Message In A Bottle Novels & Stories

Before taking over the next shift, I receive a huge amount of money from my work buddy, George Rowland. He has given me ten thousand dollars in total, and the remark on the transfer notes that it's the payment for the morning shift I've taken for him. "Hey Wilbur, I'm going back to my hometown and enjoy my new retired life. Have fun dealing with the night shift at the control room by yourself. "When I was patrolling the apartment yesterday, I got my hands on treasure that came out of nowhere. Now that I'm rich, I no longer have to deal with the residents anymore." With a grin, I curse George out for being unusually lucky. That guy is so stingy that he refuses to even buy himself a bottle of mineral water that's worth two dollars. To think that he actually struck the jackpot this time! I accept the money happily, thinking that I should take my younger sister out for a nice dinner once I get off work. Ten minutes later, George sends the clock-off photo of him handing the shift over to me on the work chat as usual. His caption reads, "I've gone through my final shift properly." The moment I make out the photo, I feel the hairs on my back rising. "Hello? Is this the police? A murder has taken place in Riverside Residences!"

My wife's family ran on the old logic: sons mattered, daughters were a tax. They called my five-year-old daughter "the cash drain" to her face. On New Year's Day, my wife told me my daughter was donating a kidney to her cousin. I was about to lose it on every adult in that room when something appeared in the air in front of me, a column of text only I could see: [Is this woman seriously the mother? She says it's a kidney transplant, but she actually wants the kid's heart.] [If I had a mom like that I'd have cut her off years ago.]

Susan Miller, my father's caretaker, often complains that the supplements keep running out. The wild kingroots that are worth 500 thousand dollars are completely used up even though Susan has only made soup with them twice in a row. As I filter through the medicinal residue with a frown on my face, Susan sinks down to her knees and begins slapping herself. "They must have melted in the soup because of my lack of attention! Please dock my pay, Ms. Lawson, but please don't fire me!" But that night, I come across a post uploaded by Susan's son, Roman Cox, on Instagram. "Hi everyone! Today, I'm challenging myself to eat two wild kingroots in one go!" When I see Roman picking up a familiar-lookng giftbox, I feel my temper flaring instantly. Then, I order a packet of potent aphrodisiacs meant for animals on the spot. It turns out that Roman intends to chug down my prized Romanee-Conti in the next episode of his stream. Well then, I'll let him have his feel of drinking something else!

Before the pack's Winter Solstice festival, I was given a Moonwater Mirror, forged from the waters of the Moon Goddess Spring. But the face staring back at me wasn't my own. It was my face, but younger. The girl I was eight years ago. Her eyes were bright with a joy I hadn't felt in years. When she realized I was from her future, she practically vibrated with excitement. "Our fated mate, Alpha Owen, he confessed today! He's going to plant moonflowers around the lake cabin. He'll stay with me for every full moon. He promised to make me his one and only Luna forever!" Her voice was full of hope for the future. Her joy was a bitter reminder of what I'd lost. I listened quietly, only managing a faint smile. My reaction must have given me away. Her excited chatter died. Her gaze drifted over my shoulder, taking in the cold, empty penthouse behind me. "Wait... where's Owen?" Her smile faltered. "We're happy, right? After eight years?" I didn't say a word. I just slowly, deliberately, turned the Moonwater Mirror toward the terrace. There, my Alpha mate, Owen, had another she-wolf pinned to the railing. Their mouths were fused, their breaths mingling in the cold night air.

Kimberly leans on her family and fall prey to their underhand, murderous scheme and counter scheme. Peaches And Bottles takes the reader by hand into all her survival, sex, wealth, beauty and love escapades. This novel is awesome, intriguing, and captivating.

On the day my sight returned, our family doctor, Anna Leone, stood right in front of me and mouthed to my husband, Don Marco Vitale, "Double the lubricant tonight. I promise it'll send you straight to heaven, my Don." Marco pressed a gentle kiss to my eyes. Then he turned away and replied with the same silent lip movements, "You little tease. That mouth of yours—and the one below—I'm crazy about them both." The two of them exchanged a knowing smile, convinced their secret was flawless. What they didn't know was that not only had my vision fully recovered—I was also fluent in lip-reading. My gaze drifted to the bottle of lubricant sitting brazenly in the wall cabinet. I said nothing. Instead, I quietly sent a single text message: [Papa, I've decided to come home.] In three days, I would vanish completely. All I would leave behind for them would be the hollowed-out fortune of billions—and that bottle of "lubricant" I had replaced with high-strength industrial superglue.

