Rooms 666 Novels & Stories

I, Darlene Cooley, have an ability. Whenever I touch an object, I can see the scenes it has experienced over the past day. I've been married for five years. Every time I help my husband, Bernard Hoffman, tidy up his suits or organize his briefcase, what I see are conference rooms, whiteboards, and workstations. Once in a while, I appear in those scenes. He'll be secretly reading my messages under his desk, the corners of his mouth lifting unconsciously. Bernard is so gentle that it feels almost unreal. In winter, he places my slippers by the heater to warm them up. No matter how busy his business trips are, he video calls me right on time. When I casually mention I feel like eating caramel popcorn, he drives halfway across the city to stand in line for it. My friends all say I'm blessed, and I feel the same way. That is, until yesterday, when he comes back from a trip. I go to help him unpack, and the moment I touch that gray cashmere sweater, a flood of images rushes in. Bernard is sitting across from a short-haired woman. Her eyes are bright, and a shallow dimple appears when she smiles. He listens to her speak, earnest and focused, with his head tilted slightly to one side. A faint smile lingers at the corner of his mouth. It's been a long time since he has listened to me speak like that. The vision ends. I crouch in front of the suitcase, my hand still resting on the cashmere sweater, unable to snap out of it for a long while. Then, I stand up and walk over to the cabinet, where I pull out my own suitcase.

The boy group shaking New York City to its core. The Three Golden Voices of New York. **GOLDEN ECHO** Jaxon (the magnetic leader with a voice that could melt steel), Kai (the playful rapper/vocalist who hides sharp pain behind his smiles), and Ryu (the quiet storm with deep, powerful vocals that anchor every harmony). Together, they’re unstoppable. Magnetic. Their blended voices could send shadows running and shatter stadiums. Fans scream their name like a religion. But everything fractures when *he* crashes into their world. Jaxon finds himself falling — hard, recklessly, maddeningly — for Kai’s boyfriend. The man who never asked for any of it. **Leonard Clifford**. Multi-billionaire. CEO of Clifford Enterprises. Cold as arctic steel, built an empire on ruthless control, and commands rooms without raising his voice. Respect follows him like a shadow. Desire does too — but he keeps everyone at arm’s length. He doesn’t chase. He doesn’t bend. Until Jaxon’s gaze locks on him at the wrong (or right) moment, and something cracks in that icy armor. Without trying, Leonard shatters the trio’s bond. Best friends become strangers. Secrets claw their way into the light. Jealousy burns hotter than spotlights. Lust and love tangle until no one knows what’s real anymore. One stolen glance at a mall perfume counter. One accidental rescue. One whispered “Shorty” that hits like a spark to gasoline. From sold-out arenas to penthouse secrets, the ride is messy, intense, forbidden. Friends to enemies. Enemies to something dangerous. And love that might destroy them all — or save them. This is gonna be filthy, heartbreaking, and fucking electric. Jump in if you're ready for angst, steam, betrayal, and two men who shouldn't want each other... but can't stop

At 10:00 pm sharp, a food deliveryman wearing a cap knocks on the door of Unit 502. "Excuse me, are you the one who ordered delivery?" Unit 502 is an apartment that's rented out to multiple people. There are three rooms here altogether. The one opening the door is my roommate, William Yates. He has his headphones on and is currently immersed in a game. So, he waves a hand impatiently. "It wasn't me." The deliveryman wastes no time in pulling out a machete. Immediately, he slashes William's throat in one fluid motion. Next, the deliveryman opens the door leading to another bedroom while holding the takeout. "Did you order delivery?" That room belongs to a gym trainer named Leon Holton. He's obviously taken aback by the deliveryman's presence. "Nope. Who are—" The deliveryman doesn't give Leon a chance to finish his question. He reacts by plunging the machete into Leon's heart. When I'm done with my shower, I open the bathroom door to see large puddles of blood on the floor as well as the deliveryman, who's wielding a machete. "They weren't the ones who ordered delivery. Did you do it?" Scared out of my wits, I subconsciously shake my head. "It's not me! I don't know anything—" Before I can finish speaking, the deliveryman hacks me to death. When I open my eyes again, I've gone back five minutes in time before I get murdered in cold blood. Almost immediately, I rush out of the bathroom, only to see the alarmed expressions plastered all over William's and Leon's faces. That's when I'm certain that everyone has gotten reborn. Suddenly, the doorbell rings loudly. A suppressed masculine voice echoes afterward. "Excuse me, are you the one who ordered delivery?"

I couldn’t cum ,not once in two years with him nor with someone. Then Sophie,my best friend….slid a card across the table. Dr. Vincent Kane; Specialist in women’s sexual dysfunction. The man who could fix what felt permanently broken. She didn’t mention he was her ex-husband Or that his “program” meant thirty locked days at his private estate. No sterile exam rooms, Just silk-draped suites, candlelit treatment spaces, and a discreet staff who vanished when he entered. In our first session he asked me to undress behind a screen and i did. When I stepped out in the thin robe, his gaze dragged down my body,slow, deliberate,before snapping back to my face. His throat worked. “Lie back,” he said, voice rougher than the day before. His gloved fingers parted with me for the exam. Clinical and professional until they lingered, circling my clit with the lightest pressure, testing responses I didn’t know I had. My hips jerked. A gasp tore from my throat. He froze, knuckles white on the table edge, breathing hard through his nose. He didn’t stop….Night after night the sessions grew bolder. His mouth replaced fingers, tongue stroking in slow, deliberate circles until my thighs shook and my back bowed off the massage table. When I finally shattered, clenching, crying out, soaking his chin, he pulled back, lips glistening, eyes black with something feral. He pinned my wrists above my head one evening, cock hard against my thigh through his trousers. “This is still therapy,” he growled, grinding once, twice. “Tell me to stop.” I arched into him instead, nails digging into his shoulders. My ex is threatening to leak photos, ruin us... Sophie keeps texting: How’s the retreat? He’s helping, right?

During the two months that I was away for a competition, my neighbors insulted me in the neighborhood’s common group chat. [The girl living on the ninth floor, you look like a decent girl. Why are you bringing so many men back home every day?] [Can you moan a little softer? I don’t care if you’re a sex worker, but if you keep making loud noises until midnight, don’t blame me for calling the police!] [Don’t call the police yet. I haven’t had my turn. How much are you charging, Charlene?] My heart sank. Before I left for my competition, I had asked my boyfriend, Jacob Smith, to take care of my luxury river-view apartment. That way, he could keep an eye on my expensive paintings. What was happening? I rushed home in confusion, but when I opened the door, I was further dumbfounded. My 3,000-square-foot apartment had been partitioned into 30 rooms. Meanwhile, Jacob’s childhood friend, Prissy Black, was holding a string of keys as she collected rent money. When they saw me, everyone started laughing. “What? Are you here to rent from Prissy after learning that she’s providing cheap rooms in such a pristine location? “Too bad everyone knows that you’re eyeing her boyfriend. You won’t be able to benefit from doing such a thing!” I was extremely furious as I approached Jacob to talk about it. However, he told me that it was Prissy’s dream to be a landlady. He asked me not to pay it any mind and to treat it as doing a good deed. “You’re rich anyway. Don’t be so calculative. Everyone’s happy now, so what’s wrong with that?” The keys tinkled in Prissy’s hand as if they were taunting me. “This house doesn’t welcome stray animals like you. You have yourself to blame for not having such a nice boyfriend.” The two of them acted all lovey-dovey in front of me, and I immediately called the police. “Someone’s trespassing on my property, and my painting that’s worth 15 million dollars has gone missing. What type of punishment would this entail?”