Michael C Hall Audiobooks Novels & Stories

Micheal said with a sycophantic smile, speaking politely to the tall, imposing man in front of him. "Micheal, Micheal... help me!" Halle immediately scrambled to her feet, as if she had found her last lifeline. "Mr. Martinez, I’ll take my leave now!" Micheal, ignoring Halle’s cries for help, turned to leave. "Micheal, you can’t do this! I’m your girlfriend!" As the door slammed shut, Halle’s last hope was extinguished, and tears streamed down her face like a broken dam. One moment, the man could speak sweetly to her, and the next, he could be this heartless.

LlHe offered me a smile, a practiced, easy thing that showcased perfect teeth but didn’t quite manage to reach his eyes, which remained sharp, taking in everything about me and my apartment in one swift, assessing glance. “Hello, Lila,” Michael said, his voice a smooth, familiar baritone that felt like a skeleton key turning in a long-locked door I never, ever wanted to open again. It was the voice that had whispered reckless promises, that had laughed without a care, that had ultimately walked away without a backward glance. He let his gaze travel over me, from my paint-streaked hair to my worn jeans to the old shirt that suddenly felt like a betrayal. His eyes lingered on the yellow smudge

East wing. The hallway stretched ahead, lined with doors. I moved down, checking each one. Empty bedroom. Bathroom. Another bedroom. Then I heard voices. "don't care what you think. This is my decision." Victor's voice. Close. Behind the door at the end of the hall. I approached it carefully. Pressed against the wall. Listened. "She's not going to break, Victor." A second voice. Frustrated. Familiar. Michael. "She will. Everyone breaks eventually." Victor again. "It's just a matter of time and pressure."

I’m too hung over to understand anything happening with my body at this moment. “Standard protocol,” I repeat with a snort, raising a brow. “Are you running for president or something? This is dramatic.” Michael chuckles, brushing my knee with his thumb. “Maybe I’m running for, or occupying a position far more dangerous than the presidency. Who knows.” I huff out a laugh, trying to suppress the chilling sensation that settles on my chest. It doesn’t work. I feel like there’s a part of Michael that is dark and dangerous, a mystery I know I can’t uncover no matter how hard I try.

Concentrating all his might into his right fist, he swung it into Khalid's face, throwing him off the chair. Khalid spat out blood. He rolled on his butt and sat with one knee propped up, resting an arm on it. "You are a Kravnok, Michael. It is what it is." Before Michael could utter a retort, they heard gunshots. Father and son paused, sharing questioning looks. "What's going on?" Michael asked. Khalid shrugged. "I've been in this cell with you since you were brought here. How am I supposed to know what's going on out there?"

, he asks. " Then take both.", I reply. Michael shakes his head and then stretch out two of his fingers to me. " Touch one.", he says. I smile and touch his long middle finger. " Okay Macbeth.", Michael smiles and places Hamlet back. " Did you g..get your book ?", he then asks me. " Oh..yeah..I did.", I say and go to the Novels taking a random book from there which is apparently ' To kill a mocking bird' " Oh..why you wanted this n..novel ?", Michael asks me as we go to issue our books.

“I suppose you still need time to think about it,” Michael said, slipping his hands in his pockets and nodding slowly. “Fair enough. Now that you’re here, we have all the time in the world. So, I don’t see why it could be a problem.” Vincent felt his jaw tick. “Are you serious? Did you hear even a word I said?” “Unless you’re saying what I really want to hear, I can’t hear you, son.” The older Halest said with a crooked smirk before snapping his fingers and beckoning a man named Jerry.

Callie's POV "Show me her file." Michael said it before he even sat down properly. He had a coffee he was not drinking and Lily's medical summary spread across the small table between us and his eyes were already moving across the pages with a focus that made everything else in that parking lot cease to exist. I sat across from him and watched him read. He was quiet for a long time. Not the polite quiet of someone being careful with their words. The deep quiet of someone who has found something in the numbers that they were not expecting and needs a moment before they speak.

It was a single, high-priority audio file that had just been decrypted from Michael’s private vault. It was dated twenty-five years ago. The day my parents “died.” I hesitated, the old fear clawing at my throat for a split second. But I remembered the vow. No more secrets. I pressed play. A man’s voice—Michael’s, younger and more arrogant—filled the hallway. “It’s done. The Vermon car is in the ravine. But we have a problem. There were two children in the back, not one. And the mother… she’s still breathing.”

Furthermore, when his father passed, she was genuinely heartbroken. Soon, the mourning hall was in chaos. Michael had once lived a life of glory and wealth, yet in death, he couldn't rest in peace, with people arguing over his billion-dollar fortune. Just then, a voice rang out. "I have Mr. Hall's will." Everyone turned in shock, trying to locate the voice. It turned out to be Zachary. Clad in a crisp suit, he strode forward. He first bowed before Michael's casket, then pulled out documents from a folder. He announced to the hundreds of people, "A month ago, Mr. Hall approached me to draft his final will.