100th Confession Chinese Drama Novels & Stories

She was just like the old me, wasn't she? No matter how coldly she had been treated, she would still run after him like a hopeful puppy. The only difference was that I had confessed to him 143 times over the course of five years. As I carried my belongings into the cab, I received a text message from Aldric. "Let's have your 144th declaration tomorrow. I'll be waiting for you with the decorated car." I laughed before removing my SIM card and tossing it away. My luggage had been packed, and a one-way ticket to Eastmere had been booked.

Her confession today was different; not the usual petty transgressions of thought, but something deeper, more unsettling. "I… I have been having… impure thoughts, Father," she confessed, her voice barely audible. "Thoughts that shame me. Thoughts of… flesh. Of touch. Of wanting…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a deep scarlet visible even in the dim light. Father Michael clenched his fists, the cheap fabric of his cassock rough against his skin.

Bella sighed, but nodded her head. “Mr. David,” the doctor called out; David stood to his feet the moment he heard his name. “Jah doctor; how’s my wife?” he asked worriedly. The doctor sighed and glance at David. “Your wife is too weak to deliver the baby all by herself; we’re taking her to the theatre in fifteen minutes’ time. I’ll need ya to sign some papers before we can begin with the operation.” David’s shoulder sagged. He ran his hand over his forehead; he doesn’t know what to do at this moment, “d-does my wife knows ya are taking her to the theatre?” Asked David, “no, no,” “a second please,” David rushed back to his mother-in-law and to explain the situation on ground. Mrs. Williams s

he snapped. I remained silent. In the past, I would've been the first to relent. I would swallow my pride and explain my situation in a meek voice. But now, I couldn't be bothered to speak up. A trace of irritation crept into his voice. "Has the cat got your tongue?" "I'm in front of the city hall," I replied. Julian froze at my words. It seemed like he'd just recalled the promise he once made to me. As long as I proposed 98 times to him in front of the city hall, he would show up on the 99th attempt and accept my proposal.

"The hearing is tomorrow at 9:00 am. You'd better show up. Between the 1.2 million dollars you embezzled and the eight years of sponsorship fees you owe for breach of contract, you’ve got a very expensive tab to settle." The moment he heard that, Zachary completely lost it. He collapsed onto the ground, crying hysterically. "Rebecca, are you really going to push me this far? You're rich. Why would you even care about such a meager sum?" I let out a cold laugh, then turned and pulled open the car door. "I'd rather throw my money at a beggar. At least they'd be grateful for it. But you? You're not worth it." The car pulled away. Through the rearview mirror, I watched Zachary pound his fists ag

His expression shifted from annoyance to genuine confusion, then to deep suspicion. "A contract?" he asked, waving the paper. "One hundred days of... 'being a real husband'? What is this, some kind of sick game?" "It’s a deal," Evelyn said, her voice calm. "One hundred days of your time. You stay here. You eat breakfast with me. You come home for dinner. You act like the man everyone thinks you are when the cameras are on. No Milan. No Sarah." Arthur’s face darkened at the mention of the name. "You’re overstepping."

"Go in search of the confessor. I want her found by all means. "No matter what, make sure she doesn't die. I want her alive". He paused and took in a deep breath. "I have so many plans in store for her". Silence. "Yes, My King" the guards bowed and left. * * Her name is Isabelle. And the story of how she became the last confessor.... The confessors were females with special powers of compulsion. They compare someone by forcing them to look into their eyes, then the power takes over. The person becomes their slaves for as long as they live and do every single thing they say. The only way to break the spell was if the confessor dies.

“I brought you back to save you from the world’s corruption, not to watch you throw yourself into it.” We broke up with no agreement. His words hung in the air like smoke, fogging my mind as I went about my work. I heard confessions that morning, offering absolution to sins that seemed trivial compared to the ones we committed in the tunnels. A lay employee confessed to theft. A beginner confessed to unclean thoughts. I said the usual words, but my mind was elsewhere. On Caterina’s soft gasps in the dark. On the chained book that contained centuries of deception.