Marlowe Review Novels & Stories

Two people who understood that survival in this world meant doing unforgivable things and living with the ghosts. Three weeks later, Luca delivered the money. Marco got his finger back, though it never worked right again. His wife sent a Christmas card addressed only to me. Inside, a single line: God forgive you, because I won't. I burned it in the fireplace of Dante's study. He watched me, glass of bourbon in hand. "You could've let Sal kill him," he said. "It would've been the easier message." "Marco has a daughter. Her name is Lucia. She's three."

“Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by her place tomorrow.” Mara squealed in victory. Then she added, with a wiggle of her brows: “And maybe you’ll get lucky at this wedding.” Lena turned bright red. “Mara!” “What?” Mara asked innocently. “It’s been a while!” “Shut up,” Lena hissed. The group of college boys at the next table glanced over. One winked. Lena groaned. “I’m too old for this whole scene.” “No,” Mara said firmly. “You’re too comfortable being miserable. You’re Lena Marloweone of the funniest, snarkiest, most capable women alive. You have survived Damian Freaking Pike. If he didn’t break you, nothing can.”

Chloe asked. “Yeah!” Blake replied. “Sebastian had lost the two important women in his life; I feel his pain and his reclusiveness.” He added. Chloe went mute, thinking about the conspiracy that must have went on in both their deaths. This only proved George’s statement right. “I guess the Marlowes don’t do divorce. They love their women to death.” She mumbled as fear swept her over. For all she knew, she was going to be the first divorcee from the Marlowes, and she was already beginning to fear for her life.

Even the two students who usually spent the first ten minutes of every class quietly finishing work from another subject had put their other notebooks away and were sitting properly. Marlowe had a meeting with the academy board yesterday. That was what I'd heard, passed along in the muttered corridor gossip. I didn't know what the meeting had been about. I didn't know how it had gone. But I could read a room, and this room said: it hadn't gone well. Marlowe turned from the board. Her expression said calm but her eyes were doing something different. She looked restless, like she was already looking for somewhere to put what she was carrying.

In fact, she moved with a deliberate calmness, her bag slung over her shoulder, her notebook in hand, her gaze sweeping the room before landing right where he stood. That look—steady, unhesitant, quietly bold—hit him with the force of a confession he didn’t want to hear. He forced himself to break eye contact first. He always did. “Miss Marlowe,” he said when she settled into the front row, his tone clipped, cool, professional to a fault. “Early again.” Her lips curved, just a hint. “I like the quiet before everyone comes in. I can think better.” “Good habit,” he replied, adjusting his stack of papers with more precision than necessary. “Focus is valuable.”

Marlowe Industries was a forty-story glass tower. The lobby was all marble and glass. Our footsteps echoed. A woman at the reception desk smiled the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes and directed us to the top floor. The elevator ride felt like forever. Dad straightened his tie twice. I focused on breathing. In through my nose. Out through my mouth. Like Mom taught me when I had panic attacks in middle school. The doors opened to another reception area. More marble. More glass. A blonde woman behind a desk looked up.

the manager greeted them. Veena glanced at Lois when the manager called her as Mrs. Rossenov. It sounds weird but she liked it. Even though their marriage is just a business deal. They seated themselves at the best spot of the restaurant. The waiter gave them red wine and Lois tastes and tested it. The waiter was attractive with a set of chocolate eyes. "Hm... the lady doesn't like bitter wines. I'll ask for a sweeter one. Thank you." Lois said. The waiter nodded and left a flirtatious wink at Veena before leaving to get another wine.

Avery slowly turned her head, only to see that Marlowe was dressed in a milky-white windbreaker, and had already arrived beside her. "Why are you here?" she asked, puzzled. Marlowe laughed, and then sat down beside her on the cold concrete steps. “Because you are here, so, I am here.” Avery's persistence had long surpassed her imagination. Perhaps, he was truly a good man, but, the current Avery who was in such a terrible condition, simply did not deserve his good fortune. She had even shamelessly played with her ex-husband last night. "Marlowe, stop wasting time on me. We are truly unsuitable." She sighed lightly.

I lolled my head to the side, “Don’t listen to her, Shawn.” “You two really were made for each other. I find it hard to believe that this whole thing worked out as well as it did,” Marina pulls out her phone, walking over to a far wall, and leaning her back against it. Her combat boots cross in front of her as she relaxes into a position that gives off the guise that she doesn’t have a care in the world. Maybe she doesn’t. She seems like the type of person who wouldn’t bat an eye about having two people chained up to a pole in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse, but what do I know.