The Mystery Guest Nita Prose Novels & Stories

*** 🦋 *** 🦋 CELESTINE🦋 I roamed about the portable building, small but comfortable. Actually, I was walking around because I had this feeling that there was something I should be remembering, something very important, but I couldn't seem to wrap my head around it. I tried to, but I just couldn't, like it was hidden in one hole in my brain. Nikita returned a few hours later, “Miss me?” She asked happily. “I rushed here as soon as I could.” I stared at her without saying anything, as she unravelled what she got from the market happily.

"Any reason you're here?" "Yeah, actually." She turned in her seat to face me.inhaled then began, "The day you stood on the podium confessing to being the mastermind of that crime, I sensed a second Hiroshima." Another head tilt, " Because, let’s face it, nothing that good could come out of you." I raised a brow. "What are you saying?" Natalie laughed, hollowly. "Do you know anything about what happened to Myles? No that's not it... Did you do something to Myles?"

The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates harmonized with the gentle hum of conversation. As Nathan's mother, father, and Yvette engaged in light banter, the atmosphere was suddenly disrupted by an unexpected guest. The doorbell rang, and the family exchanged curious glances. Nathan rose from his seat and made his way to the entrance. Opening the door, he was met by the private investigator he had hired to find Ivy's lost mother. The investigator's face bore the gravity of news, both compelling and urgent. Nathan invited him in, and the family's attention shifted from the dinner table to the unfolding scene.

He says laughing and she pushes him away playfully. "Yes, good morning to you too, Noah." Wendy's voice comes from the phone and Natalia's face turns red. She had forgotten to cut the call earlier. Noah's eyes narrows into slits as he looks at Natalia's phone. "Good morning, Wendy." He says and Natalia hands a cake over to him. "So, you had actually told me the truth. You are entertaining a guest today, I'm just not sure of who he is. If he's Mr Sky or not." Wendy says, her voice annoying Noah.

“That's usually what journalists do.” I lowered my voice even further. “But he's too interested.” A small smile appeared on his face. “You've already chosen your suspect?” “Yes.” “You're very confident.” He muttered. “I have a feeling.” He nodded. “We'll see.” I took another piece of popcorn. A few minutes later, one of the guests walked down a dark hallway after hearing a noise. The music changed. I immediately stopped chewing. “Oh, no.” Professor Thiago looked at me. “What?”

"Singer Mystery, who disappeared six years ago, found in the streets of New York looking so unrecognizable, obese and homeless." I clicked on the video as the host started. "Welcome back. This is What Went Wrong? and I am your host, Daniel Eden. On our top three of 'what went wrong' today, we have the singer Mystic Voice, also known as Mystery, who disappeared five years ago. He has now been found in the streets of New York looking so unrecognizable, obese, and homeless." "That's not Leo... that's... John," I muttered. The host continued. "This happened early last year when he introduced himself to a street interviewer and even sang one of his hit songs. He also said he looked different beca

If you want to thank me, you can come by for a drink tomorrow. The next day, I went—disguised. To my surprise, the man who had been so interested in me the day before now had a woman sitting with him. I couldn't help but feel absurd. I looked up and locked eyes with the waiter, who was smiling knowingly. Life is strange. Sometimes you try hard, and things don't work out, while other times, things just fall into place. That waiter turned out to be Milton. Our meeting was dramatic, but the way things unfolded after that was smooth and effortless.

I said, wiping my face with a napkin, “ew. No. Never. I’d rather eat broken glass dipped in hot sauce than go back to that mistake.” “Good,” Emily said, nodding. “Because if I have to pretend to smile at his smug face one more time, I might stab a salad fork into my own leg.” “Besides,” I mumbled, heat crawling up my neck again, “it’s…not him.” “Ohhhh,” Sarah leaned in like a hound catching scent. “So it is someone. And I was right, wasn’t I? It’s Detroit West, isn’t it?” Emily raised her brows, more curious than skeptical now. “The billionaire mystery guest with the sharp jaw and dead-inside eyes?”

There it is. He didn’t know who she was. Not beyond Sasha. Not beyond the weight in her laughter and the steadiness of her yes and the way she had looked in his shirt. Not beyond the way she’d fallen asleep with a hand on his chest as if she wanted to be sure it wouldn’t stop without telling her. And maybe he didn’t get to know anything else. Maybe that was the mercy here. Below, two hotel guests performed their little theater: whisper, point, name. Nico Maretti. Heir. Crime wrapped in silk. The man who smiled without his eyes when men like their husbands tried to push him off edges they hadn’t seen.

and entered one of the empty stalls. “Hello there. Are you the friend of the girl with the complicated love story?” the mysterious woman spoke again, now addressing Nita. “Please help your friend. Don’t let her stay depressed.” Unlike Grace, who could hold back her laughter, Nita burst out laughing. “Alright, I will,” she said. From inside the stall, Grace giggled quietly. The woman had truly made her day. “Ms. Mysterious Toilet’s Fly, thank you for your advice,” she remarked.