Novelas y relatos de Ghostface

I was about to talk when he walked past near me, he walked like he doesn't know me at all, he walked like he just bumped a stranger I grabbed his arms to stop him, but he just slapped my hands in return. He walked straight, not even giving me a glance It hurts, I'm hurt, I can feel a hot liquid that is about to fall from my eyes, I hurriedly run inside the comfort room and washed my face I stared at the mirror while wiping my face with a tissue. "Is this karma? So karma works in seconds" I faked my laugh After I pee I went out and walked back to the cinema when I saw Oab talking with Jeed and..and Off

I lied about my age and ended up in a secret online relationship with one of the biggest names in esports. He was nothing like his public persona. In public, he was cold and aloof. Online, though, he flirted with me nonstop. When he got worked up, he even said he'd be my good boy. Then my nineteenth birthday came and went, and my wolf still hadn't awakened. Most werewolves shifted for the first time at sixteen. Even late bloomers awakened by eighteen. I couldn’t let Adrian find out I was defective, with no wolf at all. So I broke up with him and blocked him everywhere. Months later, while staying with my best friend Chloe, I heard her older brother speak outside the bedroom. I had heard that

He was talking to the guy on his left, laughing at something, and the laugh was loud and easy and completely unbothered, the laugh of someone who had never spent a single second worried about whether people found him likable. They did. Effortlessly. Constantly. It was, in Ava's opinion, deeply irritating. She looked away before he saw her looking. Sofia noticed. Sofia always noticed. "Don't," Ava said. "I didn't say anything." "You were about to." "I was about to say that you did the face." "I don't have a face." "The one where you look at something you don't like and then look away very carefully so nobody thinks you were looking at it in the first place."

Grace stood arm-in-arm with a slightly gray-haired man, smiling in a way that looked both sweet and forced. The second our eyes met, shock flashed across her face. Then it turned into pure malice. The man beside her noticed me and guided Grace over. We lightly clinked glasses. Before he could say anything, Grace spoke first. "I didn't expect to see you here. It's been a long time." The businessman looked surprised. "You know each other?" he asked in heavily accented English.

His brows and eyes looked uncannily like mine. "Nathan? You're back! You've forgiven me, right? "They all said you were dead, but I didn't believe them. I knew you wouldn't leave me!" Like a child who'd been wronged, Helena sobbed and threw herself into his arms. But only seconds later, she pushed herself away and stared at him in confusion. "No, you're not him. You don't smell like Nathan. Get away from me…" She suddenly screamed, grabbing her glass and smashing it against the floor. "You're not him! You're not him! Get out!"

Outside, the wind picked up and sent a loose piece of tarp slapping against the garage wall in irregular intervals. I found myself watching him without intending to. Ghost was maybe mid-thirties, hard to tell precisely. His face was unlined but experienced the kind of face that had been places and made a decision not to carry them visibly. The scar on his neck caught the light at certain angles. I had assumed blade wound at first, the way it ran vertical and deliberate. But watching him work, the way he angled his head to keep his neck away from the heat of welding sparks, I revised that guess. Burn scar.

The fabric slipped slightly, exposing more of my skin to his gaze. “And me?” he let out a humorless laugh, “Most of the time, I’m Alessandro Costello. A tech genius. A mobster. A killer. A hacker. A murderer. But then—” he paused, snapping open another button, “Then there’s Ghost. And Ghost? He’s pissed at the world, Red. So fucking angry. At everything. At women. Especially women. And he doesn’t even know why. He doesn’t understand what made him this way, but he’s past caring.” Alessandro’s hand stopped on the last undone button of the jacket, the fabric now barely holding its place on my shoulders and then with a mere twist of his wrist, the last button popped open.

And then he smiled. “Ghost,” he said softly, almost like a man greeting an old acquaintance. “I’ have been waiting for you.” Ghost’s face was bloodied and bruised, his lips split, his left eye nearly swollen shut. Yet there was still defiance in his eyes, the flicker of pride refusing to die. Adrian chuckled. “You really thought you could sneak into my estate… disguised?” he shook his head, a dark laugh slipping past his lips. “You’re losing your edge.”

My bones know it's him, and I walk across the restaurant until I'm standing next to the table. His chocolate eyes mirror mine, an unfamiliar hardness shining in them. He's a ghost. An apparition. A twilight phantom, all mixed in one, brought back to life for a single night, for a single purpose. To haunt me until he puffs back into the elusive dust he really is. "Hello, Hannah." As if I don't have enough nightmares to deal with.

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Ghost. No last name. Adopted by Christopher Blackwell as a child. No blood relatives listed. No history of lasting relationships.” Vladimir put special emphasis on that word before trailing off. “Greymount, you said you sensed something earlier?” “I have commitment issues.” Snatching the olive from my drink, Ghost placed it between his teeth. “My favorite food is pancakes and I last took a shit this morning. I’ve also been having this reoccurring dream lately—”