..._Chapter 1: The First Watch_...
...(The Writer) 🎀...
...•...
...•...
...•...
...Murder mujhe sukoon deta hai....
...Not in real life, obviously__...
...but on the page? In my fiction?...
...It’s the only place where chaos makes sense....
...Where someone always knows why the body fell....
...And that’s exactly what I’ve been trying to write for three fucking months now....
...I’m on Chapter 17 of my new crime novel —...
..."A story inspired by a half-forgotten newspaper clipping about a girl who went missing five years ago....
...No body was found. No answers. Just blood, silence, and one blurry CCTV frame."...
...I wasn’t even supposed to pick that case....
...But something in it called to me....
...And now it’s in me....
...Living, breathing, haunting....
...Just like the man in my dreams....
...A man I’ve never seen....
...But feel....
...Watching. Waiting. Breathing down my neck when I write those scenes too perfectly....
...I shiver....
...Close my laptop....
...It’s 2:47 a.m....
...The air in my apartment feels too still....
...Too quiet....
...Like I’m not alone....
...I walk to the window, tug the curtain aside—...
...and nothing....
...No one....
...Just the night....
...Heavy and black....
...“You’re spiraling,” I whispered to myself....
...“It’s just the book.”...
...But deep inside, I feel it....
...This story is writing itself....
...And it’s not just fiction anymore....
...---...
...***End of the Writer's POV***...
...Three buildings across from your apartment,...
...A man watches through a tactical scope....
...Black hoodie. Gloves....
...Eyes like obsidian....
...Unblinking....
...He’s not watching you out of curiosity....
...He’s watching you because he knows who you are....
...And he’s already marked you....
...“She doesn’t know,” he murmurs, a voice like velvet laced with venom....
...“She doesn’t know what she wrote was real.”...
...“And she sure as fuck doesn’t know I’m in the book too.”...
...His gloved finger hovers over the photo on his tablet:...
...Your face....
...Your bio....
...Your book draft....
...Target: The Writer (Abellona Rushell)...
...Status: Under Surveillance....
...Order: Silence or Secure....
...He has other plans....
...“You’re not just a risk.”...
...“You’re my Little Sin”...
...He smirked while looking at the writer's photo. No one can save themselves from him, from his wrath. He's a beast, maybe more than this....
...----...
...End of chapter 1 🖤...
What do you think will happen now? Is something bad going to happen to our little writer, or will it be more dangerous than bad? Will our writer be able to find out that something strange is going to happen to her and a devil is waiting to hunt her down?
Are you sacred? Yeah, you should be scared because the Devil is going to hunt her down.
...__Writer's PoV__...
Hey guys!! This is Eve!
I'm a new writer here. I hope you will like this story. English is not my native language so if there is any grammatical mistake then please tell me or ignore it. Love you my Readers. ❤️🫰🏻
..._Chapter 2: The Visit_...
...(The Writer) 🎀...
...•...
...•...
...•...
...There's a knock at the door....
...Not loud....
...Not desperate....
...Just... deliberate....
...Like someone knows I'm home....
...Like they've been waiting for the right moment to be heard....
...I pause....
...No one visits me at this hour....
...No one even has the courage....
...My eyes flick to the digital clock on my wall....
...3:03 a.m....
...Too late for delivery....
...Too early for death....
...Unless the two are the same....
...I step closer. Slowly. Carefully....
...I don't say a word....
...Another knock - softer this time....
...Confident. Controlled....
...Like whoever's on the other side isn't here by accident....
..."Who is it?" I ask, voice steady....
...Silence....
...Not even footsteps....
...I should ignore it....
...Lock the door. Walk away....
...But instead......
...I opened it....
...Just a crack....
...Just enough to peek through....
...And there's no one there....
...Not on the stairs....
...Not in the hallway....
...Not in the shadows -...
...Wait....
...Something's on the floor....
...A package....
...Matte black. No label. No return address....
...Wrapped too perfectly to be careless....
...Tied with a single dark ribbon....
...Like a fucking gift....
...I bend down, heart thudding....
...Pick it up....
...Close the door....
...Lock. Deadbolt. Chain....
...Twice....
...I carry it to the kitchen....
...Rip it open with a knife....
...Inside?...
...A USB....
...And a note - handwritten, sharp and neat....
..."You're not imagining it."...
..."Play me."...
...My fingers tremble - but only a little....
...Curiosity always beats fear in my blood....
...I plug the USB into my laptop....
...The screen flashes black, then shows a video file....
...No title. No timestamp....
...I click to play....
...It's me....
...In my apartment....
...Writing....
...The same grey hoodie. The same bun on my head. The same candle on my desk....
...From yesterday....
...A view from outside....
...Like someone was watching me through my window....
...I watch myself blink. Sigh. Write....
...Unaware. Open. Vulnerable....
...And just when I think the video will cut -...
...the camera zooms in......
...Not on my face....
...In the photo pinned beside my desk....
...The girl I'm writing about....
...The unsolved murder....
...Then- glitch....
...The screen turns to static....
...And then, a voice....
...Low. Measured....
...Too smooth to be anything but calculated....
..."You're not the only one who remembers her, sweetheart."...
..."You're not imagining this case."...
..."You just don't know how close it is to you."...
..."But I do."...
..."You're writing about the ghosts....
...But one of them is still alive....
...And watching."...
..."Keep going."...
..."Finish your book."...
..."And when you're ready for the truth-...
...I'll be waiting."...
...Click....
...Video ends....
...USB ejects itself....
...My blood runs cold....
...I stare at the screen....
...Then at the window....
...Then down at my hands -...
...still shaking now....
...Who the hell was that?...
...---...
