Silence Natasha Preston Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 22 HYACINTH The dining room was quiet—too quiet. The clinking of silverware against plates was the only sound that filled the air. I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Silas sat at the opposite end of the table, his posture rigid, his eyes deliberately avoiding mine, as if acknowledging me in this setting would somehow shatter whatever calm he was trying to maintain.

Well, the slight throbbing between her legs and her peaked nipples means she knows what she wants to do--and as her mind try to calm her down, thinking about how terrible idea it is to slip her fingers underneath her shorts not while someone still holding her, He seems to know her thoughts because Daniel snuggles closer and she can feel the length of him against the curve of her ass. The hard length of him. Natasha’s mouth goes dry. God, this cannot be happening. As much as she wants to, she can’t sit here and grind herself against Daniel no last name morning wood. Such a shame though. She kinda wants to. Natasha shakes her head. Focus, her mind supplied. At that time, she can hear the chang

"He has a performance coming up tonight. Do you want to go with me?" "P-Performance?" "Brandon texted me a while ago to bring you along. I'm not going to put pressure on you, but I need an answer," he said. " 'Whisper of the Silence,' a song made for you and only you. Would you like to listen to it live?"

I knew they dated each other in the past, and when we all had dinner together, I could see how she looked at Noah and flirted with him. I complained to Noah, but he didn't give her an audience. Then it looked like Natasha was embarrassing herself the way she did because Noah never paid any attention to her, but I guess people changed. I just didn't thi…. “Are you there, Mrs Sylvester?” Morgan’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Yes, I am very much here,” I told him. “Did she work alone?” I asked him. “Yes, according to the information I have here, she worked alone.” He replied.

Pence into allowing her join the club, calling the seven other women around her 'clueless, wealthy old bats with more money than sense. The silence that follows is deafening. Mrs. Pence slowly stands up, her eyes turning into chips of ice as she stares down at Natasha. “You called us… what, exactly?” “Eleanor, please! It’s a fabrication! It’s AI manipulation!” Natasha cries out, reaching out to touch the woman's sleeve, her hands shaking violently. “We’ve been friends for a week—”

Eddy called, her voice sharp but controlled. Natasha froze mid-step, her eyes darting nervously. She stepped off the stage, her bare feet silent on the sticky floor, and approached Eddy, signing a question with quick, trembling hands. Eddy’s lips twitched, reading the mute gesture. “The boss is here. He wants you to entertain him,” she said, her tone flat, brooking no argument. Natasha’s breath hitched, her face paling, but she nodded, her vow of silence holding firm. She had no choice—disobeying meant returning to Madame Veyra’s estate, to chains and drudgery.

He looked very worried. "What's wrong?" Stella asked in confusion. "Mrs. Milton, you need to go on the Internet as soon as possible!" Elvis prompted. Stella went to the library and turned on the computer. There were two videos on the computer screen. The first one showed Yvonne Harington forcing Natasha Griswell into the pit of snakes and their entire conversation was also recorded clearly. The other one showed a gun battle. Someone had rescued Natasha, who was barely alive, from the basement. Then, the camera turned to the corner and showed another Natasha charging and tackling a man to the ground.

The next day… Natasha went to ‘Pixy Media’, a studio of ‘Picmotion Production House’, for an audition for a figurant. The studio seemed luxurious, all carved glasses and steel. Natasha walked in, pushing the heavy glass door. The solid steel handhold of the door was cold enough to numb her fingers. A white sandstone lobby welcomed her. The cold air from the air conditioning made her shudder. She felt the need to hug herself. A young woman behind the solid sandstone desk smiled at her. In her white blouse and black skirt, the woman looked pristine.

The daylight had dwindled to a barely perceptible lightening of the room. Each wall of concrete was identical to the next without an identifying marker of any kind. Standing tall with a smirk playing on her lips was Natasha who gazed down at Leonard with a victorious look on her face. "Nothing to say?." she asked him after he remained silent with his hand clutching his chest in pain, with her grip on the trigger she was about to release it when Leonard finally broke his recess.

The black bag suddenly opened, spilling its contents to the ground. The lady's hands and legs were chained together. She struggled to release herself from the chains but were too tight. She struggled to cry out but duct tape muted every sound she made. The lady who has been bound and gagged is Natasha Armstrong, a junior maid in the Monroe's mansion. The General Secretary suspected that Natasha had eavesdropped on his private conversation on the phone and he wanted to make sure that she would never be able to say what she heard.