Who Was Murphy From Murphy'S Laws And His Story?

The day I received my admission to the New York Bar, I finally confessed my feelings to Alex Walker, the man who had been my mentor for the past three years. He was crouched down, carefully fastening the strap of Claire Harrison's designer heel. Claire was the heiress and CEO of a rival firm. When he heard my confession, he stood up and looked at me with nothing but contempt. "Eileen, who do you think you are? You think you deserve to marry into my family? You're just an assistant from some backwater town who happened to pass the bar. Do you really believe that makes you worthy of standing beside me?" Before I could react, he slipped a stack of forged trade secret documents into my handbag. Then he handed me over to Lucas Morrison, the infamous heir to the Morrisons, a man whose ruthless reputation was well known throughout New York's elite. "Mr. Morrison, she's all yours. Make her take the fall for the leaked documents. And while you're at it, teach her to stay in her lane. I've already chosen Claire. I have no use for this one anymore. Do whatever you want with her." His men dragged me away. Alex never looked back. One month later, Walker Law Firm was collapsing under a flood of scandals—fabricated financial records, misappropriated client funds, and malicious lawsuits. Alex finally called me, his voice as arrogant as ever. "Have you suffered enough? Admit those fake accounts and lawsuit files were your doing, and I might consider letting you come back as my assistant." Before I could answer, Lucas let out a low, amused laugh from beside me. "Mr. Walker," he said lazily, "my wife is busy acquiring your law firm. She doesn't have time to be anyone's scapegoat."

Caius Vannister, despite his reputation as one of the most eligible bachelors of the country, was a one-woman-man kind of guy. He had imposed strict rules upon himself, and that is to be loyal to just one woman. He laid no woman in his bed for years, which is why he knew he was in trouble when he felt the heat and the beast awakened at the sight of the drunk Murphy who one night, accidentally barged on his VIP room. Having tasted the sweet scent and pleasure he didn't know existed, he desperately searched for the lady, who fortunately left her business card, the morning he woke up alone. Realizing that the lady was closely acquainted with his cousin, Casper and his wife, a playful smirk was painted on his lips. "Architect Murphy Jayden…you're mine…” As Murphy tried to shoo him away, he was adamant to claim the lips, the body, and the heart of the lady who, from the start, stole his. Caius vowed to know everything about her to plan his next steps, that his vast connection was put to the test when he found no single information about her, apart from what he knew from Casper. Pondering about it for far too long, he could only utter one thing... "Who are you truly, milady?”

The day before our wedding, Luke Murray got wasted. On the ride home, he looked right at me and slurred, "Cassie, don't bring the kid to the ceremony. Arya can't know I'm the dad." I hit the brakes. Hard. He smacked into the seatback, halfway sobering up. When he finally realized it was me, he just... froze. Then he said real slow, "Guess you heard. Wedding's off—for now. Cassie doesn't want marriage, but the kid's mine, so I gotta step up. She's your bestie, right? You probably feel bad she's doing this alone. So once he's in school, I'll come back and marry you." I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "...That's fine. I don't mind." He didn't say a word when we got home—just grabbed his suitcase and left. I wiped the last tear off my face, sat on the bed, and just stared at nothing. Then my phone lit up. My childhood friend's voice cracked on the other end. "Arya, don't marry him. Please." I didn't say anything for a sec. "Okay."

When I'm seven years old, my dad turns me in to the Court Judgment of the Born Wicked because of my tendency to vomit. If I'm found guilty, my blood ties with my dad will be forcibly severed. Then, I'll be sent to prison. Everyone claims that Dad is just making a fuss over nothing. "Your daughter is still so young, so it's natural for her to fall ill. As a father, you should be more considerate toward her." But when the evidence is shown, everyone clamps up immediately. There was once when Dad drank so much to the point he suffered from gastric bleeding. The business contract that he managed to convince his client to sign was all soiled because I vomited on him as soon as he got home. Thanks to me, the contract was voided. Dad got fired on the spot. During Bryce Fuller, my older brother's birthday, I vomited onto his birthday cake in front of his classmates. Because of that, Bryce was isolated by all of his classmates. He became so depressed that he tried to slit his wrist in an attempt to take his own life. I'll keep vomiting everywhere, be it at the dining table or on my bed. Dad and Bryce have to clean me up more than 30 times every day. They suffer greatly because of me. What angers everyone the most is that after I'm done vomiting, I'll laugh at everyone in a provocative manner. The judge gives his verdict instantly, claiming that I'm wicked by nature. Bryce's eyes redden immediately. As he cries, he tells me that he can't bear to see me leaving him. I never shed any tears, nor do I throw a tantrum. Instead, I accept the judge's verdict calmly, but with a prerequisite condition that the judge finishes watching my memories. The judge is shocked, to say the least. "We'll have to crack your skull open in order to extract your memories. You'll be in a world of pain. Are you sure about that?" I nod in determination. But Bryce, on the other hand, looks alarmed. "I won't agree to that!"

I am the last priestess of the Wintermoor tribe, blessed with the power to make wishes on behalf of others. But every time a wish is granted, I become physically younger. The year I get engaged to Ethan Hayes, I am 28. Three years into our engagement, he's left at death's door after a plane crash. That's the first time I make a wish for him. He survives, yet I become 23. Five years into our engagement, Ethan loses everything and attempts to jump from a building. I make another wish for him. He's wealthy again, and I become 18. Seven years into our engagement, Ethan brings home a terminally ill woman. He then drops to his knees, begging me to save her. I shake my head. "I can't. If I do it one more time, I'll turn three. By then, I won't be your fiancee anymore, and I won't even remember you." But Ethan sneers. "You saved me twice, and you were fine. One time for her, and you'll drop dead? Mirabel, spare me the excuses for your heartlessness." Later, Ethan stands at the edge of the sacred mountain cliff and threatens me with his own life. In the end, I save the woman. The next day, she's completely healed. Ethan holds her close, his gaze soft with affection. Then, he looks up at me and says, "I'll marry you once she's stable enough." I look down at my hands, now no bigger than a child's, and turn to leave. There's no need. In three days, I'll turn into a baby.

I donate my kidney to save my husband, Charlie Ashford. However, when I'm discharged from the hospital, he kicks me out of the master bedroom and tells me to stay in the guest room without any hesitation. "I feel sick just looking at your scar. It looks like a centipede," he says. "Savannah will be moving into the master bedroom since she's pregnant." My wound splits open that night. I call Charlie 100 times to ask for help as I lie in a pool of my own blood. My calls go unanswered, but I can hear Savannah Quinton's high-pitched moans of ecstasy coming from the master bedroom. The strength leaves my body in an instant. When I'm hospitalized, I brush my fingers over the military merit medal that Mom left for me before she passed away. I finally recall the man whom even the mayor has to pay his respects to—Joshua Jetson. I immediately dialed the number that has been gathering dust for a long time. "You told me that you owed Mom a favor, Mr. Jetson," I say. "I want you to marry me now."