Handwriting Analysis Graphology

Anna is a pretty girl with dreams as wild as fire and eyes that can pierce into the soul of the most rigid person. She comes into The Archer Group as an intern interested in Investment Analysis, but is forced to be in the taxation department. She knows nothing about herself, as all her life has been spent trying to get to work in the greatest Venture Capitalist Company in New York. But the CEO of the Archer Group dies and hands the company over to his son, who is the last person who can make a company work. An artist with a specific sexual preference, private, reluctant, borderline rude, too brilliant for his own good, Carson Archer never plays by the rules. Anna only wants a chance to prove that she is better than writing reports. But Investment Analysis might just be the last thing on her mind when his gaze lands on her. At the Archer Group, falling for the boss isn't just career suicide. It’s heartbreak too. Because Carson Archer doesn’t do love.

Sophie is speech impaired; she communicates by writing on pieces of paper, and as such, she carries a notebook along with her wherever she goes. She was able to clearly express her anxiety and pain through these papers, sometimes through text messages too. It is fascinating that whenever she goes out, she doesn’t appear to be a pitiable figure. Sophie is bold and clever, and she is an enthusiastic being. She is a baker, and she owns her shop. Sophie’s voice is a great weapon, and there is a lot to her central figure. People assume that she has been mute from birth, but her condition was the aftermath of the sexual abuse she received from Mr. Adrian, her uncle, at the age of 12, and her aunt, Mrs. Eliana, feels shadowed by societal analysis, so she keeps quiet about it. Sophie decided to fight and survive, and she always chose to pick shattered pieces of herself broken.

On the day of my wedding anniversary, I was cleaning my house when I found a picture album. As it turned out, my husband had been religiously taking pictures with the girl of his dreams every year on this precise date. He had been doing it since he was forty years old and he was now sixty years old. His hair had progressed from a jet black to a faded white and yet, he kept up the tradition. There was a written message in his handwriting at the back of the picture that read, “Eternal Love.” Since he doesn't love me, I will no longer bother washing his clothes and cooking for him. I will no longer care for his children and grandchildren. I may have foolishly wasted half of my life, but it was not too late to make a change.

Sixteen-year-old Ava never expected her future to show up in the form of a letter. When she discovers a mysterious envelope slipped under her bedroom door—written in handwriting that looks eerily like her own—she brushes it off as a cruel prank. But the message inside is impossible to ignore: Tomorrow, do not take the shortcut home. If you do, he will never wake up. The next day, Ava changes her routine. And in doing so, she prevents a tragedy that could have cost her best friend his life. More letters arrive, each warning her of choices she hasn’t made yet—choices that will unravel family secrets, test her friendships, and place her in the middle of a dangerous puzzle only she can solve. With every decision, Ava begins to wonder if the future she’s trying to protect is already written… or if she has the power to change it.

For the nine hundred and ninety-ninth time, the system in my mind warned me. [Warning! The lovesick part of your brain is highly active! If you refuse to leave John Miller, you’ll die an hour later!] I looked at my husband. He was scolding me for the sake of his secretary, who was his first love. I once burned down all of my award-winning drawings just because he disliked them. I calmly gave the system in my brain an order. “Since the cause of the malfunction is the lovesick portion of my brain, I hereby grant you the highest authority to remove it. Do the surgery now!” An hour later, John stopped me at the door of the ward. His eyes were bloodshot. “Grace Stone, what are you trying to pull?” I raised my head and watched him coldly and calmly. “Mister, you blocked the light. Based on an analysis, this constitutes an illegal detention. Do you need my help calling the cops?”

I woke up in a penthouse dressed up for Christmas, having no memory of how I got here. With a stranger sitted beside my hospital bed, his dark eyes watching me like I was something precious he was afraid to lose. He says his name is Damien Cross, my husband. He says we were in an accident two weeks before Christmas, and that I've forgotten everything about our perfect life together. But nothing felt right. The staff won't meet my eyes. My phone had no history. And when I found a journal hidden behind wrapped gifts in my dressing room, the handwriting is mine, but the words were a warning: Do not trust him. Leave before Christmas. You know what he did. Damien surrounded me with holiday magic, kisses under the mistletoe, and planned romantic surprises beneath twinkling lights. He's everything a husband should be: protective, tender, devoted. Yet his love felt like a cage decorated with ribbons and bows. The closer we got to Christmas Eve, the more I remember fragments of another life. Arguments,Fear,Betrayal. One night I tried to run from him in the snow and never made it out. Now I have until Christmas Day to uncover the truth about my past before Damien's version of our love story becomes the only one that matters. Because the man who saved me might be the same man I was trying to escape.