...End of The Writer's POV.......
...Somewhere across the city,...
...in a room filled with surveillance screens and silence,...
...a man watches her reaction......
...(The Shadow) POV♣️💜...
...He watches her reach for your phone....
...Then stop....
...Then pace....
..."She's afraid."...
..."But she won't run."...
...He smirks - a dark, unholy thing....
...And presses his lips to the back of his gloved hand like it's yours....
..."You asked the question, Little Sin."...
..."Now I'll give you answers."...
..."One touch at a time."...
..."Until the truth is inside you deeper than my name."...
..."And you'll beg to learn both."...
...---...
...End of Chapter 2 🖤...
Hey guys!!❤️
I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well. I just want your love and support for this short novel. I wrote this short novel because it's easy to read and doesn't take long to read. I also made a picture of our characters but I don't know if you will like it or not, but if I get more than 10 comments, votes and 30+ likes then I will definitely post that picture.. Love you readers🫰🏻
..._Chapter 3: The clues beneath skin_...
...(The Writer) 🎀...
...•...
...•...
...•...
...📍Location: Camden Town, London...
...---...
...The rain hasn’t stopped all night....
...It taps like fingers on my windowpane....
...Soft. Repetitive. Almost thoughtful —...
...as if even the weather wants to know what the hell that video was....
...I sit on the edge of my bed, a blanket draped over my shoulders, and my laptop is still open beside me....
...The USB now lies at the bottom of my drawer, wrapped in a scarf like it might bite if touched again....
...“You’re not imagining it.”...
...“Play me.”...
...“I’ll be waiting.”...
...His words coil inside me like smoke....
...He knows me....
...Knows her — the dead girl in my novel....
...I Know things I haven’t told anyone....
...But how?...
...---...
...The next morning, I walked through the drizzle-soaked streets of Camden Town....
...Black coat. Black boots. A scarf covering half my face....
...Like a cliché thriller heroine — except I’m real, and I’m terrified....
...People pass....
...Umbrellas bump....
...London breathes like it’s trying to keep my secret....
...I duck into Milo’s Café, a small place near the publishing house....
...The usual morning buzz surrounds me — warm croissants, espresso shots, indie music humming low....
...“Hey, you're alive.”...
...That’s Rue, my best friend and fellow novelist....
...She writes fantasy and has zero patience for my murder obsession....
...“You look like someone crawled into your dreams and refused to leave.”...
...I give a hollow smile....
...“You have no idea.”...
...Rue sips her oat latte and narrows her eyes....
...“Still working on that creepy dead-girl novel?”...
...I nod....
...“Almost done.” (I lied to her)...
...Truth: It’s writing itself now....
...---...
...Back at the office, my editor Jameson is waiting —...
...a no-nonsense man in his 40s with perfect suits and terrible coffee habits....
...He eyes me as I step in....
...“You’re late.”...
...Then he pauses....
...“You okay?”...
...I hesitate....
...Do I tell him about the USB?...
...The video?...
...The man who called himself a ghost still alive?...
...No....
...Not yet....
...Instead, I say, “Just tired. Couldn’t sleep.”...
...He grunts and slides over a file....
...“I pulled some police reports on that missing girl your book’s about. Figured it’d help with realism.”...
...I freeze....
...“What reports?”...
...He shrugs. “Old ones. Never released to the public.”...
...“Got a friend in the archives. Tell him you’re a lunatic crime writer.”...
...My fingers tighten around the file....
...Inside: Photos. Handwritten notes....
...And a single image that turns my blood cold....
...The girl I’m writing about....
...Same eyes. Same necklace. Same alley....
...But this photo…...
...Was taken three days after she was declared missing....
...She wasn’t dead....
...Not then....
...---...
...(The Shadow) ♣️💜...
...Meanwhile…...
...in an underground room beneath a nondescript antique shop in East London,...
...The Shadow watches her on screen again....
...Not yesterday’s footage — live....
...He sees her freeze in the photo....
...See her lips parted in disbelief....
...See her beginning to unravel....
...“You’re getting closer,” He mutters, voice low, eyes like frost....
...“Too close.”...
...He looks over his shoulder....
...A woman with platinum hair sits nearby, legs up on the desk, hacking through police archives like it’s a video game....
...Her: “You sure she’s worth all this attention, boss?”...
...The Shadow: “She’s not our attention.”...
...“She’s a trigger. And once she pulls—”...
...“Everyone burns.”...
...---...
...(Abellona's PoV) 🌼...
...That night, I return home....
...The rain’s worse now — London drowning in secrets....
...But the real storm is inside me....
...I toss my coat aside....
...Sit down....
...Reach for my pen....
...And I feel something sharp beneath in my notebook....
...A knife....
...Small. Surgical. Precise....
...With a note beneath it, written in the same neat handwriting as before:...
..."Not all blades are meant to cut....
...Some are meant to mark....
...Look beneath."...
...I lift the notebook....
...Under it —...
...a second photo....
...Of ME....
...Asleep....
...Last night....
...---...
...End of Chapter 3 🖤...
What do you think is going to happen with her? Is she in danger? Who is going to save her from the stalker? What does she know that puts her in danger? What does the stalker want from her? Why is he stalking her? Are you curious to know? Me too... I also don't know what's going on with her but I know one thing is Abellona Rushell is a smart and intelligent woman. I haven't finished this short novel yet, I'm still writing..😅
Hey Guyz!!! ❤️
I hope you will enjoy this chapter too and please don't forget to comment and like it because it's important for me to know where I made the mistakes and what you like and which part you enjoyed the most... Your support and love are everything for me....So be safe and happy....💗
Love you readers...🫰🏻
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