low and he’s watching me like I’m some kind of fascinating show. “Ghost has no pups, no mate and his momma has two other sons. He’s also not interested in you in the slightest other than your skills at killing; you need backup, and he’s who you get.” Brandon says as he crosses his arms over his chest. Gideon nods along with what he’s saying so I know I don’t have room to argue.

（William’view） After leaving Chicago, I went back to the only life I truly knew. The life of a mercenary. Five years of comfort hadn't dulled my instincts. It was like a blade that had been kept in its sheath—once drawn, it was sharper than ever. I wasn't William Windemere anymore. I was 'Ghost' Noah, the king of mercenaries who called the shots in the black market. I reveled in it. The adrenaline of calculating trajectories in a firefight, the steady rhythm of my own heartbeat on a stealth op. This was the real me. A man who lived on the edge of a knife.

The dinner plate was overturned and crashed onto the floor with a piercing noise. Patrick’s hands trembled uncontrollably, his phone nearly slipping from his grasp. He roared in fury, "What the hell are you talking about? What rental apartment? Are you messing with me? Do you have a death wish?"

His voice was weary as he said, "Alright, get some rest now." As we lay down together, I turned on my side to watch him, taking in his eyes, his nose, and his lips. Suddenly, a voice rang in my head, shattering the quiet night like a thunderclap. "That's not the real Sebastian! He died three years ago!" My breath hitched as I bolted upright and scanned the room frantically. "Who said that? Who's there?" There was no response, only Sebastian, who was startled awake by my scream.

“Sort of.” Rome’s expression doesn’t change, but his mouth tightens slightly. “Okay.” “That night—at your party—I couldn’t… you know.” He nods. “I remember.” “It wasn’t you. It was me.” “You were cheating?” “It felt like that. He’s my ex.” He sighs. “And now?” “We’re not together,” I say. “But he’s still in my life. It’s messy. I’m sorry for ghosting.” Rome shrugs like it doesn’t matter. It clearly does. “It’s whatever.”