Offly Quiet นิยาย & เรื่องราว

There was no immediate response on the other end—just muffled, indistinguishable sounds. Assuming it was a bad connection, Joanna turned up the volume, accidentally routing the call through her car's Bluetooth system. Suddenly, the strange sounds amplified, filling the car with unmistakable noises—frantic gasps, the rhythmic thud of bodies colliding, and a woman's moans of ecstasy. Then Addison's voice followed, sultry and demanding."Henley, honey... tell me I'm the one you love the most! If you don't, I won't let you finish!"

I added quietly. Not ever.

Another moment of silence went by, and Collins was staring at his feet. "Sorry, I was just..." Trisha muttered. Collins let out a low chuckle. "No, it’s fine. Trust me, I’ve noticed how quiet things have been lately." He gave her a slow, knowing look. "Too damn quiet." Trisha grinned. "Well, you know just as well as I do… I’m not getting any either. Not for a while now." Collins raised a brow. "That’s a shame. A woman like you should be getting fúcked every night."

Air trapped. "It's too quiet," I whispered. The silence was not an absence of sound. it was a physical weight pressing against my eardrums. There was no hum of ventilation. No drip of water. The acoustics were dampened, as if the walls were drinking the sound of our breathing. "Wolfy?" Neoma asked. She sensed my spike in cortisol. Her own pulse was visible in the hollow of her throat—racing, erratic. "It's not a crypt," I said.

He was quieter than usual. This was the first thing she noticed. Not the scratches, those came a moment later. First: the quality of the quiet around him, which was different from his ordinary quiet. His ordinary quiet was like a field, bounded and stable, a thing that simply was. This quiet had something underneath it, some minor compression, the quality of someone who had used something up and had not yet replenished it. She had felt this quality before. She had felt it through a floor at ten forty-seven on a Monday night, moving in the direction of the back door.

THE SOUND OF HIS RETURN When I get home, everything feels too quiet. The house is calm, but not in a peaceful way , it’s quiet . The door clicks shut behind me, echoing through the apartment like a reminder that I’m alone again. The faint smell of Daniel’s cologne still lingers somewhere in the air, mixed with coffee and dust. The curtains are half-drawn, letting thin bands of sunlight cut across the living room floor. My shoes come off with a dull thud, My heels scrape softly against the tiled floor as I step inside. I stand there for a second, just breathing, trying to make the world stop spinning. The guilt in my chest hasn’t left , it’s grown, swelling, pressing against my ribs until I c

I'm suing you for trampling on my privacy! Her eyes were blazing, like she was clinging to the last lifeline she had. I gave her a cool, measured look, a slow smile playing on my lips. "Seriously, are you clueless, or have you been goofing off so much you can't even remember your own actions?"

Quiet. The kind that, if left alone, could grow.

"Remember our special game? The quiet game we play sometimes?" Ollie's crying stuttered to a stop, though tears still tracked down his cheeks. Even half-asleep, he understood the code. The quiet game was what we called it when we needed to hide, when Samuel's friends got too loud or too violent, when we needed to be invisible until the danger passed. "The game where we're mice?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Shivering, I popped the cap off the bottle and tipped one pill into my palm. Tears hit my barely-there bump. "Mommy's such an idiot," I whispered. "I'm sorry, babies." Then—movement. Soft. Real. Like tiny hands knocking from the inside. They were there. They'd been there all along. My eyes snapped open. My hand shook. The pill slipped and hit the ground. A voice in my head: 'Isabella, you can't die. You're not alone anymore.' I ditched the stupid idea and drove back.