The Cigarette Novels & Stories

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.

One silly dare in a crowded club. One clumsy puff of his cigarette. One choking cough that turned innocent giggles into something dangerous. Grace thought she was just playing a game with her friends. She never expected the man in the shadows, the one with the cold eyes and the lighter that flicked like a promise, would watch her every second after that. Adrian Valente doesn’t chase women. He claims them. Ruthless mafia king. Owner of the night. The kind of man who makes rooms go silent when he walks in, whose name alone is a warning carved in fear. She ran back to her table laughing. He stayed seated, cigarette forgotten, staring at the spot she’d left like she’d stolen something vital from his chest. Now he knows her name. Her laugh. The way her cheeks flush when she’s embarrassed. And Adrian Valente never forgets what belongs to him. One dare started it.One look sealed it. She has no idea the devil just decided she’s his. And devils don’t let go.

During the five years I was in a vegetative state, all ten family soldiers assigned to guard me were murdered. One of them merely smoked a cigarette outside my hospital room. The next day, he was found upside down, drowned in a toilet. Another simply adjusted my pillow. The next day, he took a dive from a skyscraper rooftop. The Corleone family was in chaos, but they couldn't find a single trace of the killer. With no other choice, the ten executions, all textbook Mafia hits, became cold cases. Strangely, the very second the tenth guard's heart stopped, I opened my eyes. The first thing I did upon waking was call the FBI and turn myself in. The agents were stunned. "Miss Corleone, are you saying that while in a coma for five years, you planned and executed the murders of ten fully armed Mafia soldiers?" My fingers tapped lightly on the table, a faint smile playing on my lips. "That's right." "Being in a vegetative state only means I couldn't move." "Who ever told you that killing, something so crude, required me to get my hands dirty?"

Nine years into my "non-cohabiting partnership" with Simon, his father passed away. The first condition in his will was simple: Simon and Ella had to conceive a child. On the day the child turned one month old, Simon would inherit his father's fortune. Simon told me this himself—the night I walked in on them tangled in our bed. Afterward, as he took a slow drag from his cigarette, he murmured, "Lily, just wait a little longer. Once I get the inheritance, I'll marry you." But he went back on his word. From then on, every time Simon planned to meet Ella at our house, he would hang a string of bells on the door. Since his father's passing, those bells had chimed ninety-nine times. After the ninety-ninth, the news arrived—Ella was pregnant, and their engagement party was set. My daughter saw the invitation, hesitated, then softly asked, "Mom, is Daddy's name on this?" I forced a smile and gently smoothed her messy hair into a neat ponytail. "Daddy is marrying the one he loves," I said. "And I'm taking you home." Simon never understood—I never cared about that marriage certificate.

La neuvième année de notre relation, le père de Cédric est mort. La première clause de son testament ordonnait à Cédric de concevoir un enfant avec Mireille. Et le jour où cet enfant fêterait son premier mois, Cédric hériterait. Comment je l'ai su ? C'était Cédric lui-même qui me l'avait avoué, alors que je les surprenais, enlacés dans notre lit ! Ce soir-là, une cigarette entre les doigts, la voix encore rauque après l'amour, il m'avait murmuré : « Aude… attends un peu. Dès que l'héritage sera à moi, je t'épouserai. » Depuis, chaque fois que Cédric recevait Mireille chez nous, il accrochait une guirlande de clochettes à la porte. Depuis la mort de son père, ces clochettes ont tinté quatre-vingt-dix-neuf fois.

The first time I attended my girlfriend Joyce's friend gathering, after a few rounds of drinks, her male best friend pulled her onto his lap. With a cigarette dangling between his fingers, he grinned. "Call me daddy!" Instead of getting offended, Joyce leaned into him, helpless but indulgent, and said, "Daddy." I froze, scowling, but she waved me off without a care. "It's just a joke! Lucius always never cared for the rules, and everyone knows we have a father-daughter vibe, okay? Don't get it all twisted, Henry! Aren't you a man?" Lucius became even more provocative, throwing a smoke ring at me. "Yo, son-in-law! Aren't you going to bow to me? Come on, kneel and offer me a drink, and your dad's got your back!" Everyone at the table burst into laughter as they waited to see me lose my temper and make a scene. I just smiled, meeting Joyce's impatient gaze with an excited expression. "That's great! I like the way you think, so why don't you call me daddy too?"

