Novel & Cerita Nathaniel Flint

“Nathaniel, your father… he was the original idea behind Noir Elixir. He was fashion itself. His mother taught him everything.” I blinked. What? No one had ever told me that before. Not once. Beside me, Ivy tensed, but said nothing. I couldn’t even glance at her. My eyes were glued to Patrick as he spoke. My fingers tightened around the untouched glass in front of me. This wasn’t the kind of story you listened to with a drink. This was the kind of story that needed your full attention. "Your father and Richard were best friends," Patrick continued. "After they finished high school, Richard went on to college. Nathaniel didn’t. He stayed back because of his family problems. He had to work wit

She refused to give them one. And then—he arrived. The whispers shifted like a gust of wind through the cemetery. Nathaniel Hayes. Her stepson. Twenty-three years old. Broad-shouldered. Military dropout. A reputation that carried bar fights and half-truths about violence. Tattoos winding down his arms, scars etched into his knuckles, blue eyes sharp as broken glass. Caroline’s heart stuttered when she saw him step through the rows of umbrellas, soaked to the bone, a cigarette clenched between his lips despite the priest’s disapproving glance.

Nathaniel looked like the sort to hurt your feelings without even trying. I stared at him now. Soft auburn hair fell in short ringlets over full eye brows. He had the sort of sharp, bony features that screamed aristocratic. Well proportioned waist to torso ratio. Nathaniel’s was the kind of handsome that belonged in the lyrics of a Taylor Swift song. He was nursing a whisky glass, swirling the liquid, as he continued to access my frame in that slightly bored, slightly detached manner.

Nathaniel yelled. “You are infertile, Mrs. Hart.”

(Audrey's POV) Florian leaning against the doorframe with that infuriating lazy smile of his, golden wolf eyes gleaming with amusement. "My, my, what have we here? The Snowfang heir playing pack real estate agent?" Nathan's body language shifted immediately, his shoulders tensing as he positioned himself slightly in front of me. It was a subtle protective gesture that didn't go unnoticed by Florian, whose smile only widened. "Florian," Nathan greeted coolly. "I wasn't aware you frequented this area."

He was taken to Fredrick. Nathaniel didn’t know what to think of Fredrick. He knew him by name, knew him by his wealth, and had passed him on the streets numerous times yet just like everyone else in town he barely knew Fredrick. What he and everyone else did know though was he wasn’t a kind man. Many hopeful miners had gone to him for employment, hoping to make their fortune off him and he turned down every single one, opting only to buy the children of poor families who would sell their children for a little cash.

I explained, hoping to avoid further questions. Mrs. Natalie's expression turned from curiosity to disappointment. "Oh, I see. I was hoping for something more intense," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Natalie. But Nathan and I have a genuine connection, and we respect each other," I said, trying to make it clear that our relationship was not just about physical attraction. Mrs. Natalie smiled at me, and I could tell that she understood. "I'm glad to hear that, Anita. Nathan has been through a lot, and he deserves someone like you," she said, patting my hand.

No, he chose Nathaniel. Nathaniel was already broken and bruised. He learned to handle pain very well. He only needed to be trained and Edgar trained him by himself! When Nathaniel was eighteen, Edgar gave him a vision that he was going to handle the business of his father. Nathan was counted as a weakling by Edgar and surely he was jealous of Nathaniel. Once again, this time, Nathan sought to kill Nathaniel but as Nathaniel found it, he killed him with his bare hands.

He spoke, his voice low and rough. Nathaniel was a silent human. He didn't like to talk. He was one of the people whose silence was comforting yet a bit scary. Even at the age of twenty-five, his aura was frightening to those who were strangers to him. The black ink on both of his muscular arms gave him a bad boyish look, specially with the nose piercing he had. Humming, I urged him to go on, as I wiped the blood off his chest. “Our boxer had almost killed their boss, Deus. They came to get revenge. They’ll probably look for them everywhere.” He sighed, sweat dripping from his forehead.

Then… was it Nathaniel? I bit my lip, debating whether to check. Curiosity won. Slipping off my heels to avoid making noise, I tiptoed up the stairs, my heart hammering with excitement. I stopped in front of Nathaniel’s door, pressing my ear against it. Silence. Slowly, I pushed it open just a crack. There he was. Nathaniel James, the mighty business tycoon, reduced to a pathetic, broken man. He sat on the edge of the bed, a bottle of whiskey clutched in one hand, the other gripping one of those photos—our masterpiece.