Music Lines Novels & Stories

The moment the screen lit up, messages poured in like they had gone insane. The vibration lasted a full minute. Most were missed calls from Simon. Dozens of them. There were also several messages, mostly from him. The earliest was sent at seven in the morning. [Maren, I'm almost at the hotel. Where are you? The makeup artist can't reach you.] Then at eight: [Stop making trouble. Come over now.] Nine: [Why aren't you answering your phone? Do you know how many guests have already arrived?] Ten: [Where are you?]

I saw love and affection. "Of cause I do but the question is, why?" I said. "Why?," He takes up the champagne and poured it into the two glasses on the table. "Drink, dear,?" He asked. "Thank you,". I collected the glass from him. Abhishek takes his hand behind. A man walks in playing romantic music on his violin. "Seat," he says, I sat down right after dropping the glass back on the table next to me. Abhishek sat in his chair, it faced mine.

His grip on the shaft was too tight, knuckles pale beneath grime. “You’ll snap it if you hold it like that,” I said quietly. He blinked, startled. “Commander — I—” “Loosen,” I said, demonstrating. “Let the ground take the weight. You’re not holding the line alone.” He nodded, exhaled, adjusted. Sometimes command was that simple. The afternoon brought a different sound. Music. Low. Rhythmic. Drums, beaten slow and steady from the enemy camp. Mara stiffened beside me. “They’re mocking us.”

Something forbidden. Music pulsed low from somewhere unseen, a bassline that vibrated beneath our feet and climbed up our spines. Lana’s grip on my arm tightened as her eyes swept the room—wide and masked, but hungry. To our left, a velvet sofa was already claimed. Bodies twisted across it, limbs tangled like ivy. A woman lay back, moaning, her gown torn open as a man kissed his way down her inner thigh. Next to them, another couple fucked with abandon, their sounds matching the beat of the music—raw, rhythmic, addictive.

His nose wrinkled waiting for her reply. But Mariko did not answer him, instead, she pressed the green button and answered the call. She raised her finger and put on her lips to signal Marcus to not make any noise. “Hey. Are you busy?” Lincoln asked from the other line. “No. Not yet. Why?” she asked. Marcus was trying to lean closer to her, near to her ears, where her phone was placed to listen to their conversation. But Mariko signaled him to stop. “Put them on speakerphone,” Marcus whispered.

Melainy was clearly shocked, meanwhile trying to assist him up. He sat on the floor and leaned against the leg of the coach, shut his eyes for a second. A faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips. “Could I have some music?” Vincent said softly. Melainy took out her phone and checked the music online. “And could you…stay here?” Now he sounded frail and helpless. Melainy felt a peculiar sensation stirring inside her. She kept her head down, clicking into one music that Youtube recommended her without specifically checking what it is.

I said as I wiped my tears. "I think you should listen to the audio again” Lyon uttered as he walked towards us and pressed play Mick, I’m so happy to see you…..Help me Don’t please don’t do this…….I won’t do anything, the music will do it all……What do you mean…. Lyon instantly paused the audio "I think it’s the music" he said before he played it again "What are you saying, babe" "listen to what she said" Don’t please don’t do this…….I won’t do anything, the music will do it all……What do you mean….

Practice felt normal on the surface. The balls bounced with the usual rhythm, sneakers squeaked against the polished gym floor, and Coach’s voice echoed off the walls as he called out drills. Ethan played well enough that no one would question it. He hit his shots, made the right passes, and moved through the plays without any obvious mistakes. Marcus played even better, sharp and focused like always, the two of them falling back into that easy sync that had the whole team looking smoother than they had in weeks.

Something visible beneath it. Strain. Cost. A man holding a door shut with both hands. The door winning. "He says you know what I am," I said. Kael closed his eyes. One breath. When he opened them the gold was still there. Steadier than before. More real. Less possible to explain away as a trick of light. "Yes," he said quietly. "I do." --- I glanced past him. Above the tree line the moon hung pale in the afternoon sky. Not yet full.

“You’ll thank me later.” I muttered under my breath, “I’ll show you ‘thank me later.’” And I stalked toward the restaurant, Tristain following like he hadn’t just nearly killed me for fun, visor reflecting the streetlights. This was going to be a very long night. I looked up at the glowing cursive above the door. L’Orchidée Blanche I raised an eyebrow. “You used your mommy’s money for this?”