Romans & histoires New York A Novel

Two Weeks Later New York “Welcome to New York, Sara,” Kingsley said softly as they stood on the balcony of her new penthouse, the Manhattan skyline stretching endlessly before them, alive with light and movement. The cool evening breeze brushed gently against Sara’s face, lifting strands of her blonde hair as she stood still, holding a glass of wine in her hand. Her eyes remained fixed on the city, taking in the endless sea of lights that pulsed with life below. Even after two weeks, the view had not lost its impact. It still felt unreal, like something she had stepped into by accident rather than earned through pain and persistence.

The name of one of my restaurants. Mark drives and Leo follows. The city rolls by us—skyscrapers, old brick buildings, coffee shops with long lines. Traffic pulses in that controlled chaos way New York always does. Horns, pedestrians sprint across streets, lights changing too fast, too slow. My fingers drum on the leather armrest. A's quiet, her eyes flicking across her phone screen. She's not reading. Just scrolling. I know that look. "You okay?" I ask. She nods without looking up. "Yeah."

New York City, despite all that has made it such a monument to the world, can be considered dirty or too habitual of a place to find the need to go on adventures in. But to Bradley it was everything. The first becomings of a boy turning into a man, the hum and drum of every person on the streets living out a life so uniquely and wonderfully theirs. The universe does not make mistakes when it comes to the lives of the little folk, and New York is the home of these little folk. Every star studded collar and bright eye presenting a unique point of view of the city, no matter the limitations pressed upon them. New York was home, and the fact that it was now the setting of what appeared to be a r

Some girls are taught to run from monsters, some go back to watch them again and again. New York City, 1950. The air tastes like money and smoke. Power is bought in cigars and whispered behind ballroom curtains. And every girl is being trained for something: a ring, a family name, a marriage contract or a coverup.

I ran errands and did odd jobs for the orphanage staff till I saved enough money to run away from the hellhole that was supposed to be called my home… I had nowhere to go and nobody to run to but I knew I could not continue living like a rat in an orphanage home. How would a young girl like me fend for herself on the dangerous streets of New York?

DARIUS’S POV The city of New York didn’t care that a mountain had just exploded upstate. To the millions of people scuttling along the sidewalks, it was just another Tuesday. The morning commute on Wall Street was a grey, grinding tide of expensive suits and black umbrellas. None of those people had any idea that the very ground beneath their polished Oxford shoes was humming with a dead man’s final, bitter grudge. They were worried about coffee and stocks, while I was worried about the end of the world.

I stuffed the last piece of clothing into the suitcase and snapped it shut, then I looked around the apartment. Having lived here for five years, my presence was everywhere, from the paintings on the walls to the throw pillows on the couch and the plants on the balcony. Now, those very details felt like a cruel joke. I wheeled my suitcase toward the living room and paused to look at the calendar. New Year’s Day was tomorrow. A fresh start and a brand-new year. Without hesitation, I reached for my phone and reserved a seat on the first high-speed train heading to Cedar Hollow, my hometown.

And my letter goes like this; "Dear Nathalie; New York City has been a wonderful place so far. Several towering buildings are implanted on top of the crust. Your cemented streets are always busy with those moving vehicles. Aside from that, I met the first human who is not on my list. Please be informed that I just got back to my hometown after the unsuccessful meet-and-greet with you. Sadly, unfortunate events greeted me when I reached your homeland. Funny but I got locked up in the human's holding cell the day before your birthday. I was forced to shift into a wolf right in front of my inmates. What's more interesting about my experience in New York was that I got hit by two silver bullets

CHAPTER 149 || Anastasia's POV || It had been two months since I left everything behind and moved back to New York City. New York City did not ask questions. It never cared about where someone came from or what it was that someone was running from. That was exactly why I selected New York City. No one just disappeared in New York City. Everyone was just another face, another name, another life that no one bothered to recall. I had another name there. A new identity altogether. A name that stood alone. A past that was separate. I took a small apartment that housed my paintings and painting materials just about.

The apartment quiet around us. "This is our family," he said. "This is our family." "Grace and Daniel." "Grace and Daniel." He put his arm around me. Both of us looking from one door to the other. Outside the windows, the city moved. November in New York. Cold and clear and loud in the way the city was always loud. Taxis and voices and the ordinary noise of millions of people existing in the same space. Inside: two sleeping children. One husband. One home. Everything that had been taken and everything that had been built from the taking.