How Many Feet Is Two Stories

Two teenagers from two different social classes discover their feelings for one another when a strange viral disease outbreak forced them to mingle in quarantine.

Two months after I died, it finally occurred to my parents that they'd forgotten to bring me back from their trip. My father scowled in frustration. "She was supposed to walk back herself. Does she really need to make such a big deal out of it?" My brother, ever smug, opened our chat and sent an emoji, along with a message. [You'd better die out there. That way, Scarlett and I will split Grandma's inheritance.] He received no reply. With a frosty expression, my mother said, "Tell her if she shows up for her grandmother's birthday on time, I'll let the whole pushing-Scarlett-into-the-water thing go." They never believed I hadn't made it out of those woods. After digging six feet into the ground, they finally found my bones deep in the forest.

For eight years in a marriage devoid of light, I had abortions five times. Every time, Sam would grip my hand when I woke up, his eyes red, and promise to find the best doctors to help me recover. After the third miscarriage, he finally hired a team of top-tier nutritionists, ensuring that every single meal was planned perfectly. He always comforted me, "Don't worry, Penny. We're still young, so we can have another baby!" When I found out I was pregnant again, snowflakes were dancing outside my window. I wrapped my fur coat tightly around my body and rushed to the company, only to hear Wren's furious voice outside the VIP suite, "Are you insane? Those five babies were your own flesh and blood!" Sam replied coldly, "Nicole needs specimen for her experiments. All I'm doing is providing her with the materials she needs." His words dug into my heart like icy spikes, and I could even hear my own bones cracking. "As for Penelope…" He chuckled. "Do you think that our marriage certificate is the real deal?" Snowflakes stung my face like needles, and I finally found out the truth about our marriage. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a living test subject for the woman he truly loved. Sam was right. Those unborn children never even had legal identities, and were worth less than a piece of paper, just like my so-called marriage. Glass shattered from inside the room, and I could hear Wren cursing, but I turned and walked towards the elevator. Since Sam's priority was Nicole and nothing else, I was hell-bent on making him pay the price.

This book gathers different love stories, yes, love stories. All these stories that I collected over time, that were told to me by friends, acquaintances, relatives and others from my own imagination ink. And perhaps, there is some coincidence.

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

Zachary Quinn suddenly develops a fondness for going to a massage parlor after I'm discharged from the hospital—I was in an accident. He excitedly tells me that the masseuse there has the best skills he's ever experienced. "They even have free food and fruits! I bring my laptop there with me to work when I get tired at the office." I don't know why he's telling me these things. He knows my father got caught cheating at a massage parlor. I hate those places. It's only later that I learn the relaxation he describes isn't what I imagined. He's long since gone bad in places that I can't see.