Marcus Ornellas Novelas Novels & Stories

“I know he’s not dead. I’ve seen the gaps. The sealed records. Tell me what you know.” “I know nothing,” Marcus says flatly. “You’re lying.” Marcus steps closer, voice low. “Let it go, Ardonis. Digging into ghosts will only destroy what little you have left.” He turns and walks away. Ardonis is still standing there when the rhythmic clicks of high heels approach. “Tsk, tsk,” a familiar voice says. “Now this is quite sad isn’t it.” Elara. She looks exactly the same. Perfect. Untouched by fear or sickness or loss.

The betrayal cut deep—she’d sold me out for Marcus’s money. I stumbled back, my hands shaking, but the door flew open before I could move. Marcus filled the threshold, his navy coat stark against the flickering light, his smile cold and victorious. “Did you really think you could hide from me, Ella?” he said, his voice a low, mocking drawl, edged with mania. “You thought you could run? You’re mine, and you’ll always be mine.”

she whispered. The old man realized what she meant and smiled. He slowly moved, wanting her not to feel disgusted or begin regretting their night of passion. Even though he had no idea who she was, he already liked her. He apologized and moved a bit. "I am Marcus Rashwell, by the way," he introduced himself, expecting her to do the same, but Nera wanted to shrink under the covers. She wanted the world to swallow her alive. Marcus observed that her body posture was that of someone very uncomfortable. He was a little disappointed, but forcing things or bringing up their wild night was only going to make her regret the night.

On his desk sat a thick, physical file marked ELARA VANCE - PRIVATE. ​For five years, Marcus had been the world’s image of a saint. He had been Elara’s rock, the man who had helped her find a job, a home, and a new identity in the fog of London. He had held Leo during his first fevers and cheered for his first steps. He loved the boy as if he were his own—or at least, that was the mask he wore for the world. ​But Marcus had a secret—one that was currently vibrating in his pocket. He pulled out a sleek, black burner phone. The number on the screen was encrypted, a string of nonsense digits that meant only one thing.

Even the normally quiet guard in the back seat, Mira, let out a soft snort. “Marcus thinks he’s a poet now,” Elora teased. Marcus placed a hand dramatically over his heart. “I am a poet. The kind that only appears during rare peace treaties and full moons.” Theo laughed. “You’re the kind that appears after too many shots of ember-ale.” Elora grinned, her voice softening. “But really… it was something. I didn’t think I’d ever see a night like that. Not after everything.” There was a beat of quiet—gentle, reflective. Even the hum of the tires seemed to lower.

Roman’s breath went shallow. “Elena…” Marcus’s voice sharpened. “I save you. That’s the point. I give you a way out. I always have.” Elena’s eyes opened, cold and steady. “You’re not saving me. You’re proving you never knew me.” A pause. “You always did this,” Marcus said. “Turned my worst instincts into villains so you didn’t have to face what we were.” “We were never ‘we,’” Elena replied. “You were possession pretending to be love.”

Home was eating stale bread and watery soup while dreaming of the life Elena stole from us. As we climbed into the back of the SUV, I caught sight of Marcus already slumped in the corner seat. He looked terrible. His once-perfect hair was now thin and greasy, and his face was covered in stubble. The handsome, charming man Elena had married was gone, replaced by this hollow-eyed stranger. "How much today?" Rico asked as he started the engine. "Two thousand, three hundred and fifty," Marcus mumbled without looking up. "Good boy. Your debt's almost paid off. Maybe another six months and you'll be free women... and man." Rico's laugh made my stomach turn.

“Fools. Tsk.” Elias groaned when he felt a sting on his shoulder. Another bullet flew towards him, but he dodged it and shot the man hiding behind the tree. Another man threw a knife, but Elias rolled down and shot the man. Then shot another one, then four more. Oriana felt pain in her left arm but managed to shoot the man in front of her. She then quickly shot two more and threw her knife at the man who jumped in front of her. The place was now covered with blood and dead bodies.

“I'd keep my mouth shut if I were you. My anger is something you don't want to face.” Eleonora started to realize that her life had taken an entirely different turn. She had been sold not only as a maid, but as a sex slave to the cold man above her. This realization forced her heart to sink into her stomach as she wondered what would become of her from here on out. She remained silent, tears pouring out of her eyes as Leo continued to explore her body. His hand went up her thigh, giving it a gentle pinch. She reacted by wincing, but that didn't stop him from moving up further, reaching for her under garments and tearing them off.

Marcus and Lurii. But they were distorted. Lurii’s face was soft, lacking the sharp, cosmetic edges and the expensive filler she’d acquired in her twenties. She looked like a girl, her eyes wide with a performative worry that I now recognized as her primary survival mechanism. And Marcus... He looked like the boy I had first fallen for at the library basement, fresh-faced, handsome, and seemingly earnest, not the monster who had calculated my value in billions while I choked on my own blood. A dream, I thought, my mind reeling. The poison. I'm hallucinating the past as I die. My brain is misfiring, giving me a slideshow of my regrets before the lights go out for good.