Nathaniel Flint Novels & Stories

he whimpered, a fresh sob breaking from his chest, his hands trembling as they hovered near my wrists but never dared to touch me. “Don’t fucking whine my name like you actually care,” I snapped, squeezing his jaw even tighter until his teeth scraped together. “Did you look at my broken body just now and feel proud of your work? Did you think, ‘Wow, I really did a good job destroying the Carrington heir?’” Nathaniel shook his head frantically, his tears spilling over my knuckles, burning my skin with their fake warmth. “I didn’t… I didn’t want this for you… I swear…” he choked out, his voice sounding totally raw and broken.

And a fat merchant in a striking yellow west lamented: "Oh god, maybe his position will be removed. Why did I spend so much money to curry favor with him?" In between the mass of discussing people, some cursing in dissatisfaction, Nathaniel's face had darkened, and his hands clenched into fists. The last part of the introduction wasn't part of the script. It wasn't beneficial to his investigations either. After so many years of cold and fearful treatment, why acknowledge him now?

With that I knew who it was. I turned to see the one and only Nathaniel standing there leaning against the wall. His thick brown hair was styled to the side, his black framed glasses sat on his tan face, covering his light brown eyes. He wore a Grey pressed button up t shirt and a pair of black slacks and a pair of black oxfords on his feet. A gold Rolex shined in the light every time he moved his arm. He was like a mob boss, he always had a professional look. “What the hell are you doing here?” Krystal said in a small voice.

Just as he took a step, Nathaniel spoke, his voice lower, tainted with a bitter weakness that pricked at his soul. "I wasn't happy with that deal. I think you already know that. I had forsaken my crew and that pulled at what heart I have. I expect obedience, expect them to go along with whatever course I set. But I overstepped the mark, even if they benefited." He sighed, turning his back. He didn't want Lloyd to see the pain it caused. Worse than those early days. "So, I decided to scour all the books I had. And attempt to find one on that island who could help." 1745

Ruth said calmly. Nathan tried explaining it to her. “It’s not a matter of my salary. You’re not looking into any of the company’s affairs. Aren’t you worried that my loyalties will go to someone else?” Ruth cocked an eyebrow. “Would they?” Nathan was rendered speechless. There was no doubt about it. They would not. Nathan was an old-timer of Lockton Corporation. He was the grandson of her grandfather’s assistant. When she had just returned to the country, Nathaniel Flynn, Nathan’s grandfather and her grandfather’s assistant, had contacted her and told her that he would send someone over to support her.

The mothers could not help admiring the two love birds they were trying to bring close to each other talk. They were gushing all over them. At this time, the people sitting at other tables also came to say hello to Nathaniel. Nathaniel is the only son of the Franchise family. He has been outstanding since he was a child. When he was studying, he skipped two grades in elementary school, one grade in junior high school, and one grade in high school. Therefore, he finished college four years earlier than other people.

“Careful, Brooks. There is the side of making complaints, and there is the side of instigating something. Right now, it oddly sounds like you’re calling for treason. I hope I am wrong nevertheless.” “That’s exactly what I’m calling for,” Nathaniel says without breaking stride, leaning even further forward now, his eyes glittering. “Reid Flanagan/Caddel founded it, nothing more, he can’t proceed without us, it’s not a family business. The rest of his leadership is just smokes and mirrors. This empire can be rebuilt, stronger and even much better than it is right now, without him standing in the way, being a lover boy.”

I was so selfish. I couldn’t fully commit to Nathaniel because I couldn’t let go of my dead husband. I couldn’t let go of my dead husband because of the stone. And I couldn’t break the stone because I didn’t want to lose my dead husband for good. I was all kinds of screwed up.

And they see me. Not as queen. Not as weapon. As convergence. The faultline steadies—not closing, not healing, but supported. The strain eases as bonds snap into place, not hierarchical, not obedient. Shared. The Reverent’s presence flickers back into full strength, shadows knitting tightly around the fracture. Witness amplification achieved, it intones. The Crown—what remains of it—stirs weakly, no longer screaming, no longer commanding. Listening. The Architect rises from the wreckage, posture rigid, attention flicking rapidly between Gravehowl, the Prime, the assembled packs—and me.