Line Li Novels & Stories

Like someone performing for an audience. He reaches for the microphone and I hear someone whisper about being the mic before Simeon goes on to address us. “Good morning. I’m Mr. Simeon Sinclair.” His voice is velvety and rich, smooth but gruff at the same damn time and I can feel myself growing more irritated by the passing seconds. “I look forward to getting to work with all of you and I hope we can make P.E something you enjoy and not endure.”

she said. "I know." Dominic reached out with his good hand. His thumb was rough and calloused. He swiped a tear off her jawline, his touch heavy and cold. He left his hand there for a second, then let it drop. "It's closed," he said. "Now we move." Lina laid three sheets of paper on the wooden table. She held a stubby pencil, the kind salvaged from a junk drawer. She started drawing lines. No names, just the numbers she’d memorized until they felt like a fever. She scrawled a large question mark next to the Tokyo accounts.

**A Line in the Sand** The car sped through the quiet streets, the night pressing in on all sides. The headlights cut through the darkness, but inside the car, the tension was thicker than Lillian could bear. She stared out the window, her mind still racing from what she had seen on David’s phone. **Derrick.** That one name had sent her entire world crashing down again, just when she thought they were finally safe.

And that was where I halted my thoughts. I do not know if I have said this before, but Lin was an absolute hunk of a man. A hollywood certified mega gigachad. He would fit right in at those New York celebrity galas; that was where he belonged - walking down the red carpet in a suave three piece maroon suit.

“You’ll thank me later.” I muttered under my breath, “I’ll show you ‘thank me later.’” And I stalked toward the restaurant, Tristain following like he hadn’t just nearly killed me for fun, visor reflecting the streetlights. This was going to be a very long night. I looked up at the glowing cursive above the door. L’Orchidée Blanche I raised an eyebrow. “You used your mommy’s money for this?”

Me: Tell him I said he’s got a good eye. Ethan: He gets it from you. Me: Don’t start. A pause. Then— Ethan: Wouldn’t dream of it. I locked the phone, heart skittering faster than I wanted to admit. Lila’s voice echoed in my head — different doesn’t mean done. And for the first time in months, I wasn’t sure which side of that line I stood on.

Lala sighed exasperatedly "Then visit her" Lynx answered as green vines around him took some tubes, some are holding books, while the others are mixing different liquids and herbs. Lalaine sitting across him watches and remove a leaf on one of the vines due to boredom "Ouch!" Lynx screamed in irritation "Does that hurt?!" she asked in surprise "No" he laughs "Just wanna shout ouch" as another vine sprout and flicked her forehead "Ouch" Lala screamed "Tsk! No originality" then water poured down on Lynx's head. As childish it might be he poured piles of dried leaves over Lala.

"First the USB, now your niece appearing unannounced?" The elevator pinged. Lina burst out in a whirlwind of messy braids and neon pink sneakers, her iPad clutched to her chest. "Tía! You were right about the offshore accounts!" Jeff raised an eyebrow. "She's twelve." "Thirteen next month," Lina corrected, plopping onto the white leather sofa. Her fingers flew across the tablet screen before flipping it toward us. "See? All the missing funds routed through Grandfather's charity foundation straight to..."

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"Lin, are you sure you're up for this today? Maybe you should take a break and focus on your well-being." Lin, determined to mask her inner turmoil, forced a smile. "I'm fine, really. Work helps me take my mind off things." She brushed off his concern, unwilling to acknowledge the depth of her emotional and physical struggles. As the day progressed, Lin's attempts to mask her inner turmoil became increasingly challenging. The physical toll of her internal battles intensified, manifesting in a persistent ache that seemed to radiate from the core of her being. She excused herself from conversations, citing minor distractions, yet the truth was she couldn't escape the weight of her past.