The Cigarette Novels & Stories

In the seventh year of my marriage to Adrian Sandford, his ex, Celine Wheeler, came back. She posted: [We were young, reckless. We missed our shot. This time, I'm fighting for love.] That night, Adrian sat on the balcony, cigarette burning between his fingers, staring out till sunrise. My phone wouldn't stop buzzing either. Their friend group—everyone who saw them grow up—flooded the chat. Regret for them. Relief, too. They forgot I was still in there. Adrian had no clue how many times I replayed the years I chased him. Seven years. I'm tired.

Seavora City, Carmoria. Nathan Ziegler's side chick, Sophie, was melting down—again. He shoved the divorce papers at me. "Just sign. It's for show. Gotta keep her calm." I clutched my dress, gave a small nod, and signed. No fuss. No scene. As I turned to leave, one of his buddies snorted, "Joelle's way too obedient. Bet she'd fetch the divorce decree if you asked." Nathan lit a cigarette, smirking. "Wanna bet?" To them, I was still the silent pushover. The girl who'd cry in court but still do what she's told. Trade one paper for another—marriage for divorce. I stared at my phone. The message I'd received earlier: [Why don't you just marry me?] I typed back: [Okay.]

“Are you sure about this, Kabir?” Ayaan asked. “Yes.” “Dad won’t be happy if he gets a hint of what you are doing,” he said again. “He won’t be happy with me anyway,” Kabir said, taking a long drag of his cigarette before crushing it under his shoes. His emerald orbs were burning with a rage that could destroy the world. “And it was supposed to be him instead of me doing what was correct,” he said, looking out of the window. “What if you are wrong?” Ayaan asked. The moment Kabir turned around and looked directly into him, Ayaan straightened his back and said, “Her details are there in the file.” “What about other arrangements?” Kabir asked while glancing at the file. “Ready.” “Good,” Kabir said, opening the file and looking at a girl’s picture, “we will meet soon, Ziniya."

The moment I was born, I took her life. They called me a murderer. Marcus used to burn me with cigarette butts, and Dad would say it was my fate. “You’re a curse. If you had any conscience, you’d have gone to join Mom a long time ago to repay what you owe.” When Marcus was diagnosed with kidney failure, that same cold, distant father knelt in front of me. “Please… save him…” I put my hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Dad, I’ll do the surgery. But can you promise me one thing?” Dad performed the surgery himself. It was a success. He saved the son he loved most and took the life of the daughter he hated. But after I died, Dad turned himself in to the police, and Marcus lost his mind.

My mother-in-law, Susan Thorne, was trapped in a fire, and her life was in grave danger. She called me for help. When I arrived, I saw a male actor, Maximus Lance, pouring gasoline onto the fire for a variety show’s effect. I tried to stop him, but he simply threw a lawyer’s letter in my face and said, “Who are you to mess with our show’s filming? I’ll sue you into bankruptcy!” I smashed the camera and yelled that someone was still inside. The male actor just lit a cigarette nonchalantly and said, “So? My wife is the fire chief. She’s the one who told them to light this fire. “Even if someone’s in there, it’s probably just a nobody. She can fix it.” I saw the ring on his finger. It was the ring I thought would be mine. I scoffed and dialed 911. “Hello? I want to report someone for deliberate arson and attempted murder at an abandoned factory.”

I gasp, surprised and he leans towards me. I catch the scent of his cologne and the faint scent of the cigarette smoke, lingering around him. But underneath it, there’s the scent of earth and rain. I see his muscles flexing under the thin linen of the shirt. I also notice the outlines of a scar, running down his forearm. I imagine his hands on me, his lips on mine. What is happening… Why am I thinking this? “Oh, don’t worry, Lily. “ his smile is canine, the words that come out of his mouth are a snarl, “I won’t touch you. I don’t want to. “ When her mother got sick, Lily had no choice but to marry a man she never met. At that time she didn’t know Arthur Stark was not only beautiful but as cruel as the rumours said. Her husband is a cold billionaire involved with the mafia. He never touches anyone. Not even his own mate.

“Please, let me go…” I cried while he kept walking forward towards me, making me shiver more. While his eyes fixated on me, he brought the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply while I gulped. As he exhaled, a slow stream of smoke escaped his lips, dissipating into the air and he started, “You shouldn’t have done that… You did a big mistake” “I am sorry…” I cried again and shook my head. “It’s done. It’s time for the punishment now…” He said and my heart skipped a beat. . Allison Wesley was living a normal life as a journalist until she gets involved into a task which leads her to slap the mafia boss in town. Her one mistake gets her life upside down as she enters the world of thrill, excitement, passion and danger. Read on to find out more!

The day Jack Prescott's family went "bankrupt," he dumped me on the spot. "My mom's house is getting auctioned. I don't want you dragged into this." I actually bought it. Went against my family and stuck by him, slinging street food just to scrape by. "Don't stress. I'll help you buy it back." Three years of nonstop work—burn scars up and down my arms—and I finally scraped together a small fortune. The day we were supposed to sign the papers, I caught him on the phone. "Jack, you coming back?" some guy asked. Jack flicked his cigarette, all smug. "What's the rush? I'm still milking this sad little simp. She's totally whipped. It just keeps getting funnier." All that time, all that love? Just a joke to him.

I knew perfectly well that open flames were forbidden at a gas-leak scene, yet as a firefighter, I still backed my girlfriend's childhood friend when he insisted on lighting a cigarette "to calm his nerves." In my previous life, a sudden gas leak erupted during a gathering. Her childhood friend insisted on smoking to steady himself. I slapped the lighter out of his hand and yelled at him for trying to get us all killed. Humiliated, he ignored everyone's attempts to stop him and stormed outside—only to be crushed by an advertising board blown loose by the explosion's shockwave. Later, when I saved a child who had fallen from a building and was left hanging in midair myself, my girlfriend—my second-in-command—maliciously cut my safety rope. She stared at my corpse and said, "If you hadn't humiliated George in front of everyone, he wouldn't have died." When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that room thick with the stench of leaking gas.

The tenth time one of my paintings appeared under my sister Rose's name, I handed Adrian the divorce papers. He raised an eyebrow and tossed the agreement aside without a second glance. "Don't be dramatic. Your hand is ruined -- where would you even go without me?" I said nothing. He smiled, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "You should be grateful. Rose was the one I was supposed to marry. A few paintings is a small price to pay. A little gratitude wouldn't kill you." He blew a ring of cigarette smoke directly into my face. I choked, and the sting brought tears to my eyes. Through the blur, I was transported back to the moment my tendons were severed for his sake -- a pain that had drilled straight to the bone. He thought I had no choice but to take it. What he didn't know was that I'd already accepted an offer from the Royal Academy of Arts in London. Soon, I would be free of him for good.