Nan Goldin Book Novels & Stories

In the end, my grandfather was the one who had led Skymex Group to its current glory in his youth, propelling himself as the richest man of Adonia. That was why everyone in the hall recognized him and knew about his legend. And given everything he did since he arrived, everyone in the hall now understood that I was the real grandson of Miles Langford—and Harold was the gigolo who was being sponsored. That was why they were all looking at him in disgust right then. "What? Harold Langford is really a gigolo! How desperate do those women have to be to get a sugar baby like that?" "Hell, I think Quincy, Ellie, and Jennie are the crazy ones here. Ellie and Jennie actually called their own family

"yes sir his words spoke volumes and I am doom to be with this dangerous man. A/N: my name is Tabitha also known as Dorcas, I want to introduce myself properly on this platform, I am mostly known as gold. I love writing most times it is complex to write down a whole story.i promise you'll that my stories will worth reading. I am very open to constructive critism pls, be nice with your words also if this book causes any trigger, pls note that it is just a mere imagination of putting little things together to form a beautiful story. my story is worth reading because, I putting my time and effort in order to write this book. it is really not easy to put out a book but I am putting out this piec

he asks through gritted teeth trying to stay calm but failing miserably. I exhale slowly and try to calm myself. “There was a lot of things that happened but the main thing they did was inject me with different concoctions. It usually persisted of silver, wolfsbane and mistletoe. The concoctions would knock me out for a few days, but they would wake me through burning me with different things or beating the shir out of me. There were other methods they used that I am not comfortable enough to discuss with you all. They branded me as you guys saw and burned me with a metal rod. They would put silver powder on my wounds that’s why it left scars, but it also prevented the wounds from closing, s

she quickly added, "but that's what makes it cool." Oh, yeah. I also don't have the best reputation. But I'm over that. I'm starting anew, right? "Yeah, sure." I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and cleared my throat. "So, I've overheard them talking about the last personal object from the Great Witch. A golden trinket. They're going to use it in their ritual to have a stronger connection with her, in order to make this impossible ritual possible," I uttered. When no one spoke, I continued, "This golden trinket is somewhere in the world. And they're determined to find it."

When he had drank it the first time nothing happened because we weren't a mated couple nor was it the vibrant color it was currently. "Does the golden blood cause confusion," I asked Aisha rather loudly. "Golden blood is from the Gods, Missy," the old woman cackled. I raised a brow and glanced over at her. Aisha made a snarl and told me Zeus was messing with Zayn and causing him issues. I rolled my eyes when she told me Zayn would have to overcome him. I asked if Zeus was responsible for the blood in my veins and she told me she thought it was a gift from the moon goddess but would check with her to be certain. I was getting frustrated with being a play thing for these higher beings. I heade

I didn't want to question her or make her relieve her bad past but her words sounded unbelievable. "I never knew you went through a lot sis, I'm truly sorry. As for Stacey, I recently met her at the hotel I'm in, and I kind of felt like she wasn't lying." I said softly. "That's what golddiggers do, they trick and lie. That lady is a professional gold digger who can easily manipulate you, so avoid her at all cost and stay away from her." she said. "Okay, thank you for making things clear to me. I will talk to you later, I love you." I whispered.

He had no idea that the industrial solvent, the brass lamp, and the steel calligraphy nibs were already stowed beneath the floorboards in her lower-level quarters. A soft electronic chime signaled the arrival at the executive level. Solid brass doors glided open without a sound, exposing a massive floor bathed in the sharp, clinical glare of late-afternoon sunlight. Glass walls stretched from floor to ceiling, looking down over the gray, sprawling concrete of the financial district.

“I think she understood, from the first call, that things were different.” “Different how?” “I think she could hear it,” he said simply. “People can hear it when someone is — when there’s someone.” The workshop was very quiet. Outside, the cold bright day went on without them. The smell of sawdust and linseed oil, the chisels in their row, the bottles of stain — walnut, ebony, honey, ghost — and the chair between them. “There’s someone,” Eleanor said. She said it as a fact, not a question, not a statement requiring confirmation. Just the fact of it, out in the air.