No Call No Life Novels & Stories

I will never tell her that, I like my testicles exactly as they are. "Deal." She looks over at Noah, sweet as sugar. "See? And I keep my word after I’ve shaken on something." "You're going to hold that over me forever." "That's term four. It's free." My phone goes off against the desk. Reena's name, which this early means pack work, because Reena has never once called to chat. I answer with the room's eyes on me. "Dax." Wind behind her voice. She's outdoors, moving.

"Who would you like to call?" "Camille."

The heatwave had struck too quickly, and I couldn't afford to waste another second anymore. Yet, I didn't have enough money in my bank account! I inhaled deeply and turned around to go back home. I had to think of another way, and fast. I couldn't afford to put all my eggs in one basket and wait for Uncle Adrian anymore. … I got home and heard Scarlet's boyfriend, Marcus Crosby, talking to her on the phone. "Lettie, my mom injured her leg, and I can't leave work at this moment. Could you please help me check on her?"

Everything. "Oh no!"

My voice was so calm it sounded unfamiliar even to me. "Adrian, to keep her in the light, you're going to bury me in hell forever. Is that it?" He didn't answer. He only glanced once at the white bandage around my wrist, then turned to the bodyguards. "Keep her here. No phone. No visitors." The lock clicked behind him. The sound echoed through the empty stage. A few minutes later, the giant screens in Times Square suddenly cut away from their luxury ads. A grainy, high-impact video appeared.

“Call me tomorrow.” “Yeah.” XXX

“Y a menos que alguien se esté muriendo, no me vuelvas a llamar {And unless someone is dying—don’t call me again}” He hung up and threw the phone into the sink basin, before hitting the shower.

“Two.” Luca’s voice cracked. “Noa don’t” “One.” Noa’s scream ripped through the night as he fired. And the screen went black.

Like his brain hadn't caught up yet. The ring box slipped from his hand and hit the floor. But I knew better. He'd catch up soon enough. He always did. He should've seen this coming the second he chose Molly—and turned my life into a nightmare. This time, his theatrics didn't shake me. I left the call behind and threw myself back into research. Maybe he finally got the message, because he stopped trying to win me back. Instead, he went full public with Molly—traveling, showing off, livestreaming their so-called "love."

His gaze was a laser-focus, a possessive, terrifying hunger locked onto me. He spoke. The voice was a low, resonant rumble that felt like a physical weight on my chest. "Fifty million." The room stayed silent. Not a single person dared to outbid him—or even look him in the eye. A panicked murmur broke the stillness, passing through the back rows like a contagion. “Romanov,” someone breathed, the name carrying the weight of a death sentence. “It’s Maxwell Romanov.” My heart didn't just skip; it stopped.