Vow Notebook Novels & Stories

Elliott’s grip on his pen tightened slightly, but his face remained unreadable. Vivian scoffed. “I hope you didn’t give her a second glance.” Elliott’s voice was cold. “I walked away.” “As you should,” Vivian said, her tone clipped. “You owe her nothing.” She exhaled sharply, reigning in her anger. “I don’t care why she’s back. I don’t care what she wants. She’s nothing but a disgrace, and you would do well to keep her far away from you.” Vivian studied him for a moment, searching for any sign of weakness, but found none.

Stores. Times I usually went. What I usually ordered. Information about Jasper too. His schedule. His preferences. His family members. Names. Addresses. Phone numbers. "She knows everything about us," I said. Every detail of our lives. Catalogued. Studied. Weaponized. I picked up a notebook from the desk. Worn. Well-used. Pages dog-eared. Opened it carefully. A journal. Vivienne's handwriting. Distinctive. Neat. The first entry was dated two years ago.

" He put the notebook down. He went back to Captain Fossil. I looked at the vow notebook. At the eight lines. At the first one. At the staying coming first. At the deciding coming after. At all of it being true. January second. Ten days. The correct amount.

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The first thing I noticed was the notebook. Soft leather. Ivory-colored. Elegant but simple. My fingers brushed across the cover, and my heart skipped when I saw the gold foil lettering pressed perfectly into the surface. A.D. My initials. How were they able to do that! I slowly opened it, running my thumb along the thick cream pages. The paper felt expensive…smooth, almost silky. The kind of notebook you wouldn’t want to ruin with messy sketches. The kind that made you want to draw something worthy of it.

Simple objects carrying extraordinary weight. Her attention settles on a worn leather notebook positioned near the center. The cover is cracked with age. Its pages have yellowed considerably. Yet the writing remains legible. "Whose was it?" she asks. Corven checks the attached record. "A field coordinator from the original synchronization initiative." He hesitates. "Would you like to read part of it?" Vaelith nods. Corven carefully opens the journal. The handwriting flows across the page with quiet confidence. Not scientific observations. Personal reflections.

A deep, husky voice reached my ears. “Who is this?” I jerked up from the bed, fully awake. “Mr. Quin, you called me.” Huh? In reflex, I looked at my screen, and the caller name was saved as “Mr. Smith The Hard Core.” I struggled to remember how I got the number and where. My attention was suddenly drawn to the long tube inserted in my hand.

I placed the divorce agreement, miscarriage report, and wedding ring on the table and left the house. 'Goodbye, Lucas.'

I give him a slow, deliberate smile and a sharp wink. I’ve got this, husband. Konstantin stares at me for a beat, his hands resting flat on the table. A dark amusement flickers in his eyes, though his face remains stone. He leans in just an inch, his voice washing over my ear. “What is the notebook for, zhenshchina?” “Just some notes, Mr. Morozov,” I murmur, keeping my eyes fixed forward as the projector screen flickers to life. “I like to keep track of the details.”

But the subject line froze me in place: You are cordially invited… My chest constricted as I opened it. The email was simple, elegant, clinical in its cruelty. An invitation to a wedding. Not just any wedding. Their wedding. Zane Blackwood and Sera Voss. The date was set. It was five days from now.