Write A Story Novels & Stories

I pile everything in my arms and march back down to the living room. The carpet becomes my war table as I drop everything on it and I sit cross-legged, papers scattered around me like fallen leaves. I begin writing. Fast. Names pouring out of me: IVY. HARRY. VIVIENNE. HOUSE OF VAELMONT. Then dates. Then the accident. The betrayal. The aftermath. Every lie. Every knife in my back. The rhythm takes over and I pin everything to the wall until it’s no longer a window but a story — my story. The one they tried to bury.

They felt like freedom. When Roman came home, I was still typing. He leaned against the doorway, watching me with that soft, curious smile of his. “What’s got you so focused?” he asked, walking closer. I looked up, blinking away the haze. “I’m writing something.” “Another blog post?” I hesitated before shaking my head. “Something bigger. I think… I think it’s time I tell my story.” He raised an eyebrow. “Your story?” I nodded, exhaling slowly. “Everything. From the beginning. Before you. With you. All of it.”

Rather than sulking in this miserable room, I should walk around the city of love. I picked up my purse and walked out of the room happily like I was going for some big adventure to find gold. And maybe I was. But little did I know that this little adventure was going to be the beginning of a crazy love story…. A forbidden, but steamy love story between a step father and a step son.

I'd spent five years in this city, and everywhere I looked, I saw traces of Dexter and me. But I couldn't spend my whole life living inside those traces. I picked up my violin and took a deep breath. I lifted my chin and walked out onto the stage. It was time I started walking toward something brighter. The song was one I'd written myself, lyrics and melody, with the violin carrying straight through from beginning to end. But during the chorus, I froze for a split second. The camera had landed on a man and a woman in the crowd. Every other couple the camera had panned to leaned in for a kiss on instinct, but they didn't.

My brother by blood, Eric Wilson, was having an affair. I found out about it. However, I chose not to tell his wife. Instead, I blackmailed him into buying me three luxury handbags.

— asked Adrian. — I want to see this bitch prove it was like that. She's making up this story so she can keep the money for herself. — She glared at me with her devilish eyes. — You're going to pay dearly for this, you fucking little bitch! I'm going to end your race. — The more she talked, the more terrified I became. — I'm going to end all of you. I'm going to go to the press and tell them that you're keeping my underage daughter locked up in your house, I'm going to tell them how you got her pregnant in a prostitution club!

But she had to. She slowly walked over to the bed and sat down. Her hands trembled as she opened the cover. She flipped through the pages, past the short poems, the little love scenes, and the silly dialogues she had written just for fun. Then she stopped at page forty. Her stomach dropped. That was where the first real erotic story started. She stared at the words. Her face burned. It was something she wrote late one night, out of boredom… or curiosity. She never meant for anyone to see it.

“I wouldn’t be here in the first place.” “Hope you’ll be alright I heard Kayden will be moving to the USA for the audience, his popularity has increased.” “The higher the better,” I replied. “I’ll call you back. I have to go my boss needs me.” “Alright, bye,” I said, and the call ended. I crouched down and felt the breeze on my face, then stood again and stared down at the streets. The building is almost twenty floors. Getting here isn’t easy. My thoughts aligned, you can’t survive a fall from here. This is it, I have nothing to lose. Let’s go all in.

He welcomes my hugs with open arms and just stays there for a bit before carrying on with his story. "the first time I came here was when I had just turned 14...a few months later, my father walked out on my mother and she started abusing her rights.....abusing us..." he inhales...after a few seconds exhales, "that's when it took a turn...about 3 weeks later, my mum nearly killed amber...I knew then that if I didn't leave I would have been killed..." he stops again, staring at me "I regret not taking my sisters with me..but I couldn't, I didn't want them to live on the streets with me...I also would of been wanted for kidnapping my own sisters..." Oh wow.

“But don’t go back to something that broke you.” Silence. Then he reached out his hand. “Come here.” I hesitated. Then slowly— I took it. And he pulled me away. Leaving Russu behind. But as I followed him, one thought echoed in my mind again. Louder than before. I came here to finish a story… So why does it feel like the story is now choosing me?