Novel 5 Novels & Stories

The Calling Chapter 1 I am walking down the cliffy road, it’s dark out with only the street lamp to illuminate my path. I am slightly cold and very irritated at my current situation. I had gotten to my car only to discover the battery dead. Obviously the car would not start, could not even unlock the bloody door via car remote.

Five-hundred pages of filth turned into a weapon. The perfect Poetic justice for chasing me through the city like a deranged bloodhound. My heart hammered so hard I almost laughed. Wasn’t this the part where heroines in books pulled some badass move? Yeah, well—I was no mafia queen. I was Nova, whose emergency plan consisted of “call 911 and maybe throw stationery.” “Why are you following me?!” Her lips curled. “Why do you think?” The way she said it made my stomach flip. If only she knew how chaotic and filthy my thought process was. I’m sure she wouldn’t have asked what I was thinking at any given time.

However, in no time, she was in bed with her first love, Lucas Scott. On the back of one receipt, she even wrote about how she felt: [It’s my first time with him like this, and I’m so happy. I hope there will be more times like this in the future.] They had been secretly meeting up with each other in hotels for over five years and had been doing it right under my nose since I got out six months ago! I felt so sick I almost threw up. Clutching the trash can nearby, I started shivering all over.

After waving their goodbye, Charlotte drove her car towards the new home, new life, and new beginning. Having a nice adventure storybook in his hand Noah passed the boring five-hour travel, Charlotte didn’t miss the truck’s path which is going before them. As she doesn’t know the proper route to reach the place she thought it’s better to follow the truck instead of trusting google maps. The high dazzling city buildings welcomed them after a tiring journey. Noah opened the window shield to look at the new city. The streets were busy and crowded by the people even on Saturday afternoon.

She would usually do it herself but now that she wasn't here, Anthony felt lost. He decided to distract himself from thinking about her by watching some TV, but it got boring real soon. "Mr. DeMarco, sorry to bother you again." It was the housekeeper again. Anthony looked at her. "You are not bothering me. Is there something wrong?" he asked. "No sir, nothing is wrong. I just found this book lying on the ground. I figured it could be something important, so I thought I would give this to you," she said and handed him a red leather-bound book that looked like a journal.

' I cursed in my head as I avoided his gaze and followed him inside his penthouse, no I mean office. The curtains automatically opened as soon as we stepped in. 'is this a penthouse or an office?' I saw no difference between the both…his office was very vast…you could see the city skyline. A massive polished mahogany table at the center. Designer sofas by the side…a big inbuilt TV screen on the wall. A marble coffee table. Built-in bookshelves in the walls. The scent of polished wood and coffee lingering In the air…and that scent, his cologne that always drifts into my nostrils also filled the air.

Elliot Remington’s penthouse was a masterpiece of modern architecture, a seamless blend of sophisticated and luxury. Floor to ceiling windows provided a breathtaking view of the New York skyline, city lights flickering like stars In the night. The open concept living space was adorned with sleek, minimalist furniture, plush leather couches, a glass coffee table, and a marble fireplace that added a subtle warmth to the otherwise cool toned interior. Every detail, from the custom lighting fixtures to the curated art pieces on the walls, exuded power and refinement.

I rest my chin on my palm as I start reading. I am used to her small favors like asking me if it is okay to read her work. A favor that I truly enjoy, but this is the first time I read a steamy part of her novel. ‘It was just us in the elevator. When the door closed, he pressed me against the wall. His mouth kissed me hungrily. I kissed back, intoxicated with his scent, with his touch. As he pinned me against the wall, I could feel his erection pressed against me.’

She covered her nose and walked back into the house, pointing the camera inside. "Look. Miles has turned the house into a landfill. "I want to bring him back too, but look at how filthy he is. How am I supposed to bring him home like this?" I felt terribly wronged and muttered stiffly, "I'm not filthy." What can a five-year-old do? I've been dead for five years, and you still don't know. "Let me see Brother's house! I want to see!" A bright, lively voice came from the video. An eight-year-old boy in a little suit appeared on the screen, looking like a small prince.

The study sounds started within two minutes — the pulling voice, the early-days pace, the sound of a new thing assembling itself out of everything the old things had built. Dante sat at the kitchen table with Ivana's letter and Nadia's letter and the archive of six years of correspondence, and the Atlantic was outside, and the fig tree was in its fifth autumn, and the letters were the text that continued. — THE FIFTH NOVEL'S METHOD The fifth novel was different from the first four, and Elian knew it by the end of the first week.