Dalí's Mustache

"Where is he?" He asked as he titled his head and glared down at me. His scar on the eye made him look even more horrifying. I wonder how many scars he has on that face of his which he hides. I was terrified but I tried my best to stay calm and composed because his mere presence makes me want to run away and hide somewhere where he can never find me but I fail to hide and not only I risked my life but his too. "He...is not w-with me." I said and he raised his right eyebrow where the scar stood proudly. "Really, hazelnut?" He asked as he caressed my cheek with his pointed knife, knocking my soul out for a fraction of a second. *** Sebastian Martinez a 27 years old, cold, stern and brooding leader of a gang named 'the scars'. He hides his face from the world but his eyes are enough to send people down hill. The scar on his eye defines his ruthless acts. Not a killer but enough to traumatize you. But is he only a gangster or something far more dangerous than that? Aurora James is a girl who stays in her own life as a writer but also has a small boutique. Her life is normal and she has lots of dreams to achieve but her past keeps haunting her down. What will happen when fate will bond these two in the most unexpected way?

For a Captain of the Royal house to have honour, he must saves the life of the only heir to the throne, else he will be dishonoured, and excuted; and for Captain Casablanca to become the king of the sea, he must kidnap the only hier, and vomit terror all around the Western sea.

The day the Thorne family announced our engagement, the New York underworld let out a collective sigh of relief. Because I was set to marry Daemon, the most straitlaced Don in the city, which meant I could no longer be the wild rose who tore up the racetrack. But I resisted with every fiber of my being, finding creative ways to test his limits. During his ten-million-dollar card game with a rival family's Capo, my hand "slipped" and sent a bottle of 1945 Romanee-Conti spilling across the ancient map that outlined their territories, sabotaging the entire negotiation. Daemon, however, just slowly and deliberately wiped the wine from the back of his hand. He didn't even frown as he cleaned up my mess. Then I "accidentally" let my spirited Arabian stallion loose in his immaculately manicured courtyard. The beast went wild, trampling his prize-winning rose garden into mud. But he arrived with his private doctor in tow, crouching before me as his long fingers gently traced the scratch on my arm. "Did the beast hurt you?" Just that one question, and my heart melted completely. "Daemon, I can marry you. But before that, has there ever been another woman who owned your heart?" "I don't share my man. Not in any way." He pointed to his heart, his gaze unwavering as he met my eyes. "Before you, this was empty." After we married, the word on the street in New York's circles of power was this: If you angered Don Thorne, his Donna might plead your case. But if you angered the Donna, you were on your own. Even I began to believe that Daemon, that mountain of ice, would eventually melt for me. Until the day I went to find him, clutching a positive pregnancy test, bursting with joy. Only to hear the family's Consigliere ask him, from the top-floor study, what the best lie he'd ever told was. Daemon chuckled and said casually, "She asked me if anyone had my heart before her." "I told her no."

I was a sketch artist acting for the police. On a secret mission, I was discovered by a murderer. My eyes were gouged out, and my body was dismembered, unceremoniously dumped in a garbage bin. On the brink of death, I called my boyfriend, a criminal investigator. However, he hung up on me because he was busy accompanying his first love to a prenatal checkup. A few days later, he received a painting that was a vital clue to finding the murderer, but he thought I was playing tricks on him. In his anger, he tore that portrait to shreds. After he found out the truth, he spent the whole night searching through the garbage to piece it back together.

Nine students were invited to the mansion of the famous Artist Gregorio Santillan. But, the students were unaware of the danger that awaits them. What do Alyssa's dreams mean? Is that a warning or it just a dream? How Alyssa can save the eight students from the curse of every painting they sign if she is also a prisoner of the cursed painting?

"Can I kiss you?" Asked Mr. Harold, the Mathematics teacher who has been the subject of lusty daydreaming of my best friend, Zetta, and other female students. “Eh? Nooooo!” I answered nervously. We are in the gym. "Why?" He asked he dared to ask?! Duh! "You are a teacher and I am your student...duh." I take it as my way out of the gym. He asked me to talk inside the building?! Huh... I should know better, than not trusting any human with a penis! Why? Because they are the real pervert. That teacher dared to ask for a kiss? He is granted for a great punch, kicks or maybe slap? That was the very first time of my nightmare in high school, he stole my first kiss and stole my great-teen-life.