Paper Town Novel Novels & Stories

Courtrooms squeeze you dry in ways bullets never can. I went to the toilet corner of the cell, unzipped, and relieved myself slowly. It was such a human thing to do after something so monumental. As if my body needed to remind me: You are still here. Still flesh. Still alive. Still needing Annabelle. When I turned back, my eyes caught it. The folded paper. Tucked carefully between the edge of the thin mattress and the concrete wall. Gregory. My chest tightened, then loosened into something dangerously close to a smile.

Not now. "I'll have the staff clean it up," Roman said, his voice dropping into that robotic Alpha tone. "It was just old paper." I wiped the blood from my lip with the back of my hand. I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't feel any pain. I felt nothing. The "Voice" was just noise. The love was just ash. "old paper, huh?” I said in a low tone that only I could hear. stepping over the remains of my life, I said, "You're right, Roman. It was old paper. Just ice our marriage license, or the pack’s land deeds. Just... paper."

If those pages went into the stoker's fire, the history of their displacement would be completely erased, leaving them with nothing but the clothes on their backs and the grey slush on their boots. Then, without a word, she knelt in the slush. Her fingers moved with a fast, mechanical precision as she unfastened the brass buckles of the trunk, lifted the neat layers of linen, and pulled out the three folded sheets of coarse grey paper from the very bottom of the lining. The paper was old, yellowed at the margins by the oil from their father’s lamps, the ink columns neat and square, listing the long-dead transactions of a timber yard that had been turned into a coal wharf five years ago. She

Do what must be done, she counseled herself, and stood a bit straighter as she marched toward an amiable looking fellow, who had set up a small operation selling papers on the street corner. "Papers!" The man shouted as she drew near, "Get your papers here!" He was a portly sort, swathed warmly in a thick coat, a scarf tied indiscriminately about his throat in lieu of a collar. He stood upon an overturned crate, the better to hawk his wares to the thinning crowd that bustled about the street. Two thick stacks of papers lay at his feet, tied loosely across with twine. Their letters were a comforting dark scrawl, jubilant in the world's turning; a reckoning of the myriad lives that continued o

I got nervous not knowing what was on the paper, l opened the file only the see the most shocking news of my life, my bones got weak instantly and l could see tears rolling up in my eyes, l staggered and held myself as l slowly sat on the bed with my emotion all over the place "It was a fucking divorce paper "Jason presented me with a divorce paper just a few hours after he was made the CEO of his father's empire, l broke down in tears as l cried uncontrollably that night and Jason was nowhere to be found, he drove off after he gave me the divorce papers, how heartless can he be "What have l done to deserve this kind of treatment from Jason, "l kept asking inwardly

I nodded, and he reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and moving away from the table to talk to whoever was calling. I took another bite of my toast, and that's when my eyes focused on the newspaper. The picture—the headline. "Marriage Plans Move Forward Despite War." I read the words and then looked down at the picture to see Madalynn's face smiling up at me. My stomach twisted into a knot. I felt like my new life was being invaded by my old. The urge to throw away the newspaper filled me, but I had to let it go. This was Soren's paper, after all. I wanted to ask him why he had a paper from the capital, but I figured it had something to do with business. He read papers from all o

The Paper Widow was going to Mexico and that worn out whore Peggy was being exchanged at the whore house for a younger, fresher, less possessive one. Oliver’s face fell as he looked over the whores displaying their wares in hopes of being picked. They were a sorry looking lot to be sure. He shuddered with revulsion when the one called Peggy’s foul breath filled his breathing space while she rubbed her abundant bosom against his arm and whispered things she would like to do to him and what she would be willing to have him do to her. He could not believe his stroke of good luck when she took offense by his obvious shuddering and spat obscenities about how tired she was of uppity men and uppi

Tyler had just come out of the conference room after a meeting with the company executives. "Mr. Zimmerman, I placed a document on your table, coming from a rechtsanwalt (lawyer)," the secretary informed Tyler, making him stop in his tracks with a frown. Tyler strode to his office in a quick gait, never slowing down. Upon nearing his desk, he picked up the package and tore it open. Tyler pulled the content. Two words in bold letters at the top of the paper hurt his eyes. Divorce Petition. His finger curled up, crumpling the paper in his hand.

Eight men in suits burst in, followed by a badly beaten man who was thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes. The man was in so much pain that he couldn't speak and could only let out weak whimpers as he looked in Tristan's direction. Tristan barely recognized him through the swelling and turned pale with shock. "Dad!" Delaney quickly straightened her clothes upon seeing the woman, composed herself, and respectfully addressed her as "Ms. Waverly". But Pamela Waverly, my mother, didn't even spare a glance at her. "You're nothing but Howard's bastard, and you dare scheme to steal Max's place as heir of the Carrington family?" Mom scoffed. "You've got some nerve!"

Then I moved. The fire was dying, but not dead. I took the metal poker, nudged the blackened lumps apart until scraps flared orange then dimmed again. A corner of a page survived, curling like a wounded wing. I plucked it free with the poker and pressed it into the stone ledge until the flame snuffed. The paper was brittle, edges charred, but ink remained. Numbers. Wire transfers. Names I recognized—politicians, contractors, hospitals. And one word that made my stomach flip: Hawthorne.