Professional Ghostwriting Novels & Stories

The possessive way he fucked me like he both hated and needed me. I forced a grin. “You’re crazy, man. You watch too many movies.” He stepped aside but whispered as I passed, “Run while you still can. He’ll ruin you.” Later that day, I overheard two employees gossiping near the cafeteria. “Did you hear about The Ghost? Some billionaire who shows up masked at underground parties. Pays good money, fucks like a demon, then vanishes. Nobody ever sees his face.” I laughed it off again. But deep inside of me, i was worried for myself.

Third-Person POV The vicious comments online terrified Grace. She stayed locked inside for days before finally running to Richard in tears. "Everyone online is attacking me. Some people are even threatening to kill me. I'm scared." She threw herself into his arms, sobbing. "Maybe this is God's punishment. Why did you slander Chloe online?" Grace went still. Instead of comfort, he'd accused her coldly. "No, that's not true. I didn't slander her. David said Chloe didn't like him..."

It was one of the things I valued most about him. The ghost company had a name, a registered address, a functioning website with stock images and generic corporate language, and two employees who existed only on paper. It would hold up to a casual search and collapse under a serious one which was exactly the point. We didn't need it to last forever. We needed it to last long enough.

“Not a manuscript someone else can twist. Your truths, my truths, no edits.” He scoffed. “Why the hell would I agree to that? I’ll make more from the book.” Celeste’s smile was small, unflinching. “No, you won’t. Not when we unmask who’s funding you. Not when we show the public who’s paying your rent. A conversation gives you credibility. A ghostwritten poison piece makes you a pawn.” Arthur stared at her, throat working. “You think you can just...” She leaned forward, cutting him off. “You came to that boardroom every month and watched men like Damien build monsters you could never control. Now you want to tear them down, fine, but you don’t get to drag me through your fire because you were

She pointed. “That–” I followed her finger. “Oh that's my journal.” “You write?” She eyed me. “I like to write. But lately, I've ran out of inspiring topics.” “Hmm, you did say you were a fan of my blog, right?” “Yes.” “So what do you say I pay you a thousand dollars weekly to write a piece for my blog? Of course it'll pass as mine. You'll just be like a–” “Ghostwriter?” I questioned feeling that cloud of disappointment again.

had stopped caring about their descriptions. "You can't do this!" I roared, my violet-silver fire erupting in a blinding arc. "The Audit is over! We are the Un-Written!" "You are the Un-Edited," the Ghost replied, its form stabilizing into a tall, faceless figure draped in a cloak of Liquid Ink. "And an un-edited story is a failure. I am here to provide the Final Edit." The Ghost raised a hand, and the "Sovereign Static" began to Solidify. The lavender fog turned into Iron-Hard Lines of Text that wrapped around the villagers, pinning them to the ground with the weight of their own pasts.

"Scared of everything. Scared to live, scared to take risks, scared to be anything more than mediocre. It's exhausting being related to you." "That's not true," I whispered. "Isn't it?" Tanum sat on the arm of the couch, looking at me like I was a particularly boring insect. "Name one brave thing you've ever done. One impressive thing. You're a ghostwriter, Mia. You don't even write under your own name. You're invisible. Forgettable. Why would anyone choose you when there are better options?" I wanted to argue. To defend myself. To tell them they were wrong.

I kept everyone an arm's length away, except for my sisters. "There it is—the shame. I've seen that look hundreds of times. The only good thing that comes from being a [Copywriter] is that you can build up from the bottom. It's work, but it's worth it. I know the temptation of waiting for people to reach the peak of their talent and then rob them blind. There is a word for it, an old friend of mine used." "Grooming," we said in unison. "Right, right. You've done it, haven't you? Now let me ask you did you kill them when you were done?"

Cora shrugged. "Me? There's no way I won't need money," I joked and we laughed. I did have a job, I am a writer, and I do all the kinds of writing there is; Ghost writing, content writing, script-writing, and I write personal books, two of which were adapted into live action. Not to brag, but I am a hot cake writer, kinda famous for my works, and works that people didn't even know I wrote; either way, it was bringing me money and hence the reason why Cora would think I didn't need money. Everyone needs money, Femi Otedola does, Jeff Bezos does, Dangote does, hell even Elon Musk still needed money, so who was I not to need money because I was earning a few thousands? Not me!

“I just need your help with a little thing.” Lance stopped rotating his chair. “Go on.” “I need you to publish a book,” Calvin said. “Yours? You need a ghostwriter?” Calvin frowned. “What’s that?” “Someone who’ll write your idea at a price,” Lance explained. “The name on the book will be yours, of course. No one will know you used someone else. Is that what you want? Why do you need a ghostwriter?” “I never said I needed one.” “But you want to publish.”