Novel & Cerita Stranger In The Night Book

I mean, I was an amateur writer and I was just writing crap. Sweet Stranger is a book I wrote based on my real life love-tale. It dives into the life of a young woman, Carly, who fell insanely inlove for a sweet stranger, Ramsey, who turned out to be the enemy that murdered her father. Though the book receives a lot of backlash, I must say it is one of the books that has gotten mind-blowing recognition and gotten millions of reads on GoodNovel. I never expected that honestly. I hear a loud knock on the door.

The stranger that I had betrayed They casted their stones Pitting him with the pains in their heart As he slowly accepted his fate His resistance couldn’t oppose A big stone crouched up his head Breaking and tearing through his skull He fell with a great thud Covered with tears and blood While the mob continued incessantly Being incited by unwavering hatred And their loyalism to religion The blaring of sirens And chants of the mob The blood of an innocent man Whom I had betrayed Who did nothing but believe I was confused My legs proposing to motion But he held me tight This time, I didn’t fight He didn’t need to speak I understood his plight In that cold dark night He still wouldn’t let me b

The stranger whispers something unintelligible then suddenly vanishes into thin air like ashes blown into the wind. Nick continuously calls me by my name. And eventually called back up to find the stranger. Soaked in the cold rain I laid in the middle of the alley, while Nick holding me in his arms. My eyes become heavy and it's hard for me to stay awake. Nick's voice echoed as I drift into a deep sleep.

** Aiora pensive on the balcony of Ellthan's room, the night breeze penetrates her thin nightgown cardigan but does not make Aiora move from there. After dinner with Ellthan, Ellthan returned to his study with Frank's loyal right hand. Ellthan asked Aiora to sleep first but Aiora did not obey the order, he preferred to stand on the balcony of Ellthan's room. Until someone hugged him from behind made Aiora's body jerk in shock. "Ell." Annoyed by Aiora in surprise Ellthan suddenly hugged her. "You dissidents." Ellthan whispered with a snarl, making Aiora smile lopsidedly.

He was in the middle of cooking when he heard a thud. His eyes went to Terah's bedroom. Three strangers wearing black hoods were at the door. Zachary turned off the stove and left the kitchen. Then he charged at the intruders.

The cart moves forward for a long time before stopping again, and instinctively I know that now it is final. We arrived. Wherever it is. ** We stand there for a few minutes as the stranger doesn't move in the dark. He doesn't even make a move to grab my chains again or open the door. Anything. With my window closed there's no light in the cramped space, but I think I see his red eye glow. I'm crazy, aren't I? Hunger overcame me. No eyes shine. Around us there is a noise of people talking and walking, horses neighing and hitting the stones with their hooves, as well as a million other noises that I don't recognize.

The city glow hit the planes of his jaw, making him look like he’d been carved out of the night itself. “Call me Midnight,” he said. His voice was low, carrying a weight that made her skin prickle. “And I know exactly who you are, Lila. I know you touch yourself every night. I know you lie here imagining a stranger who comes in and tells you what to do. I know what you crave when nobody is looking.” He leaned against the wall, his gaze dropping from her face to the glistening toy still inside her. His eyes didn’t waver. There was no shame in his look, only a terrifyingly calm observation.

Then she quickly composed herself, her face turning indifferent. "Why are you following me here again? Do you think pretending to be sick will make me feel sorry for you? "Johnny, don't use these cheap tricks women play to gain sympathy. It only makes me look down on you." The cramping in my stomach intensified. I looked at her coldly. "You're overthinking it." "Number 28, Johnny King. Room 7." My number was called just then. I stood up and walked over for my appointment, not sparing them another glance.

Who—right on cue—bursts through the diner doors like she owns the place. She tosses her jacket onto a chair and marches straight toward the bar. I pretend not to see her. If I acknowledge her now, I’ll never escape the conversation. Instead, I roll smoothly toward the dark corner of the diner. The stranger is exactly where he always is. Tall. Still. Wrapped in shadows. Tonight’s book is another murder mystery, its thick spine resting against the table. His hood hides his face as usual, the dim overhead lamp casting him in a pool of darkness that somehow never seems to touch the rest of the diner.