MistNovel - Read Web Novel Stories & Fiction Online

The Morgan Library's marble columns rose like cathedral spires around the literary gala. Elly positioned herself near the rare books display, wearing a black dress that balanced professional credibility with subtle suggestion.

Three weeks of surveillance had taught her Niall's patterns. His preferences. His world.

He arrived at eight thirty, exactly as predicted.

She watched him navigate the crowd, stopping to chat with authors and agents. That measured smile never changed. His charcoal suit fit perfectly. He moved with the confidence of someone who knew his industry value.

Elly waited.

Patience was essential.

She nursed champagne and studied a first edition Fitzgerald, positioning herself in his inevitable path. When he finally approached the display case, she didn't look up immediately.

"The margin corrections are fascinating," she said, as if speaking to herself. "You can see him second-guessing every word."

Niall stopped beside her. "Most people focus on the finished product. They forget great writing is mostly great editing."

"Is that your professional opinion?" Elly turned, letting recognition dawn slowly. "You're Niall Smith. I've read every book you've edited."

He smiled. This time it reached his eyes. "That's either flattering or concerning."

"Flattering, I promise. I'm a writer myself. Trying to be. Your eye for emotional truth is remarkable." She extended her hand. "Elly Reed. Just Elly."

She'd dropped the 's' from Reeds. A small precaution. Close enough to remember, different enough to avoid recognition.

They talked for twenty minutes. Books. Industry politics. The tension between literary fiction and commercial success.

Elly had done her homework. She knew which authors he admired, which trends he dismissed. She matched his intellectual energy without pushing too hard. Laughed at his dry humor. Asked questions demonstrating she understood the business.

"What are you working on?" Niall asked eventually.

"A novel about betrayal and public humiliation." Elly let honesty bleed through the lie. "About what happens when someone steals your story and claims it as theirs."

Something flickered across his face. Too quick to read.

"That sounds personal."

"All good writing is personal, isn't it?" She finished her champagne. "But also universal. Everyone's felt exposed. Everyone's had their trust broken."

Niall studied her with new interest. "I'd like to read it when you're ready."

"I'd like that too." Elly produced a business card she'd printed specifically for this purpose. "Though I should warn you, it's not an easy read. Some truths are uncomfortable."

"The best books usually are." He tucked the card into his jacket. "Are you staying for the auction?"

"I hadn't planned to."

"Neither had I. There's a bar two blocks from here. Excellent martinis. If you're interested in continuing this conversation."

Elly pretended to consider. Three seconds. Then smiled.

"I'm definitely interested."

The bar was dimly lit and nearly empty. Perfect for confessions.

They claimed a corner booth. Niall ordered gin martinis for both without asking her preference.

She let it slide. Men like him needed to feel in control.

They talked for hours. Elly revealed carefully curated pieces of herself. Truth mixed with fiction until even she almost believed the story.

California originally. Creative writing at Columbia. Two years working on her novel.

Everything designed to make her interesting without making her memorable. Compelling without suspicious.

Niall discussed his work. The pressure to find the next bestseller. Authors who thought they were geniuses versus those who actually were.

He mentioned Dave Maxell briefly. Praised his raw talent and emotional honesty.

Elly smiled and nodded while hatred coiled in her stomach.

"Publishing is brutal," Niall said, signaling for another round. "Everyone wants authenticity, but they also want a clean narrative. Sometimes those things are incompatible."

"What do you do when they are?" Elly asked.

"You make choices. You decide which truth serves the story better." He met her eyes. "That probably sounds cynical."

"It sounds honest." She leaned forward slightly. Closing the distance. "I appreciate honesty."

After the third drink, the conversation shifted. More personal. More flirtatious.

Niall was skilled at this, she realized. He knew how to make women feel seen. How to ask questions that made you want to reveal yourself.

Under different circumstances, she might have found him genuinely attractive.

But these weren't different circumstances.

When they left at midnight, Niall walked her to the corner. The air was cold. Elly shivered deliberately.

He offered his jacket.

"Keep it," he said when she tried returning it. "You can give it back next time."

"Presumptuous," Elly said. But she smiled.

"Hopeful." He kissed her cheek. Lips warm against cold skin. "Call me. I meant what I said about reading your work."

Elly watched him walk away, then climbed into a cab.

The jacket smelled like expensive cologne and ambition.

She felt powerful and disgusted in equal measure.

As the cab pulled away, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

I know what you're planning. Meet me tomorrow. Noon. Café Reggio. Come alone. —D