After I confessed to my childhood crush, he smirked and said, "If you can get that loser to drink from the same bottle you did, I'll date you." Seriously? Was I really reborn fifteen years ago? I raced over to Noah—top of the class and hot as hell—and dropped the water bottle on his desk in front of everyone. He clocked the lipstick stain, face turning crimson. Future business mogul? Right now, he looked like some poor kid waiting to get crushed. I nudged the bottle closer. "Using that genius brain to collect bottles for cash? Kinda tragic. Be my private tutor instead." He might be broke, but lucky for him, I've got money to burn.

Crescent Cove: Where the Tide Brings Death Gabe Mitchell once wore a badge with pride—until the night everything was ripped from him: his career, his marriage, and nearly his sanity. Now working as a private investigator and nursing an old bottle of whiskey, Gabe finds himself dragged back into the shadows of law enforcement when a series of brutal murders rocks the quiet coastal town of Crescent Cove. The victims? Teenagers. The method? Slashed throats, hollow eyes. And the message? Always the same—“The Rip” scrawled in blood near the bodies. But when the latest victim turns out to be one of his son Nick’s closest friends, Gabe is forced to confront the nightmare head-on. Each death brings the killer closer to Nick—and the line between man and monster grows harder to see. The deeper Gabe digs, the stranger things get: whispered legends of an ancient sea demon, occult symbols etched into driftwood, and eyes watching from the waves. The truth may not just threaten his son’s life—but the soul of the town itself. Now Gabe must uncover the darkness hiding beneath Crescent Cove before the tide rolls in again… and takes Nick with it.

I am the young lady of the vampire house of Kaelaris. Having reached marriageable age, I chose, from a stack of portraits, the eldest son of the human family Norefax. My family indulged my preference and arranged our engagement, awaiting the day of my wedding. I do not drink red wine, but for the sake of human ceremony, I secretly went out—without telling my family—to select a rare century-aged vintage, intending to prepare it for the engagement ritual. The woman beside me glanced at the cabinet I had pointed to and immediately instructed the sales associate, “That bottle looks quite fine. Let me have a look.” Without hesitation, the associate rudely brushed me aside and handed the bottle straight to her. A chill entered my gaze as I spoke, “There is an order to everything. I selected that bottle first. What you’re doing is hardly proper.” She looked me up and down with open disdain and let out a mocking laugh. “This bottle costs sixteen thousand six hundred dollars. Dressed like that, I doubt you even qualify to smell it.” “I am Ethan Norefax’s stepmother. In New York’s Upper East Side, so-called ‘rules’ have always been decided by the Norefax family.” What a coincidence—Ethan was precisely my fiancé, and the very reason I wanted to buy that bottle. I dialed his number at once and said evenly, “Your stepmother has taken the bottle of wine I reserved for our engagement. How do you intend to handle this?”

I'd been married to Joshua Merck for five years, but we still didn't have kids. To stay healthy, I took those pricey custom vitamins he ordered from overseas—never missed a dose. Then my cousin came back from studying abroad, took one look at the bottle, and was like, "That brand doesn't even make custom vitamins." I sent them to the hospital for testing. The lab report hit me like a truck—birth control pills. Powerful ones. Suddenly, all those mornings with Joshua hovering over me, acting so concerned while I took my "vitamins," made sense. The whole thing had been a lie. Five years of lies. Just as I was gearing up to confront him, my phone buzzed—a group chat notification. Shirley Hoare had tagged Joshua. [Honey, I had a prenatal checkup today, and the doctor said I'm carrying twins! Your family's about to get two grandchildren at once—excited?] My heart turned to ash. Everything clicked. Fine. We were done. I pulled out my phone and replied to my childhood sweetheart's message from three days ago: [After watching the northern lights, I still wanted to see penguins in Antarctica.]