Why Doesn'T My Boyfriend Compliment Me

Ruby grew up sad for most of her life. Born into a society where beauty standards were seen as slender and tall, she felt low self esteem her entire life. Her family even made matters worse by ridiculing her each day, and comparing her with her younger sister. Her wolf despised her, accusing Ruby of trapping her in a fat body. She always tried to comfort herself that she wasn't fat but chubby, but no one saw her that way. After being rejected and betrayed by her boyfriend, her family, instead of comforting her, blamed her that it was her fault that he left. “You are too fat and ugly.” Her mother spat at Ruby with a look of disdain. “No man would ever want you.” Ruby wiped her tears, making a decision to transform her shape into what would be accepted. However, while she is on the journey of body transformation, she comes across a stranger who looks at her in a way that no one ever did. He didn't think she was worthless and everything about her seemed perfect in his eyes. Would Ruby give this man a chance to love her, or is she too broken to see her worth?

The youngest billionaire in town with looks of Adonis and everything at his feet desired just one thing more in life. His perfect match. He wished for a wife whose beauty would turn heads, a smile which would lighten up his world and figure which would curve perfectly under his fingers. A beauty who spoke with etiquette and made him proud. But he got her A mediocre girl with average looks, fierce personality and no curves. Outspoken and downright rude. She was everything he didn't want his wife to be like. But who could defy when their souls were bound by threads of fate. She was insecure And he fueled it further She considered herself inferior to him And he used every chance to make it a belief. She had a beautiful delicate golden heart And he made sure to taint it black and crush it under his Gucci shoes. She was his not so beautiful wife And he made sure that nothing left of her could be ever considered beautiful. "I will taint every damn fibre of your body my dear Elle...every bit of it till you beg me to divorce you" -Ashton "I will love every flaw of you my dear husband ...each and everyone till this heart beats for you" -Elle BEAUTY SERIES: Book 1 His not so beautiful wife Book 2 His Scarred Beauty

I had stayed up all night to get the merchandise. It was then callously discarded by my boyfriend. On that stormy day, I knelt beside a dumpster and searched through bags of trash. Yarden Scott stopped in his tracks. “What are you looking for?” “My merch.” I did not look up. “I reminded you three times. It was in the left drawer of the sideboard.” His shirt was soaked from the rain. He subconsciously said, “Yvonne’s car broke down. I went to pick her up. I forgot.” He forgot. Last week, he threw away the commemorative ticket stubs I had stayed up all night organizing because he thought they were scraps of paper. The month before, he threw away the brooch my grandmother left me because he thought it was an old button. Every single time, he brushed it off with the same excuse. I gave a mocking smile. “You always remember everything when it comes to Yvonne, don’t you?” Yarden carefully wiped the hair tie Yvonne Jordan had left behind and answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “She’s your best friend. That means I have to treat her very well. “If I keep her happy, our relationship will last. Isn’t it all for your sake?” I watched his practiced movements and felt completely drained. I could not say another word. I had reminded him countless times before not to touch the drawers in my study. He ignored me and threw away my collection of rare stamps. I told him again and again that I was allergic to mangoes. At a group dinner, he still ordered a mango shake for me. But when Yvonne casually mentioned that she had trouble sleeping, he started sending her music to help her sleep every single day. If Yvonne wanted to eat at her favorite restaurant, he would pull every string he could to get a reservation. To him, everything about me was a burden. Everything about Yvonne was worth his time. If that were the case, then I should not bother him any longer.

My boyfriend goes viral after uploading a video of him being lovey-dovey with a woman. Everyone praises him for being handsome and a good boyfriend, but I don't even have the courage to like the video. Why? Because the woman in the video isn't me.

I always thought my boyfriend came from a poor family. One day, I saw him drink a bottle of wine worth 100,000 while tipping the waiter over 1,000. The watch he gave away without a second thought was worth millions. Yet, his gift for my birthday was a dirt-cheap trinket. He claimed it was a test to make sure I was not a gold digger. Later on, I proved that I was not a gold digger. That was when he begged and pleaded for me to accept his extravagant gift.

He almost never texts me first, and in person he barely says a word. In three years together, he's never remembered a single anniversary, and he's never once suggested we celebrate a holiday. But the second I message him first, he lights up, all "baby" this and "baby" that, fussing over me, coaxing me to sleep. Sometimes I'd get this strange feeling that there were two different Noahs. His explanation was that he was just bad with words face-to-face, and that texting or voice notes felt like less pressure. I kept telling myself that being together meant meeting each other halfway. He was quiet and reserved, so I'd be the one to reach out. He forgot anniversaries, so I booked the restaurant and reminded him to keep the night free. He had no time to schedule our engagement shoot, so I handled the whole thing with the studio myself. He was too busy with work to help us move, so I packed everything alone, booked the movers, and got it all done. When I was so worn out I was about to break, I'd send him a voice note, and he'd say, "I'm so sorry, baby. The lab was insane today. I couldn't be there for you, and it kills me to watch you run yourself into the ground." Hearing how guilty he sounded, all my hurt just melted away. And that's how I carried three years of this relationship on my own, running on the flawless tenderness he only ever gave me online. Until today, when I found a program on his laptop called Boyfriend Assistant. It analyzed every message I sent and generated the perfect reply, the perfect response, every single time. Cold snap? It sent: Bundle up, baby. Time of the month? It pinged an API and auto-ordered hot chocolate to my door. All those late nights he spent "working," the gentle voice notes that lulled me to sleep, every one of them was synthesized in Noah's voice. For three years, the person who'd been there for me, day and night, was never Noah at all. For three years, I'd been performing a one-woman show.