Nobela ni Bosede

The day of the press conference arrived with a tense energy that buzzed through the air like electricity before a storm. The hall was filled to capacity journalists, shareholders, curious onlookers, and business analysts all crowded into the vast auditorium, cameras flashing and microphones poised. Whispers floated around the room as everyone speculated about the shocking announcement that had been teased in the media all week. No one truly knew what was coming only that the family was at the heart of it.When Lionel , the iron-willed patriarch of the conglomerate, stepped onto the stage, the room immediately fell silent. He was dressed in his signature charcoal grey suit, his silver hair combed back meticulously. The man carried the air of authority, with sharp eyes that seemed to strip away all pretenses.Behind him, the enlarged logo of the Group and the newly acquired Williams Corporation loomed boldly on a screen. Cameras flashed wildly as Lionel approached the podium with a fir

The operating room was already being prepared when Xander was wheeled into the pre-op area. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air, mingling with the sterile chill of the room. Nurses moved briskly around, checking equipment, readying surgical tools, and reviewing charts. Despite the cold, Xander felt a sheen of sweat on his brow. Not from fear but from the weight of what he was about to do.The doctor, Dr. Winston , stood beside him holding the consent forms, his face a mask of concern. He had seen men make sacrifices before, but few with this level of calm, selfless resolve.“Mr. Xander,” he said quietly, “before we proceed, I need to ask you again… Are you sure you want to go through with this?”Xander looked up at him, eyes unwavering. “Yes.”Dr. Winston hesitated. “You understand that, in rare cases, this surgery could lead to serious complications. Loss of mobility. Even permanent paralysis. If something goes wrong with the spinal anesthesia, or if your body reacts adverse

Xander sat still as the nurse carefully collected the blood samples, her gloved hands working swiftly and professionally, but he couldn’t feel anything anymore—not the prick of the needle, not the sting of pain, not even the ache in his back from hours of sitting. His mind was in a haze, a tunnel of grief, panic, and desperate hope. He kept staring at the tray of vials filled with his blood as if they were some sort of offering—his sacrifice, his gift, his last attempt to save the woman who had changed his life in ways he couldn’t begin to explain.Once the samples were collected, the nurse quietly reassured him that the test results would be prioritized and expedited, considering the urgency. Then she gently touched his shoulder and left the room. The moment the door closed, Xander slumped forward, burying his face in his palms.His heart ached.He wasn’t prepared for this. No one ever is. He had come to the hospital terrified about the baby, terrified about June’s labor pains. But t

As the team vanished again behind the heavy doors of the operating theatre, Xander stood frozen. The walls felt like they were closing in on him. He sat, then stood, then paced. Every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was June lying pale and fragile on that hospital bed, struggling to smile through her pain. He clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He would have traded places with her in a heartbeat if he could.He thought of the first time he laid eyes on her June in her simple white dress, standing in the garden with the sun on her face. How she’d made him laugh. How she’d held his hand when no one else believed in him. How she’d stood by him when his own family turned their backs. She had loved him when he had nothing. And now, all he could do was sit here and pray to a God he hadn’t spoken to in years.“Please,” he whispered. “Please don’t take her from me. Please don’t take my baby.”The doors finally creaked open after what felt like an eternity.Xander jum

The night had been unusually quiet, with a calming stillness that had settled over the house like a blanket. June lay nestled in the warmth of the bed, one hand resting gently over her swollen belly, the rhythm of her breath soft and even. Beside her, Xander had finally dozed off, the worry lines on his face slightly eased by exhaustion. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind—boardroom battles, tense conversations with his father, threats of scandal, and the constant fear that something might go wrong with June’s pregnancy. It all weighed on him. But in that moment, as he slept with his hand still entwined with hers, there was only peace.Until it shattered.A sharp cry escaped from June’s lips. It wasn’t loud, but it was enough to jolt Xander awake instantly. He sat upright, blinking as he registered the sound. June groaned again, her face contorted in pain as she doubled over, gripping her belly. Her breaths were shallow and rapid.“June?” Xander said, panicked. “What’s wrong?”She

Audrey’s breath fogged up the glass as she stood at the window, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The world outside was quiet, still mockingly so. The moon hung high, casting its pale light on the garden Larry had planted for her two years ago, when he still loved her, or at least when he still tried to.She scoffed under her breath.“Love,” she whispered bitterly, “what a pathetic illusion.”She turned away from the window and stalked back across the room. Her heels tapped sharply on the floor until she kicked them off in frustration and collapsed into the plush armchair beside the fireplace. Her fingers trembled as she picked up her phone and scrolled through old photos pictures of her and Larry smiling, her hand resting on her stomach during the early weeks of the pregnancy, blurry selfies from their vacation in Santorini, where Larry had first called her “his forever.”The same “forever” who now wanted a divorce.She tossed the phone across the room, and it landed with a soft t