On the wet sand beside the seashore, the strong, tall man was laying with a cigarette in his hand. His bike parked a few feet away from him. The environment there was serene and noiseless as no one was allowed then on the beach that he owned. It was not a big deal for a billionaire like him. He had a lot more than that. Wealth, power, the respect he had all of them but lacked the most important thing that couldn't be bought with money. He lacked inner peace. He inhaled the vinous smoke as the corner of his lips twitched in a sad smile. His eyes deceived him being moist and a lone tear slipped down his face on the sand. The sand sucked the water as soon as it fell on it, and he wondered if his pain disappeared in thin air like that. He breathed out a puff of smoke through his nose and mouth. Looking up at the sky with the sad smile plastered on his face he spoke up, "Why so hatred for me, ya Rab?" Miles away from him the girl with a cuddling baby in her arms uttered looking up at the sky, "I express my deep gratitude to You for sending this angel to me, Ya Rab."

Three days before the wedding, the church called to inform me that my fiancé had changed the date. When I went to ask him why, I walked in on him throwing a bachelor party with his friends. "Samuel, this was the day Claire personally chose. Why would you suddenly change it?" someone asked. Samuel Gordon stubbed out his cigarette, looking utterly nonchalant. "Because that day happens to be Janet's birthday," he said. "I need to celebrate it with her." The room fell silent in shock. "Aren't you afraid Claire will find out and kill you? Have you forgotten what she did before?" At the mention of my name, Samuel gave an icy snort. "That was all in the past. Claire loves me to death now. She even took three bullets for me once, so how could she ever bring herself to hurt me?" I stood at the doorway, watching the snow fall behind me, and let out a long sigh. Five days later, he stood in an empty church, frantically calling my phone. "Did you forget? It's our wedding day!" "I didn't forget," I said. In another church, wearing a wedding gown, I was saying "I do" to another man.

Sam and I have been married for ten years. He always said he would give me the wedding of my dreams. However, three days before the ceremony, my eyes, which had been blind for the past six months after saving Sam’s life, miraculously regained vision. The first thing I saw when I opened them was Sam tangled in bed with his pretty secretary, Alisa. The bed was still shaking while Alisa typed on her phone. She showed it to him, smirking. [Sam, we're out of condoms. Why not ask your blind wife to grab one for us?] Sam’s veins bulged at his temple. His eyes darted toward me in panic. Alisa, however, scoffed and typed again. [What are you so scared of? Your wife’s blind. What’s she gonna see?] Sam sighed in resignation. “Hazel, can you pass me the box of cigarettes from the nightstand?” That cigarette box he mentioned was clearly labeled: Durex Ultra-Thin—Bare Feel. My heart shattered, and I booked a flight to Rockbridge before the wedding. When Sam came running after me, hysterical, I said coldly to him, “Sam. I can see.”

Warning: This is an erotic novel that contains a possessive alpha male who can't keep his hands off his woman. "Trying to escape?" a voice boomed from the hall, causing me to freeze at the familiar voice. I spun around to see Giovanni's gaze fixed on me as he leaned out of the wall, a huge cigarette in his mouth. My heart raced, but I maintained a stoic expression, "I was going to the restroom." Giovanni raised an eyebrow, not believing me. "The restroom is on the left, while you're taking the right leading to a back exit," his tone laced with suspicion. I faked a shocked expression. "I didn't know," I lied. Giovanni neared me, slowly backing me against the door. "You see, I haven't marked you, and I would be terrified if you got lost," he said, his voice filled with an unsettling threat and amusement. He began peeling off the tiny straps of my dress from my shoulders, his eyes growing darker. "Do you have another pair of underwear?" I trembled, "Yes, Why?" "Because, my darling, I'm about to rip this one," he replied, his eyes glinting darkly.