Useful Idiots: How Liberals Got It Wrong In The Cold War And Still Blame America First

I vowed to transfer schools with my childhood friend when he claimed he was being bullied. But the day before we were to finalize the transfer, he backed out. His friend teased him. "Man, you faked being a punching bag just to get rid of Alice Wiley? That's cold. You two have been thick as thieves since forever. Are you really cool with her going to a new school alone?" Shane Page brushed it off. "It's just another high school across town. Not a big deal. I'm tired of her always being up my ass. This works out perfectly." I stood frozen outside the door for a long time. Finally, I turned and walked away. On the transfer form, I crossed out Oatheport High and filled in the international academy my parents had been pushing for. Everyone seemed to forget that Shane and I were never equals.

My roommate was a classic bimbo. When I went to arrange a jogging meetup, she mistyped it as a hookup and sent it straight into the group chat, then burst into tears and claimed she didn't know how to retract the message. When I went to meet my jogging buddy, she told everyone that she ran into my "hookup buddy." At the end, she even covered her mouth and giggled sweetly, saying, "I always mix words up." After a few stunts like that, my reputation was utterly ruined, and the entire class shut me out. Later, she used her "clumsiness" as an excuse to spike my milk with sleeping pills, causing me to miss a major exam. She even dropped toxic bacteria into my water cup and killed me outright. And all of it was over something that stupid: the guy she had a crush on had casually helped me carry my luggage on the first day of school. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very first day of freshman orientation. This time, I am going to let her experience what it felt like to be ruined—and killed—by a so-called idiot.

In a world where allies can become adversaries in a heartbeat, one woman discovers that the person she's been hunting is the only one who can save her. Dynasty thought she knew her enemy. For three years, she's tracked the elusive operative known only as "Victor"—the mastermind behind a series of devastating attacks that cost her everything. But when a conspiracy far more sinister emerges from the shadows, Dynasty finds herself in an impossible position: trust the man she's sworn to destroy, or watch the world burn. He's brilliant. Dangerous. And he knows her better than anyone alive. As the line between enemy and ally blurs, Dynasty must confront a terrifying truth: sometimes the perfect enemy is the only perfect partner. But in a game where betrayal is currency and trust is fatal, can she risk everything on the one person who has every reason to want her dead? A pulse-pounding thriller of cat-and-mouse tension, unexpected alliances, and the razor's edge between hatred and something far more dangerous. Don’t miss out on the captivating read that is "The Perfect Enemy." You won’t regret diving into this thrilling tale!

On our eighth anniversary, Claire Young announced that she had already registered her marriage with her childhood friend. She took him home, ordering me around as if it was only natural. "Move to another room. Stan loves sunshine." "Stan doesn't like sweets, so don't bake any when you're at home. He'd be upset if he saw it." I kept quiet through it all and bought a ticket to leave. My friend wanted to help me out of the predicament, but she didn't think it was a big deal. "He's just being dramatic again. Let him be—he'd be caving in just a few days." Everyone laughed at that, and quietly made bets as to when I'd come crawling back to Claire's feet. None of them knew I was already inducted into the national weapons program, and that I was really leaving.

I’ve always taken people literally. When Dad told me to empty the basin, I asked where he wanted me to pour the water. “On my head,” he snapped. So I did. When Mom told me to do the laundry, I asked whether I should add detergent. She gave a cold laugh. “Sure. Add caramel sauce.” So I poured an entire bottle of caramel sauce into the washing machine. Everyone said I was stupid. But this “stupid” guy took first place in a nationwide academic competition. I earned my school’s only direct-admission spot at one of the country’s top universities. The day the results were announced, Lucas Hale, the school bully, ripped my application apart in front of the entire class. “You can’t even understand sarcasm. Why should someone like you get direct admission? “Last night, I saw you get out of a luxury SUV. Who knows what kind of deal you made with the woman inside?” The whole classroom went quiet. Then everyone started looking at me differently. Lucas stood there with a self-righteous expression. “I’m just speaking up for the rest of the class. Why should we work ourselves to death only to lose out to someone who got in through connections?” I thought about it seriously. Then I took out my phone and called my older sister. “Claire, they said I got my admission spot by sleeping with someone. Is that true?” A few seconds later, I held the phone out to Lucas, whose face had gone pale. “My sister wants to know something.” “What’s your name?” “And your student ID number?”

On my wedding night, I joyfully lift the veil, only to discover that my bride has been replaced with the dim-witted daughter of my girlfriend's helper. The laughter surrounding me grows louder. My girlfriend's male best friend gloatingly says, "According to tradition, you must spend a night with her, Mr. Leeds! "I'll take one for the team and keep Carol company tonight instead." Just then, my girlfriend strolls in leisurely. "It's just a joke. Don't be a sore loser. Besides, she's a complete ignoramus. Spending the night with her won't hurt you." Seeing her sarcastic expression, I laugh. "Now that I've lifted the veil, how can one night be enough? Since I did it, I'll take responsibility for life."