Novel & Cerita I'll Settle For The Ghost Of You

Marcus, the quiet guy from accounting leaned against the door, arms crossed, with a bitter smirk twisting his lips. “McAllen,” he said. “You’ve been looking real happy lately. I see you enjoy your late night with the boss.” My stomach dropped. “What the hell are you talking about?” He stepped closer, I could see the jealousy in his eyes. “ I saw you leaving the private elevator. Looking like a man whose ass has taken some cock. You’re not the first, you know. The Ghost destroys anyone who tries to get close. You’re just the latest toy.” “The Ghost?” I laughed it off, but my voice sounded shaky even to me. “Sounds like some movie legend bullshit.”

I reached out and pressed the radio button on the steering wheel. My voice was cold, cutting through the static. "Mason Vale, do you see a ghost in your mirror?" I said coldly into the radio. Those words pierced straight through Mason's last line of composure. His car hesitated for an obvious instant on the straight. Now. I smashed the throttle down. The car tore through the air and pulled alongside him. Ahead was a chain of fast S-curves. Seeing that I was about to pass, a vicious look flashed through Mason's eyes.

"Ooh and my bad day all happened for a reason and you'd set it all up so I could come to The Flying Goat tonight and you poisoned the desserts and now I'm going to die." "Right. Because you were my hit." I snap my fingers. "It all makes sense now!" "Any last words? Dying wish before I feed you to the fishes?" Tapping my chin, I pretend to think on it. "World peace seems like too big of a request. I don't really care about getting my car or hot water heater fixed since I'll be dead soon. So, nope. Just let me go. None of it matters once I'm in the afterlife and can haunt you."

Those eyes lifted and locked on mime and the glass instantly stopped moving. “The dead has no business with the living, Riven Cole,” he said, voice low enough that only I heard the tremor under it. “We don't tend to corpses here.” I crossed the distance, my boots leaving wet prints on sawdust, then I placed my hands on the counter and said in a low voice, “Then pour one for a ghost.” The room seemed to respond to my words like they heard me, a hush spreading round. I heard a chair scraping the ground and seconds later, someone in the back muttered “traitor”.

“You did that yourself.” Her laugh rips out, sharp and ugly, echoing across the concrete. “Don’t you dare put this on me.” Her hand shakes, just a little, but she steadies it with the other. She points the gun harder, like she wants to shove the barrel through me with sheer will. “He loved me. He chose me. And you—” Her mouth twists, her eyes glittering with something unstable. “You are a ghost.” The word slams into me like a fist. My throat burns, but I don’t look away. “Maybe,” I whisper. My voice is quiet, flat, but it carries. “But ghosts don’t die twice. And I’m still here.”

🎶 Lucas I don't know what I did in my past life to deserve such a suffering. I don't know where to go. I don't even know who I am. After running away from the hospital, I just wandered in the streets not knowing where my feet will take me. I don't have a single penny in my pocket. Wait, I don't even have a pocket because I'm still wearing the hospital gown. I don’t remember where I lived or what I was doing before the incident?

Then, as if the weight of his own actions hit him, he let go of his bitterness and calmed down. He propped himself up and stared at me. "Sarah, are you here to take me with you? I knew you wouldn't ever leave me. I'm sorry for everything I've done. It wasn't until the end that I realized I really do love you. "I can't even believe you're gone. Please tell me this isn't real, Sarah. You didn't really die, did you? Are you waiting for me somewhere on earth?" Watching his hopeful face, I smirked. My voice dripped with malice as I said, "Zachary, I'm dead. And you're the one who killed me.

I whispered, my words slipping through the air like a sharp blade. Her face paled, and her hands trembled as the realization washed over her. Samantha, the ghost from our past, a specter we had long thought banished to the depths of forgotten memories. Yet here she was, resurfacing like a vengeful spirit, intent on wreaking havoc upon our fragile existence. I moved swiftly, my hands still feverishly gathering our belongings, tying up loose ends. It was a race against time, against the shadow that loomed ominously over us. I refused to let Samantha's malicious intent extinguish the fragile flame of hope that burned within our hearts.

"Then let me lose everything. Let me wander this earth like a ghost." "Of course, my love," I whispered, the coffee bitter on my tongue. "I'll hold you to that."