Wrong Place Wrong Time Synopsis Novels & Stories

Reid muttered, lowering himself onto the armrest of the nearby couch, his hand bracing his jaw as though the news had sucker punched him. Julian was pacing now. “We were supposed to have time. Detective Weller said they’d need days to process forensics. How the fuck did it escalate this fast?” Reid feigned contemplation, but inside, his mind was spiraling. This wasn’t Caldera’s timeline. This was Luca. Luca had pushed for this. It should have been perfect. But not yet. Not this soon. “I...” Reid stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “I should have been there. He shouldn’t be alone in that hellhole. Julian, he’s going to lose it in there.”

The instant I stepped inside, a folder came flying straight at my face. "Do you even know what time it is?" Poppy snapped. "The company starts work at eight. Why did you only show up at ten?" The sharp edge of the folder sliced across my forehead, drawing blood. I clutched my head and looked at Poppy, who was sitting behind the desk, lording her power over everyone. Everyone in the company knew that ten o'clock was my official start time—a perk reserved for the top sales performer. It was an unspoken rule.

“White, elegant, classic; like the kind of woman your family prefers. Don’t tell me you didn’t see them?” Ethan exhaled sharply. “They arrived,” he said in a clipped tone. “But there’s a problem, Lawrence.” “Oh? Don’t tell me you’re already fighting?” Ethan’s voice went cold. “I didn’t marry the woman Grandfather arranged. There was a mix-up.” Silence. Then a low whistle. “You’re serious?” “Completely.” Lawrence burst into laughter. “You mean the man who reviews every document word by word signed a marriage certificate with the wrong woman?”

He clutched his phone tightly, and his breathing grew heavier with every passing second. The rest of them watched him in tense silence and dared not utter a word. His fingers, trembling, flew across the screen and typed in a string of numbers. Alas, the screen showed the words 'Incorrect password.'

Updates every hour. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Angela thought she’d won, that she’d scared me off. But she didn’t know me like she thought. She underestimated how far I’d go for Kurtis. My fingers trembled as I placed my phone back in my pocket. Now, it was time to make her believe I was gone. ---

Every day, she wore heavy makeup at home, and as soon as night fell, she would go out clubbing with her good-for-nothing friends. When Jacob saw me arrive, he excitedly turned on the TV, which was broadcasting the moment of the lottery draw. Jacob held his lottery ticket and checked the numbers one by one, terrified of missing a single thing. When he realized the numbers didn't match, he froze in place. "How is this possible? How? I was sure it was today!" he mumbled. His face went white, and his lips trembled. After he returned to his senses, he yelled at Quinn, "This isn't right! This isn't the jackpot number! Quinn, what's going on?"

MADONNA I woke up with a start, breathing hard. I relaxed as the surroundings started to become familiar. It was just a bad dream, I assured myself. As I swung my legs over the bed it hit me. It was two days until the wedding. Forty-eight hours before I'd be permanently chained to the wrong brother. A maid was already in my room laying out clothes. She didn't speak, she just gestured to the dress on the bed before leaving. I got dressed quickly, my mind racing through possible plans. I needed to find out where Adrian was and when he'd return.

Rocketing across the table like a fucking heat seeking missile. My eyes widen in panic and I hear a squeal escape from my lips. Shit! My false mail is airborne. And…. It’s heading…. Straight for…. My date’s….. soup. My heart stops as the mail lands with a small splash, pauses momentarily on the surface, then capsizes into the deep – like a miniature version of the titanic. Oh god. Oh my god…. Wayne continues talking, apparently oblivious to the synthetic nail I’ve catapulted into his starter. “It’s so grand, it’s beautiful. I’ve never been able to resist it.”

It was a waste of time. ****

Her expression was the same but her posture had shifted, something in the line of her shoulders that I catalogued without immediately knowing what to do with. Then I looked at the timestamp. It was wrong. Not obviously. Not in a way that would register without the previous footage to compare against. But the light through the high panel above the door was positioned for early morning. The message had arrived at four fifty-three in the afternoon. I pulled up the original four-second clip and compared the two. Same clothing. Identical. Not similar. Identical, down to the position of the collar. They weren't showing me where she was. They were showing me what they wanted me to believe.