Brandon "You're adopted, Brandon." His words hit me like a shockwave, and I stumbled back, staring at him as if he were crazy. Did I hear him correctly? I knew Adrien disliked me, but I hadn't realized it extended to the point of fabricating lies about my identity. "You're lying!" I exclaimed. "That's not true." "My father didn't tell me. I had a DNA test conducted to see if we were related because you didn't look like my dad or my mother, and I was right," Adrien said. "You're not my brother." "How... What the hell?" I stared at him in disbelief. "Are you messing with me right now? You better take it back if it's a joke." I ordered. "Your biological father, Brandon Ritchie, was a criminal whose favorite place in the world was the state penitentiary. He was arrested for drug dealing, rape, and murder but escaped from prison at twenty two, got a girlfriend named Hilary Kale, and got her pregnant." "I still don't believe you." I muttered, shaking my head. "Hilary wasn't a saint

RosalieDespite Dr. Simmons asserting that I was married to someone like Adrien Vasanten, I couldn't accept it. How could I be married to him while he was dating my stepsister, Yvette? Although I once had feelings for him in high school, they faded when he humiliated me in front of everyone in the school cafeteria.Two years after our high school graduation, he began dating Yvette, and they have been together ever since. Adrien Vasanten, who was the bane of my existence, was not someone I could have agreed to marry under any circumstances.As the door to my hospital room swung open, the devil himself entered, closing it behind him. His suit jacket was discarded, and his white shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing impressive forearms. The coiffed hair from earlier was now tousled, adding to his charm, and I had to admit he looked like he belonged on the front cover of a GQ magazine."Hi," He greeted, pausing three feet from my bed, an evident nervousness in his demeano

Rosalie "What? No!" He exclaimed, indignation filling his voice. Rising to his feet, he began pacing, a habit that I've noticed surfaces whenever frustration overcomes him. Running his fingers through his hair was another quirk, almost enough to make me swoon. Almost. "Why not?" I arched my brow. "It's within my rights to ask for a divorce, right?" I asserted. "You're not allowed to refuse me." "It'll never happen." He firmly asserted, impressing me by saying "no" in thirty different languages. "I'm impressed," I remarked, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "But that won't stop me from filing for a divorce. It'd be in your best interests to sign the papers when served." "I won't let you do this," He insisted. "You won't leave me." "I was never by your side to begin with," I snorted. "I don't want to be married to you." "Because you have this idea that I belong to Yvette?" He spat, his fists clenched by his side. "You're correct," I replied, smirking. "The two of you are cut from

RosalieAt a certain juncture in one's life, we encounter profound grief, a sorrow so overwhelming that thoughts of ending it all crosses our minds. This undeniable truth holds, unless that individual happens to be a psychopath, an extraterrestrial being, or so utterly detached from reality that they are incapable of feeling any emotion.For some individuals, that pivotal moment occurs during their early years of childhood, while for others, it strikes in adulthood when they can comprehend the turmoil and attempt to navigate the anguish, hoping to eventually heal and move forward.Grief, as it turns out, shows no discrimination; it touches both the affluent and the less fortunate without distinction. Some may argue its inherent unfairness, but the reality of life seldom clings to notions of fairness.In my situation, things unfolded strangely and differently. I couldn't recall my mother's passing or my father and his wife dying within days of each other. It was my ex-husband, Adrien V

Rosalie Even without his confession, I discovered that Adrien had lied about his father, Ronald instructing him to bring me to him. After enjoying a pleasant meal at the Lighthouse restaurant, a sudden explosion in the air interrupted the words I was about to utter during dessert, diverting my attention toward the sound. Fortunately, it wasn't a nuclear bomb, but rather fireworks that had been detonated. Rising slowly to my feet, I headed to the balcony where the fireworks formed the words "Happy Birthday, Rosalie" in blue. Adrien and I had practically grown up together until the age of ten when our paths diverged. Despite not talking much, we were familiar with each other's preferences, and I never expected him to surprise me with something as incredible as this. Choked with emotion, I stifled a sob, covering my mouth with my hands as another burst of fireworks formed the words "I love you" in the sky. Turning towards my ex-husband, tears shimmering in my eyes, I studied him, con