Monochrome Rumors Novels & Stories

I draw out slowly, my eyes still fixed on my laptop. “Several packages are missing.” I mutter under my breath, my hand clicking on the mouse. “Not just several. A lot of them. Yours, mine, and Alexei’s. They're rumors of tampering.” As I listen to his voice, my gaze drifts out the rain-soaked window, the gray skies mirroring my mood. "I've been going over the inventory," he continues. "There are discrepancies everywhere. And I've received reports of suspicious activity around the warehouse."

Mirella The second day after returning home, the walls of my father’s house feel like they’re closing in. Rosa’s story about Vittorio Caruso’s murder still echoes in my head. I move through the day like a ghost—polite smiles for my father, careful words, perfect daughter mask firmly in place. But inside, I’m unraveling. Silvano’s encrypted phone stays silent most of the day. Then, just after midnight, a single message appears. Silvano: Balcony door. Now.

I muttered to myself, trying to get some semblance of confidence, though it was hard to believe my own words. Great, now I was talking to myself. I rolled my eyes, grabbed my toast, and headed downstairs. At least I could have some coffee to try and wake myself up. The news was playing softly in the background, but I wasn’t paying much attention until I heard the broadcaster’s voice rise. “Breaking news: Another victim was found in the river near Crimson Creek. A woman, between the ages of twenty-one to twenty-five, her body severely mutilated with bite marks and drained of all blood. We’ll know more once the autopsy results come back. Back to you, Tom.”

I scoffed as Weylyn continued. "Say what you wish into this button, cut the threads, and it'll vanish. I have already made it with Drabek's signature. It will only appear to him," I nodded as I gripped it between my two fingers. I let out a steady breath, praying Drabek got all the messages from before and that he would be getting this one next.

It gives me a headache like a static that I used to hear recently. “Who is the murderer now?” “Who is the murderer now?” “Who is the murderer now?” I keep on hearing her voice again and again and again, which makes me dizzy and fall to the ground. In this dark, cold, silent night and only the ray from the full moon is the only light I see. I am so dizzy and I Passed out.

"Miss, there's a rumor that not only is prince Wulfgar paralyzed, but he is also vicious. Totally inhumane." Inhumane? After digesting it in her mind, Carra couldn't help but feel it a little weird and funny. She knew it was easy for people to exaggerate the inhumane aspect of another human being there barely saw or knew. Everybody knew that the gossip ability of the people in this empire, especially the capital, was really extraordinary. Thinking of this, she chuckled slightly, and said, "Isn't this great?" "What? Very good? What's good about this?"

So damn close, her walls thighened around her fingers. “Oh, Jacob… please, just like that,” she moaned breathlessly, arching her back as she humped against her fingers, imagining it was Jacob’s thick cock buried deep inside her. “I’m gonna cum, Jacob… fuck, yes! Faster, please—faster!” Her loud moans echoed through the room, and she was certain they could be heard throughout the house. But it didn’t matter, no one was inside. Only the guards stood outside the perimeter. There were no maids, no helpers, Liam, her husband, hated having people around. So the house was quiet, empty. Just her… and her filthy thoughts.

I walked past the monochrome-colored tiles, dropping the newspaper collection and the weird-looking stone on the dining table. With a relaxed mind, I headed back to my room, rolling under the sheets for a nice sleep. The sounds of wails and screams crust into my ears, my head banging with the interruption. What had happened to have caused such a peaceful neighborhood to be in shambles? Well, Father Timothy might be having some deliverance program. He is a man of great

Serena said. Mona turned from the counter and looked at her with the expression she used when she felt that more had been communicated than the words warranted. "Yes," Mona said simply. "It is." The conversation ended there. Neither of them picked it back up. But the rumours did not end. They grew, as rumours do when they find fertile ground, which is to say when they are the kind of rumours that people want to believe because believing them makes the world feel legible, makes cause and consequence align in a way that satisfies something deep and old in the human need for the accounting to balance.

“Mr. Moretti, I’m sorry, but this is a news network. We’re not here to lower ourselves or our viewers with outrageous conspiracy theories. You have no proof to support these claims, sir.” Donatello gave her a calm, reassuring smile. “Rochelle, I didn’t build my wealth by overlooking details. I make sure everything is precise. So, let’s discuss evidence, shall we? To start, The Monroe Group?” “Oh shit. Here it comes,” my brother Mateo said, raising his fist. “The Monroe Group?” Rochelle repeated, her confusion deepening.