Marisol Garcia Novels & Stories

Although she was annoyed, she could not bear to see the disappointed look on Marcela's face. "Okay then. I will take it back to the kitchen. Once you wake up, ask the servants to warm it up for you!" Mark's mother, Marcela said. "Okay, mom. Don't busy yourself around anymore. There are a lot of servants in this house, you don't have to do everything on your own!" Lily told Mark's mom, making the other woman smile happily. "Okay dear, get some rest!" Marcela left with her bowl of soup and headed to the kitchen to store it. After giving the servants a few instructions, she left to have her afternoon nap.

It was the beauty of the sea shore, but as beautiful as it was, it had been a harbinger of one of the worst criminals in Lagos " Fasting " He was the crime boss, the godfather of the alley, the weaponizer, he had been very careful, hiding his tracks, avoiding the law seemed like his forté, Fasting was smart, cunning, deceitful, a ghost, a criminal, a killer. He had to be stopped, and today, would be that day, he wouldn't get away this time, the line was drawn, it was simple, most importantly, it was personal. Sunday was a member of a secret agency, like Fasting, he had his alias, as a secret agent, he was instinctive, fast, clever, ruthless, disciplined, a trained officer, but his alias, and

“I actually know someone. She's amazing. She's smart, super gentle and very professional. I’d trust her with my own parents.” She gives me the contact and name: Marisol Reyes. I call that night. Marisol picks up on the third ring, her voice warm but alert. When I tell her Andrea gave me her contact, she relaxes and we talk. By morning, we’ve arranged to meet at the hospital. She arrives wearing a navy sweater and jeans, her black hair is braided down her back, and eyes as warm as her voice. She’s maybe in her late twenties, early thirties. She's very pretty and composed.

Theon’s eyes widened in shock, mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came. Slowly, I turned to face her. Marissa. Or Tatiana, as she’d once been called. Her true name, the name that she was born with. I refused to want to see her as a Marissa, the weak woman that she has become. But then again, names were irrelevant now. She was a different woman now, a different person. She stood before me, bathed in the eerie glow of the setting sun filtering through the shattered windows, her hair cascading around her face, eyes glinting with dark amusement. My breath caught at her beauty, as perfect as the day I’d lost her, no, as perfect as the day she betrayed me. As perfect as I've seen her, and

“If her husband decides to knock you out, I won’t even bat an eye.” “Saint Vittori, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Santiago,” I said and shook his hand. “Call me Miguel, please, we’re practically family.” He greeted Kaelis as well, a bit more reserved. “How is your lovely aunt?” “Still happily married to the Russian,” I said. “Such a pity,” Miguel said. A beautiful woman walked toward us, her smile genuine and warm. She had laugh lines around her eyes, but it didn't take anything away from her looks. “Welcome. I’m Marisol Santiago.”

I murmured. “Speak of the devil.” Detective baker frowned. I looked in the direction of where he was looking and saw a woman in a suit walking toward us. She had a friendly smile painted on her face, but I had a feeling we wouldn’t be the best of friends. “Detective Baker, long time no see,” she beamed. “I prefer it that way,” detective Baker grumbled. He still hadn’t returned her smile. So they must have some kind of history there. She looked at me. “You must be Marina Davis,” she said. “I am Special Agent Danna Halman. You can call me Danna or agent Danna.”

Makaila's POV "Okay, back up just a sec. You and Christian almost kissed! Like the Christian!" Rita screamed, all excited and I had to wince as my eardrums were getting it. Excited Rita means you are loosing one of your eardrums... ...if not both. "No, the other Christian who sells burgers at Alisha's." I said, sarcasm laced in my voice and she looked at me all confused. Gosh, Rita!

Then she saw her. The woman restocking the organic kale was tall, maybe five-eleven in sensible black flats. Dark auburn hair swept into a low ponytail, the kind that looked effortless but probably took ten minutes in front of a mirror. Her name tag read “Marisol” in neat block letters. The store polo stretched across surprisingly full breasts, and when she bent to lift another crate, the khakis hugged the generous curve of her hips and ass in a way that made Aisha’s throat click dryly. Marisol straightened, caught Aisha staring, and offered the smallest, knowing smile—nothing performative, just a flicker of recognition that said 'I see you seeing me'. Aisha felt heat crawl up her neck. She

And if Lorraine Vergara is still alive and she was the one who did it, Marcel won't let it slip and he'll square off against her. When he was just about to get up and take care of some essential affairs in his company, he felt an unexpected vibration coming from his cell phone. Marcel took it and looked at the caller ID on his phone. It was a shareholder in DLT hailing from the country of Spain. Before answering the phone, Marcel inhaled deeply and paused for a moment. The tone of his greeting to Mr. Zacarias was one of genuine enthusiasm. "Mr. Zacarias! Good evening! Oh, I almost forgot; in Spain, it is not yet evening. Sorry about that. I'm-"

I stared at a framed poster on the wall that said: DISCRETION. RELIABILITY. PROFESSIONALISM. Which was a dramatic way to describe cleaning, but okay. A door opened. “Quinn Parker?” a voice called. I looked up. A woman stepped out holding a clipboard. She wore a soft gray sweater and had kind eyes that made her look like she’d tell you the truth even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “That’s me,” I said, standing quickly. “I’m Marisol,” she said, smiling. “Come on back.”