Something She's Not Telling Us: A Novel Novels & Stories

Hector turned to face her and he also noticed the laptop in her hand. He removed his glasses and moved his chair close to hers. “I am going to tell you something,” she said. “Okay, what is it?” he asked. “I was… um… writing a novel in the past six months,” she confessed. “What? Why you didn’t tell me?” he smiled in surprise because he didn’t expect this at all. “Because I don’t want to,” she answered. He frowned but he didn’t get angry like how she has expected. “What is it about?” he asked. Here comes the tough part of confession because she knew he won’t like the idea of writing about their life. He’s a private person and she thought he is not going to like it.

She arrived at the part where the main character in the story failed from an imminent wedding ceremony, which only needed to say the wedding vows and was crushed by an unexpected reality. So that's a secret that is the answer to all the mysteries implied from the beginning of the novel. This is the surprise Diana told her to anticipate. Kat placed the novel in her lap and smiled faintly, suddenly feeling awe at the novel in her hands. This is an eighteenth century novel, but the story is truly extraordinary. Suddenly her cell phone rang. Kat glanced over and frowned. There was Adrian's name flashing there, complete with a photo of the two of them, embracing each other for the camera in a lau

She asked with a scoff. "I wish I could say it was," he slid into his breeches, "Perhaps you can ask your brother, Novak, when next you see him." That was it. That was all it took for Reyana to snap, losing her last sense of reasoning. "You manipulative liar!" AUTHOR'S NOTE: NEW BOOK ALERT!!! DON'T FORGET TO CHECK OUT MY NEW BOOK, "ALPHA OF THE NORTH: HIS WEAKNESS, HER CURSE. It is a dark romance book. Intriguing and suspense-filled.

She was crying because no matter how much she painted, no matter how many poems she whispered into the dark, she couldn’t rewrite what the world had decided she was. A fool for love. A woman too soft to learn. A heart too open for her own good. But then something strange happened. At the bottom of that same video thread, buried beneath the noise, someone had left a comment that caught her breath. “You don’t know the full story. None of you do.” Another replied “What do you mean?” The first account posted again, this time with a screenshot of an unpublished article. The watermark was faint, the name blurred out. But the headline was clear:

"I can't understand what happened without understanding the fear. And I can't decide what to do with the understanding without having it." "So you asked." "I asked." She turned back to the laptop. "She can answer or not. Either way I learn something." I looked at the envelope. "You think like a novelist," I said. "I am a novelist." "About your own life." She was quiet for a moment. "Someone has to understand the story," she said. "Might as well be me." I set the envelope with mine to be sent. Monday we baked the bread. She took the morning off as promised and I cleared the kitchen counter and we stood side by side with the starter jar between us and the video on the iPad propped against the

She whispered sounding annoyed. “I didn’t,” I said plainly. “Oh really? Then what just happened earlier? You thought I didn’t say it? You’re not in your senses.” She whimpered. “Don’t make it a big fuss, Emily, we both know that I don’t dance,” I replied. “Yeah right but atleast act normal! It’s Zeus Lincoln for Pete's sake! Your ultimate crush since day one here in the university!” My eyes widened when her voice was loud in her last sentence.

I closed the book that I'm reading and closed my eyes intently. When she comes back, she keeps on asking me what’s the problem. I'm so sorry Anna... I cannot tell you. I cannot tell you that me and Clifford know each other.. That Clifford and I had a one-night stand…

And the sadist willingly listens to the romantic story of the man she likes with that man's lover. "Why doesn't she just reveal it? It makes me stifled,", I protested. "Violen, have you read the novel to the end?" asked Lesley when she heard me tell some parts of the novel I read. Lesley and I were shopping at the convenience store. Buy some fewer groceries for café Lesley. "not yet." "then? You can't just guess that woman's choice. it could be that in the end, he expressed his feelings or not at all."

"Can we get remarried? I don't care about being a director anymore. I don't need some overseas graduate to make me look good. I only want you. Come back and take care of me, okay?" I looked at her and felt nothing. If anything, I found it absurd. I stepped aside, avoiding her hand, and pointed to the pharmacy across the street. "See that pharmacy? It's open 24 hours, and there's a pharmacist inside. If your stomach hurts, buy medicine or make a doctor's appointment. I'm not obligated to take care of you anymore, and I don't have the time." "Felix…" Tears slipped down her face as she stared at me in disbelief.

No name and return address. Inside: a single black-and-white photograph, it was Victoria, smiling. In her hand is a USB stick. On the back of the photo, written in red ink: “The real story hasn’t been told and when it is, she will beg you to hate her.” ... V Sherry’s hands trembled as she held it. Her eyes lifted to Enzo’s. Her voice was barely a whisper. “What haven’t I remembered yet?” His silence was deafening.