Handwriting Poetry Novels & Stories

Evelyn has always believed in love the kind that makes your heart race, the kind in movies, the kind that feels like destiny. Unfortunately, destiny seems to have a terrible sense of humor. At twenty six, Evelyn has fallen in love more times than she can count. Each time feels different. Each time feels like the one. Each time ends in heartbreak. There was the charming university senior who wrote poetry on her lecture notes. The ambitious doctor who promised forever but chose his career over her. The quiet neighbor who understood her silence better than anyone… until his secrets surfaced. And yet Evelyn never stops believing. Hopelessly Romantic follows Evelyn through a series of intense, beautiful, messy love stories, each chapter introducing a new man who changes her life in unexpected ways. Every love begins like magic. Every love ends in a way she never imagined. With humor, heartbreak, and hope, Evelyn learns that sometimes love isn’t about finding the right person but loving yourself.

"I am not perfect. You aren't either, and the two of us will never be perfect. But if i can make you laugh at least once, cause you to think twice, and if i admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto me and give me the most you can. I am not going to quote poetry, I am not thinking about you every moment, but I will give you a part of me that i know you could break. Don't hurt me, don't change me, and don't expect for more than i can give. Don't analyze. Smile when i make you happy, yell when i make you mad, and miss me when I am not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don't exist, but there's always one guy that is perfect for you” As I held the letter in hand, a single tear fell off my face and I clench my jaw together, I will be doomed if I let him go without a fight.

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.

When the marriage contract was placed in front of me, I only took a moment to read the terms, but Lucien Moretti urged me three times to sign. He was in a hurry, after all. His precious savior, Isabella, was waiting for him to take her to her favorite opera. So I picked up the pen, but I did not sign my name. I copied Isabella’s handwriting and wrote hers instead. In my last life, I had signed that contract with a heart full of hope. I thought becoming Lucien’s wife meant I would finally stand beside him as the Donna of the Moretti family. Instead, he kept me hidden after the wedding. At every public event, Isabella was the woman on his arm. Every matter that should have required the Donna’s approval went through her first. I told myself I was not strong enough yet. I swallowed every insult and was forced to give up everything that should have been mine. Until the night gunmen broke into the Moretti estate, and Lucien chose her again. He carried Isabella out in his arms while I bled out behind him. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back before the wedding contract was sealed. This time, I gave Isabella the Donna’s necklace. I gave her the wedding dress. I even signed her name on the contract meant for me. I gave up my name, and I gave him up with it.

Alina Hart, a sharp-tongued high school senior, hides behind sarcasm and wit to mask the pain of fractured family life. Shipped off to a prestigious boarding school by a father who no longer sees her, Alina struggles to find her place in a world of strict rules and academic expectations. Enter Professor Cristiano Wright, a 27-year-old literature teacher whose calm demeanor and sharp intellect make him both an enigma and a fascination. Tasked by Alina’s older brother Ethan to keep an eye on her, Wright finds himself drawn to the complexity beneath her rebellious exterior. In the backdrop of Shakespearean sonnets and Romantic poetry, Alina and Wright navigate an increasingly fraught connection. What begins as reluctant mentorship soon transforms into a tangled web of forbidden emotions, unspoken words, and an undeniable pull that neither can ignore. Set against the bustling corridors of an urban high school and the quiet corners of a library filled with unspoken confessions, Silent Flames, Forbidden Paths explores the fine line between admiration and desire, duty and vulnerability. As Alina and Wright grapple with their feelings, they must confront their moral boundaries and the cost of their choices. Can they maintain the lines they’ve drawn, or will their emotions blur them beyond recognition?

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.

The seventh time Dante Moretti served me divorce papers, I was sitting with my son in a cheap diner on Chicago's South Side. I forced a smile and brushed my hand over my son's hair. "Just wait a little longer, sweetheart. This time, Mommy will get custody of you." He stayed quiet for a long moment. Then he looked up and asked, “Mommy, how much do you need to sell me for before you're happy?” Before I could answer, he pulled a handwritten divorce agreement from his backpack and pushed it toward me. "I know you keep fighting Dad for me because you want more money from him." "I wrote the agreement for him. Please sign it. Dad is already tired. Stop making his life so hard." His handwriting was crooked, but every word had been written with care. Dante would give me three million dollars. At the bottom, in my son's childish scrawl, was one more line. [After you take the money, don't bother me, Dad, and Serena anymore. Let us be happy.] Serena was Dante's childhood sweetheart. The woman he trusted more than his own wife. For five years, I had stood against Dante's family, his lawyers, and half the Chicago underworld just to keep custody of my son. For him, I would've walked away with nothing. But the child I had raised for eight years had already chosen another mother. So why shouldn't I give their perfect little family exactly what they wanted?

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."

Harry DuBois is the name everyone knows. At 6'4", sharply dressed, with silver at his temples and a velvet voice, he commands attention the moment he enters a room. Owner of DuBois Fine Arts & Jazz Lounge, the town’s cultural heartbeat, he offers a haven for music, poetry, and taste. Women adore him, men envy him, and all assume he’s living the dream. But Harry is haunted. Beneath success lies a past that won’t let him go, a tragedy he never speaks of. For Harry, love isn’t just risky, it’s dangerous. He’s a single father to Naomi, his teenage daughter, the only light he’s allowed to stay. Yet even with her, there are walls. When new art curator Elena Rivera arrives from New York to partner with his lounge on a revival series, a celebration of Black art, music, and history. Harry is drawn to someone he hasn’t been with in decades. But Elena has secrets, and she’s starting to notice cracks in Harry’s perfect image. As past and present collide, Harry is forced to confront the pain he has buried for over 25 years. A love lost, a betrayal unforgiving, and a night that changed everything. The question is: can Harry finally allow himself to feel again, or will the past claim him once and for all?

He didn't expect to see her again, an encounter that ignited his love and desires for her; She didn't expect to meet him sooner —an encounter that ignited her hunger for revenge and a twisted desire. ****** He pushed me against the wall, "End the contract with my boss! You are playing with fire Victoria!" He roars. I remain unfazed; this is just the tip of the iceberg, and there is more to come. How I wish he could read the handwriting on the wall, he should be more scared of me, not his boss. "Dear ex-husband, are you jealous that I'm with your boss or is it something else?" I challenge him, a mysterious smile playing on the tip of my lips. His eyes blaze with fury, swiftly pinning me against the wall, his breath fanning my ear, sending shockwaves of pleasure despite the situation. "You know nothing; if you are aiming for revenge, then do it openly!" My gaze meets his, "You don't know what is coming for you, Brad; it is far more than you can fathom."I gave him a sinister smile which made him go crazy. "Fine, I admit I was wrong; I shouldn't have done that to you; I shouldn't have abandoned our love and made you sign those papers, but I did that for you!" Came his outburst. "I...I did that to protect you... because I love you... because I don't want to lose you." He cupped my face tenderly, his hands shaking against my skin; I stood still, dumbfounded. "protection from what?" I choked at my question because I knew whatever the reason may be, it might already be too late. This has gone beyond love—the thirst for revenge and duty is at stake now. Will love be given a chance again?