Over The Dotted Line Novels & Stories

When I own you, you’ll know. My stomach twisted. Me: Don’t call me that. Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again. Tristain: Touch nothing else. I’ll be home before dinner. I didn’t even respond. I stared at my phone, chest rising and falling faster than it should’ve. Slowly, I locked the screen and slid it back into my pocket, forcing myself to breathe. “Get a grip,” I told myself aloud. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”

"You dare mock me? I'll have Imogen fire every single one of you!" The manager sighed, ready to explain, but I raised a hand to stop him, facing Thomas's anger head-on. "They say Imogen Slater is beautiful and wealthy, with a lot of admirers. How do we know you're not just another impostor? Prove it with maybe a phone call?" Thomas fumbled for his phone, all thunder and bravado. "Laugh while you can! I'll make you regret this!" A growing crowd pressed against the glass doors outside, eager for the spectacle. He dialed repeatedly, but each attempt met the same automated voice: "The subscriber you have reached is powered off."

I responded with a glare. The shorter staff cleared his throat. "If you'll both kindly show us your key cards, we can straighten this out." "gladly," I huffed, shoving mine forward. Mr. Smug did the same, sliding his out with infuriating calm. the staff scanned both cards, their brows furrowing. My stomach churned. Finally, the shorter one looked up nervously. "There's been a double booking. Both of you are registered to this suite." I blinked. "You've got to be kidding me."

It wasn’t something I could name, but it felt like something pulled in two directions and refused to tear. My fingers tightened slightly around the brush. “…I don’t know,” I said finally, dipping the brush into the orange and stroking along the canvas. It came out quieter than I intended. Behind me, I heard him shift, just slightly. “Mm,” Ernest hummed, like he hadn’t expected anything else. I dipped my brush back into the paint, dragging a darker stroke through the center; cutting through the softer colors like a line being drawn where it didn’t want to be. “He can’t do both,” I added after a moment. The words slipped out before I could stop them.

"You don't know your place." A crushing blow landed across my back, leaving me unable to move. Blood filled my mouth as I clenched my jaw. Turning my head, I spotted Evan standing at the edge of the crowd. Desperately, I cried out, "Evan! Help me!" I screamed with everything I had. He took one step forward, but Evelyn grabbed his arm and silently shook her head. "Evan, don't. "They'll take revenge on us. This is their fate. It has nothing to do with us. Don't get involved."

Her actions had put her in this situation, and she was afraid that she might unintentionally harm me if she continued to do things her way. "You seem really down today, huh?" I said, giving her cheeks a playful pinch to try to cheer her up. "Let me tell you something." As she looked at me expectantly, I continued, "Imagine you have a pair of well-branded sneakers that you've worn for a long time. It seems that the left pair starts to show more wear and tear than the right. It's always tripping you up and getting dirtier faster. Meanwhile, the right pair remains in good condition. One day, while walking down the street, you notice that the left shoe is critically damaged. It's still holding t

I waved my bank card at her and announced in a cold, distant tone, "I've received my triple pay, and my contract is over, so I don't have to take orders from you anymore." Something clicked in her mind, and she grabbed my arm in a panic. "Did you string me along for an entire month for just three million dollars? Who wired the money? Who gave you the approval to leave today?" I glanced past her at Jaxon, who had jealousy written all over his face, and nodded toward him. "Your newlywed husband, of course." He lunged forward and shoved me away. "Don't touch Hales!" I took the chance to slip away.

"Of course. You've earned the truth. More than anyone." She lifts one hand and gestures at the map. It's the pack territory. I recognize the curve of the river, the line of the northern ridge. But someone has drawn over it in red ink: a series of circles and lines, radiating outward from the pack house like the strands of a spiderweb. At each intersection is a tiny dot. "What is that?" I ask. "The link." My stomach drops.

“Good. Come sit. The quiet can hold a tied series. We’ve tested it under worse.” We sat on the couch without the formal geometry of earlier months. My legs went across his lap. His hand settled on my shin like the contact had been diagrammed and approved. For a long time we did not talk about the game. We let the residual noise of it sit in the room and gradually lose volume, the way ice melts when the temperature is allowed to do its actual work. Eventually Damian said, “Their third line is winning the territorial battle below the dots. We adjusted in the third and it still wasn’t enough. That’s the problem to solve. Not the redirection. Not the bounce. The territorial battle.”

Typed: *why* The three dots appeared for a long time. *because i cost you something i didn't know i was costing you, and i don't like owing people, and i owe you.* *you don't owe me anything* *i owe you a rematch, at least. clean this time. no surprises.* Dani looked up. Bri and Jess were both leaning in, reading over her shoulder without pretending not to. "He paid off your bet," Jess said, delighted. "That's insane. That's the most romantic insane thing I've ever heard."