The long, winding driveway leading to the Whitmore estate felt colder than usual that evening, though the sky remained clear. Jane’s fingers were tense on the steering wheel, her heart pulsing with questions. The message had been simple and discreet: “Come alone. Do not tell Greg. – G.W.”She had obeyed without knowing why.Now, standing in front of the towering oak doors, she felt an odd chill wash over her, as though she was about to enter something far deeper than just a conversation.The butler led her through the grand halls in silence, stopping before the study. “He’s waiting for you inside.”She pushed the door open.The room was dark, save for the faint orange glow of a fireplace flickering low in the corner. A single lamp illuminated the large desk near the window, and behind it, seated like a king on his throne, was Gregory Whitmore Sr., the patriarch of the Whitmore legacy.A glass of whiskey sat untouched beside him, and a thin line of smoke curled from the cigarette betwe

The silence in the penthouse had stretched for days. Jane moved through the luxurious space like a ghost, feeling its vastness echo the new emptiness growing between her and Greg. Since their last argument, he'd kept his distance — polite, civil, but colder than she had ever seen him. He was no longer the confident, smooth-talking man who teased her at dinner parties and watched her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. He was now... silent. Distant.And she hated it.The chill wasn’t just in the room — it was under her skin.Jane stood at the edge of the study doorway that evening, watching Greg as he leaned over a set of financial documents. His sleeves were rolled up, his hair slightly disheveled, a glass of untouched scotch sitting beside him. He hadn’t noticed her yet, too buried in whatever business emergency his grandfather had stirred up this time.She cleared her throat softly. “Greg.”He looked up. His expression shifted when he saw her, a flash of something — surprise, maybe

The fireplace crackled quietly in the background as Greg paced across the living room of the penthouse, the dim golden lights casting long shadows on the polished wood floors. His mind had been at war for days, trying to convince himself it was too soon… or too absurd… or too much.But he couldn’t avoid it anymore.He had to talk to Jane.She was curled up on the oversized sofa, wearing a soft ivory robe, her legs tucked under her as she flipped absentmindedly through a fashion magazine. Her golden hair cascaded over her shoulder in loose waves, and there was something about the domestic calmness of the scene that made Greg hesitate.She looked peaceful. Untouched by the chaos that brewed in his chest.But the words burned on his tongue."Jane," he said finally.She looked up, eyes curious. “Hmm?”“We need to talk.”Her body stiffened slightly, a telltale sign she’d learned not to show fear unless it was necessary. She set the magazine down and straightened. “Alright… talk.”Greg walk

The antique grandfather clock ticked heavily in the quiet of the study, its steady rhythm matching the tension thickening in the air.Greg sat stiffly across from his grandfather, the formidable Theodore Hamilton, the patriarch of the Hamilton empire. The elder man was a picture of aged nobility silver hair immaculately combed back, piercing gray eyes that didn’t miss a thing, and a cane resting beside his chair more for intimidation than support.The study was Greg’s least favorite room in the estate all mahogany shelves, dusty oil paintings, and the lingering scent of old money and judgment.Theodore set down his brandy glass with a sharp clink and looked directly at his grandson.“I want a great-grandchild, Gregory.”Greg blinked, half certain he’d misheard. “I’m sorry… what?”Theodore leaned forward slightly. “You’re married now. Publicly, legally, and very convincingly. You’ve given me a charming daughter-in-law, and the press believes you’re on the path to stability. Good. But I

The lights of the city flickered against the glass windows of Greg’s penthouse, painting the marble floors with golden streaks. Jane stood barefoot in the living room, her crimson gown pooling around her feet like spilled wine. The after-party crowd had faded. Greg had gone to take a call in his office. And now, she was alone with her thoughts.Chris.His voice still echoed in her ears.“Come back to me, Jane.”His touch.His eyes—full of regret.She walked over to the floor-length mirror and stared at her reflection. Her makeup was still flawless, her lips still wore a shade of bold red, and her posture screamed power. But her eyes… they betrayed her.“What if he’s truly sorry?”The thought came uninvited, gentle at first, then louder, like a drumbeat.Chris had hurt her—deeply. He’d betrayed her trust, broken her heart, and married her sister. But tonight, for the first time, he hadn’t worn the mask of arrogance. He had looked genuinely lost.And that scared her.Because despite the

The gallery buzzed with champagne-fueled chatter and the soft hum of classical music. Jane stood near a marble sculpture, dressed in a crimson silk gown that shimmered under the lights. Greg had stepped away to speak with one of the event sponsors, leaving her momentarily alone.She needed the breath.Tonight’s event was just another one of Greg’s social obligations”public couple appearances,” he’d called them. But every outing like this felt a little less like an act. Greg had complimented her hair, introduced her as his wife, rested a hand at the small of her back when guiding her through crowds. She was starting to blur the lines.A part of her hated it.Another part… didn't.“Jane.”The voice sent a shock down her spine. She turned slowly and there he was.Chris.He looked out of place in the sleek gallery. His tie was missing, shirt slightly rumpled, eyes bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in days. His gaze clung to her like she was the only real thing in the room.Jane’s lips presse