“Nate, don't you dare start with that nonsense too. I told you already, I don't care about those ridiculous traditions." Marcel responded irritably as she hopped into the copilot seat of her best friend's car, anxious to get as far away as possible from her home. “Hey, I've known you since you were four, so don't try and act all brave and mature. Tell me the truth, you're afraid aren't you?” “Humph! What's there to be scared of?...” “That Mike's ghost might come back to haunt you." The boy interrupted, carelessly blurting out his analysis, adding…“I just don't get it; everyone else knows his death wasn't your fault…” “I know it wasn't!” “Then why won't you pray for his safe journey into the afterlife? What if his soul is damn to roam the earth, wreaking havoc among the living or even disrupting the balance between the two worlds?” “Ahh! Don't be childish. There is no such thing as the afterlife; parents just use these pathetic excuses to trick their children into believing that our loved ones are better off. If that was the case, why don't we all join them… oh yeah, that's right, we can't commit suicide otherwise we'll go straight to hell. Grow up Nate! The spirit dies with the body.” Follow the journey of a young woman as she tries to keep her sanity when the world around her was quickly crumbling after one faithful night of honoring the dead. Will she be able to save the life of those closest to her? or will her soul be bound to an eternity of madness?

Three months after Pete took his foster sister as his mistress, I terminated my marriage, chose to die on paper, and vanished from his life entirely. One quiet morning, I handed my child over to the nannies arranged by the family and walked out of the Rizzuto estate alone. Pete didn’t chase after me that day. He believed I would come back. Once I had calmed down, I would lower my head. The following spring, I was diagnosed with cancer. Standing in the hospital corridor, I suddenly remembered years ago— Pete had taken my hand and said, “You’ll be the finest Donna this Rizzuto family has ever had.” What pulled me back was not Pete. It was a letter from Sicily. Thin paper. Cold, rigid handwriting—the kind favored by old families who had ruled too long to bother with sentiment. “The heir has begun showing signs of emotional instability.” “Recent violent behavior has caused internal concern.” “There is disagreement within the family regarding the current Don’s judgment.” In the mafia world, there is only one reason the elders would bypass a man and reach out to a wife officially presumed dead— When the family itself begins to lose balance. So I returned. To the place I had once fled with everything I had. This time, there were no illusions. I no longer placed any hope in emotion. I was there only to fulfill the obligations of the family. I knew exactly how much time I had left. And I knew exactly what needed to be done. I became a proper Donna.

My throat burned as he wrapped his hand around it, his grip was firm but not crushing—cold steel pressed against my neck, the knife. I gasped, my bag slipping from my shoulder. It hit the ground with a dull thud, spilling open, and my book tumbled out. He glanced down, bent, picked it up, and flipped it open. His eyes skimmed the page. Then his mouth curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, a dark smirk, like he knew exactly what I had been reading. And worse, he saw the notes. My handwriting in the margins, messy lines of ink: God, I wish someone would ruin me like this. I shouldn’t like it, but I do. Imagine the knife on me instead. Heat exploded in my face. I wanted the ground to swallow me. His eyes lifted back to mine, and I couldn’t breathe. ***** I was just a college freshman, lost in dark romance novels and fantasies of forbidden love. But my life took a deadly turn when I stumbled upon a mafia boss's secret in a dimly lit alley. Little did I know, the killer I witnessed would become my professor, and my obsession would become my downfall. Now, I'm trapped in a game of cat and mouse, where the stakes are higher than I ever imagined. My obsession grows with every passing moment, and I'm forced to confront the shadows within myself. But not everything is what it seems. What begins as an obsession may turn into something far more dangerous….. like revenge.

At the annual company raffle, I had barely stepped onto the stage when my supervisor, Lily Smith, pressed a crumpled slip of paper into my palm. "A special reward for our top salesperson," she chirped. "Go ahead, open it. Let everyone see." Under the eager gaze of the crowd, I unfolded the note. Written in messy handwriting were the words: Clean the company toilets for three days. The room erupted in laughter. Lily folded her arms, cocked her head, and smirked at me. "Nice, right?" she said. "Everyone knows those sales of yours came from sleeping with old men. Dirty money. To keep things fair, the others get a break, and you pick up a little extra work. You don't have a problem with that, do you?" The laughter surged again, nearly lifting the roof. From the side of the room, my boyfriend, Seth Hoffman, the company's CEO, watched everything unfold. As usual, he said nothing in my defense. They all thought I would fall apart, cry, or make a scene. Instead, I simply gave a calm nod. The very next day, the company was hit with over three hundred property cancellations. Its cash flow collapsed overnight. That was when Lily and Seth rushed to me, demanding I go plead with the buyers. I smiled and said, "No thanks. I wouldn't want to help the company recover and end up with strong numbers again. That might make everyone even more uncomfortable."