London Calling Novel Novels & Stories

Emma closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of the city soak in, calming her nerves while filling her with excitement. By the time she reached her apartment, the sky was dusky, the streetlamps flickering on. The small, cozy apartment welcomed her with cream-colored walls and a tiny balcony overlooking a cobblestone street. She placed her suitcase down, exhaling deeply. This was her new life. Emma unpacked carefully, arranging her clothes, setting up her laptop, and placing a photograph on the desk — a reminder of the life she had left behind and the courage that brought her here. Stepping onto the balcony, she breathed in the crisp evening air. A faint violin melody floated up from the street b

Their happy laughter echoed freely across the Scottish sky as the camera slowly pulled back, revealing the peace and tranquillity they had finally achieved. Yet far away, amidst the smouldering ruins of London, an old mobile phone rang loudly inside a burnt-out safe… an incoming call from an unregistered number. END OF CHAPTER 169.

My first day in London was cold enough to be forgotten. The weather was horrible, and my legs were shaking like a pair of noodles. Things in London are so different from my hometown. Everyone is from top to bottom and no one stays still, while there are so many lights around the city, that sometimes I am blinded by them. Before this change in my life, I lived in a town called Bunbury, a town where nothing at all ever happens. So I was very lucky to be sent to cold London.

I said, barely more than a whisper. “I’m happy to help you, Mr. Rafael. Truly. And if there is anything else I can do, anything at all, you only need to ask.” She bowed her head slightly, then returned to her seat, leaving us standing there with nothing but silence and the weight of a city we now had to chase across an ocean. Maisie and I stood for long minutes, staring down at the business card resting in my palm like a lifeline that felt far too thin. London. It wasn’t a quick drive, not a day trip. London was a country away from us, another world away from the one who used to live. Even though I had branches of my companies there, I had only been there once, but now we had to go there aga

Abigail I didn’t hear the library door open. Curled in the wide armchair by the window, a thick blanket tucked over my legs and a mug of lukewarm tea long forgotten on the little table beside me, I was too deep in the roaring chaos of 1920s London to notice anything else. The novel I’d found, The Blood of Mayfair, was a fever dream of a book with gangsters in bowler hats and singers with too much rouge and too many secrets. I had stumbled across the book purely by chance this afternoon while scanning a high corner shelf. What began as idle curiosity turned into a feverish need to unravel the killer’s identity before the protagonist, a fashion journalist moonlighting as a private investigator

My voice was a bit shaky as I clutched my chest that was beginning to tighten, massaging it softly. "What are you saying, Nora? I am in London," he scoffed. He immediately switched the audio call to a video call. With trembling hands, I picked and saw Frank in an office. He turned the back camera, and I could see three other persons there with him. He went out of the office and even went out of the building and showed me a signpost that read, "10 Brock St, Kings Cross London." I sank to my feet. What was happening? "Nora, are you there? Can you see I am in London?Call Selene, Maybe she picked them up"

“You know, for someone that always has a comeback, you’re awfully quiet.” London chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.“Just tired, I guess.” “Uh-huh.” I don’t believe him. I never do when people say that. Tired is just code for emotionally overwhelmed. Or trying not to explode. We walk another block. Then I ask, “So… do you even have a girlfriend?” London stops mid-step and coughs like I just shoved a piece of steak down his throat. I laugh. I can't help it. “What the hell, Cam?” he sputters. “Where did that come from?”

“The fox.” “What fox—” Halfway through her reply, she froze. Oh no. Just before her expression could betray her, she quickly lowered her head, pulled out her tablet, and began busying herself. “I looked it up. Yes, apparently there are foxes in London. Usually active at night.” Charlie’s lips curved. “So London foxes work night shifts too?” Candice: Can you stop already?! She tried to act calm, but her face still flushed pink. Up front, Jerry—driving—and Rex—sitting shotgun—were eavesdropping intently.

Twenty-four hours to decipher the diary, uncover Amelia's plan, and save Callum from the jaws of fate. Up ahead, the safe house was this monstrous structure of brick and steel. Pulling in to the underground garage, I made silent promises: I'd lost one love to betrayal; I wouldn't lose another to prophecy. Behind us, London was burning, buried in chaos where Callum fought for our future. The only thing I could do was believe-in him, believe in our bond, in me. The real war wasn't over-it was just now starting.

"How is London?" I see he's in a car, a Lambo probably, because coupled with being handsome, he's also rich. I chew my bottom lip at his question because I haven't step outside, and do not know how London is, but that changes now, I will show Chynna I am not mourning. "London is fine, what part of the world are you in?" I say, running my hand over my face, feeling self concious. "New Orleans." He smiles, and I nod, that place nostalgic.