Novels by Dreamer

In the quiet suburbs where the sleepy sun begins to perform its morning stretch across well manicured lawns, a growing sense of unease pervades the pomanaded upbringing of the Miller residence. Mr. & Mrs. Miller, faces drooped with worry, scour every corner of their spacious residence, calling for their youngest son Lilian. “Lilian!” Lyra's voice quivers, breaking the morning's stillness. She glances at her husband, whose usually composed demeanour is now taut with anxiety. “Lilian… should have been back by now. He said he was going out to meet his friends at the park, but that was hours ago.” “I have tried calling him, Lyra… but it goes straight to voicemail. I've texted him too, but no response.” Lyra's mind is contaminated with all possible worst-case scenarios. “Wh- what if he's in trouble? This neighbourhood is safe, is it not?” "Did you check his room again?" Mr. Miller asks, his brow furrowed, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides. He had already searched the nei

“Yes, Elizabeth, outside the damn box,” Ethan repeats, growing with ripping adamantation, “We're not getting anywhere with these conventional ideas.”Benjamin, the team's resident strategist scratches his chin thoughtfully, “But where else can we look? We've exhausted all the obvious avenues.”“That's precisely the problem!” Ethan exclaims, hands clammy, clasped together, “We're tethering to the same old patterns, expecting different results. We need to challenge our assumptions, break free from the constraints of our preconceptions.”“But what does that even mean? ‘Thinking outside the box'?” Elizabeth must have garnished enough courage to remark such, “Isn't it just a cliché?”“It is anything but a cliché, Elizabeth,” Ethan retorts, “It is a mindset. It is about refusing to accept the status quo and constantly pushing the boundaries of creativity and innovation,” Ethan drags his ombre ravenette waves from his face for an opaque view that ends at nothing. The team members exchange d

The interior decorators, a collective of talented creatives eagerly gather in the region, summoned straight from downtown Manhattan, circle a lot deasil, put together to bring Ethan Smith's visions to life. The CEO's absorption fits between the ornamentalists, his brow screwing up ever so slightly a fleeting moment before he seamlessly engages with the group, “So, without further ado,” Ethan clears his throat, “Thank you all for being here today. We have found ourselves yet another unique opportunity, as you may already be acquainted with, to live up to LOVESICK's fame. LOVESICK has always prided itself on turning ordinary pieces into masterpieces. Keep in mind, our upcoming showroom inauguration must embody this ethos to perfection.”Ethan's eyes, through and through, dart around the room, not lingering on any one person for more than a split second before moving on to the next. His hands fidget with a pen in his pocket, tapping it against his thigh in an erratic pattern. “Furthermor

The grandeur, the opulence do very little to calm his nerves. Ryan has no idea what to expect, nothing one-up than humiliation. But the tumultuous events of the past stints had left the brunette on his edge. Mustering up the last bit of courage he has, Ryan enters the grand living room. It is filled with a bustling crowd, coming off apparitions that seem to dwarf the assistant in size. Ryan's anxiety shows no sign of dissipating anytime soon, a sense of foreboding washes over him. Each step taken, Ryan's trepidation dilutes. The phantom crowd seem to part a narrow aisle for solely him to pave, as if they are all well aware of the impending encounter between him and his overseer Ethan. He feels like a reluctant protagonist willingly walking towards his uncertain, maybe all altering fate."Is it what I am thinking it is. . ." Sound of a distant, feeble violin strings playing an all absorbing melody echoing through air, intensifying each corner in Ryan's mind, lighting his forsaken hopes

RYAN; The crowd cramming disperse, I am left behind, a solitary wanderer with an assignment that doesn't suit me, an outlandish piece of paper, and also not forgoing bearing the weight of an indecisiveness hurled upon me by my Mr. Haughty. I find myself standing, clutching onto the rather bizarre envelope that had been entrusted by a person whom I have never met in Sir's office. It is most plausible that he had always been there, I'm not too vigilant, nor do I bother much to look anywhere other than where I myself need to be, so that kind of explains. My mind right now is whirling with questions, whose answers seemingly lie nowhere I would be able to reach, my mind burning like a flickering flame of candle in a hailstorm— who was that person who was looking at me so cryptically? Why was he looking especially at me and not Sir? What did he want to convey through this envelope? Why did he not trust Sir enough instead of me? And… why did the person look so scared? What the hell is going

"Alright folks, right this way," Ethan rises from his opulent seat, flapping at his clients, Michael and his esteemed wife Allina to take their respective cues. The showroom kicking about, still on the stocks, leaks a vim cooperating with prospects of one's expectancy. Conceptual sketches of the app LOVESICK's quirks, alongside sleek and architectural designs, have been built on to prettify the sterile walls pottered in red-pink. "Allina, Michael, you both have chosen the perfect time to visit. We're just putting our best final touches before the event. So, I heartily welcome you to the future of love here, right under this roof," Ethan begins, pointing a finger towards the feisty sketches all across the wall, "Here, we attempt to redefine the way people connect, to bridge the gap between the digital and the tangible, the virtual and the real," this man here, Ethan Smith, means business, for the gentleman has set his heart on coming to a yielding compromise at the feet his brusque woo