Novel & Cerita Marcust Pick Up Line

It only rings once before a deep, male voice answers. “Troy Cass.” I only wish I had a fork and a knife to stab the ugly black bird and put it out of its misery before ingesting this fantasy meal that involves swallowing my pride. My breath catches in my throat. “Mr. Cass, it's Marcella Castillo.” A pause. “Miss Castillo, how can I help you?”

Her gaze flicked toward the screen before she caught herself and snapped it away, pretending the window suddenly held all the secrets of the universe. Marcia. Of course. I clenched my jaw before hitting accept, pressing the speaker to my ear. “What.” “Logan,” Marcia said in that breathy voice that always sounded rehearsed, “I’ve been waiting the whole day for you to come pick me up.” “I didn’t say I was coming.” My tone was flat, razor-sharp. I could hear her blink on the other end. “Order an Uber.” There was a pause. “You don’t have to be rude.”

After a few rings, a female voice echoes from the other end of the line. -[“Counsel Commanders Law Firm, how can we help you?”]- “Hi! I’m filing for divorce and I need to make an appointment with Marius Thorne, is he available to speak with?”

ring! Angela’s phone rang as she was about to take another bite of some beef stew. She took a glance at her phone and saw a familiar name. “Marcus!” She drank some water and picked the call. “Hello Marcus!” She said. “It’s been a long time Angela, actually thought I lost your contact, then I found it, but you didn’t check on me. I was the only one searching for your contact” Marcus’s voice came through. “Hehe!” Angela laughed dryly. “After college, everyone was acting all grown up and whatever, I thought you’d be the same!” She added, her eyes met Trenton’s gaze, but he was calm.

Kelvin pov “I got inside,” Marcus said. No greeting, no warning that it was even him on the line, just his voice arriving flat and fast the second I picked up. Eleven at night. He had never once called me this late. “Not the building itself. Close enough to see what it is.” “Tell me.”

MARCUS I was sound asleep, dreaming of nothing in particular, when my phone rang, jolting me awake. I fumbled for the phone on my bedside table, groaning as I answered the call. "Hello?" I grumbled, my voice heavy with sleep. “Marcus, it's me, Mike," came the urgent voice on the other end of the line. Mike was my cousin from my mother’s side. "Mike? What's going on? Why are you calling me in the middle of the night?"

No call. He dialed her number. Straight to voicemail. A waiter passed by, and Marcus stopped him. "Did a lady come in here? About five feet tall, long dark hair, possibly wearing red?" The waiter shook his head. "No, sir. Haven’t seen anyone like that tonight." Marcus muttered a curse under his breath and stood. That’s when his phone buzzed. Private Number. He answered immediately. "Hello?" A distorted voice replied, deep and unrecognizable. "How well do you really know the woman you brought into your home, Marcus Gonzales?"

His phone was in the palm of his hands, he kept on staring at it with expectations of it disappearing so he won't have to face sprawled claws. Her phone rang once. Please don't pick up. Marley silently prayed. Then twice. Yes don't pick it. Now midway the last ring, he hoped she wouldn't pick up so he could hang up and have a justifying excuse he called but had to response. "Marley Austein Woods," the voice which called out the names sounded like a screeching chalk on a board. "Will you tell me what kind of evil spirits consumed your body and soul to have made you ignore my calls for so long?"

The clunky mechanism clicks, and the messages begin to play, each one another weight on my shoulders. The first two are harmless, just clients wanting me to find lost relatives. Their voices are tinged with the kind of desperation and hope I can’t afford to care about right now. The third is nothing but dead air, a hollow silence that seems to stretch forever. And then the fourth message hits. Mark’s voice. Deep. Smooth. And very fucking unwelcome. “Listen,” he says, his tone trying for casual but coming off strained, “since you won’t answer your phone, I guess I’ll have to plead my case here.”

I had just pulled the duvet up and smoothed the wrinkles when my phone started ringing. Unknown number. I stared at it for a second, pulse already picking up, then reluctantly answered. “Hello? Who am I speaking with?” “It’s me. Marc.” My mouth fell open. I froze in the middle of the room, heart suddenly pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. The sound of his voice—low, calm, unmistakable—sent a full-body shiver through me. I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to sound normal even though my knees felt weak. “How… how may I help you, Mr. Marc?”