Romans & histoires A Court This Cruel And Lovely Audiobook

A gleeful smile appeared on Georgina's face immediately. The only reason Tremont could have abandoned that whore halfway was that he also despised her, right? "Do you think we should stop? She looks about to faint." Audrey spoke and Georgina shot her a glare that immediately shut her up. "If you so much sympathize with her, then you can also come down." Georgina spoke. If Aurora wanted to die, then she should do so hastily, that would be the best news of her life, Georgina thought. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeing his soul — the passion I felt was richer than gold. I loved him the first time — I loved him the last time. I chose hurt over peace.

Chapter 70: You or his precious company. Alex POV I couldn't take the torture and pain anymore. My vision blurred as Williams instructed his men to burn my legs in the pure red flame. I felt my breath catch in my throat, my heart racing with fear. My soul seemed to shatter, leaving me hollow and helpless. "Please... He's going to kill them..." I whimpered, my voice cracking. Williams' gaze narrowed, his expression unreadable. He gestured to his men, and they halted their approach.

"Let us understand why you are here." And so, Anya began to speak. She recounted the brutality of her life as a slave, the constant fear, the backbreaking labor, and the ever-present threat of violence. Her voice trembled at times, heavy with raw emotion, but there was an underlying strength, a will to survive that captivated the room. As she spoke, a sense of camaraderie settled in the dingy tavern. These were people who understood her pain, who carried their own scars from the Volkov regime. Anya saw it in their eyes, a shared hatred and a desperate yearning for a better future.

I wanted to turn it off, but my hands were shaking too badly to move. The obscene noises from the inner den, the sweet images on the crystal— it was too much. I retched violently, nails digging into my palms until they bled. By morning, Alexander walked out, Selena in his arms. He marked her forehead tenderly, then turned to me, his voice as cold as ever. "Go back to the main den. You love being the Luna, don't you? Today, I'll let you enjoy it to the fullest." Then, smirking, he wrapped his arms around Selena one last time— before yanking me out the den entrance.

Lady Humphreys walked with calculated grace, her honey-blonde hair – so like Lola's – swept into an elegant chignon that seemed incongruous with her prison-issued clothing. Beside me, Lola went completely still. I reached for her hand without looking, finding it cold and trembling beneath my fingers. Through our touch, I felt Sierra's low growl, a vibration that never reached her human's lips. "All rise for the Honourable Judge Montague," called the court officer. We stood as the judge entered, a tall woman with iron-gray hair pulled back severely from a face lined with decades of judicial consideration. Her black robes rustled as she took her seat, gesturing for the court to be seated.

he began, “I’ve learned that being a judgy piece of shit is not the way life works.” I blinked. “I want you to sit back,” he continued, finally glancing at me, “and actually think when you’re alone. What is so wrong about a woman loving a woman? Or a man loving a man?” I opened my mouth to respond, but nothing came out. “What makes you any different,” he added, his tone tightening slightly, “from the mob outside my mother's house the morning after you killed a guard of mine?” I didn’t have an answer.

I whispered, staring at the tall white building that suddenly felt too holy for so much pain. Croft squeezed my hand gently. “Jennifer… you’re stronger than this moment.” “It feels impossible,” I said. “It only feels impossible because you’re carrying love and grief at the same time,” Croft said softly. “But listen to me… Peculiar’s story doesn’t end with tragedy. It ends with the love you gave her her entire life. This funeral isn’t about losing her; it's about honoring her.” A tear slid down my cheek. Croft brushed it away with his thumb and said gently, “I’m right here for you."

" He took her to the crime scene. Just one look was enough to make Mom nearly faint. The usually warm apartment now reeked of decay. Darkened bloodstains covered the walls and even splattered the ceiling. The door to the storage room, which Mom had locked, now had a gaping hole punched straight through its center. Shreds of clothing, splintered wood, and bits of flesh still clung to it. The entire living room was marked with trails of dragged blood. Trembling, Mom covered her mouth in horror, and her eyes were bloodshot. "Was she in a lot of pain when she died?" "Pain? This was far beyond just pain. The torture lasted at least five hours."

Khumalo, Amahle's mother, her face contorted in anger. "He ruined my daughter's life," she hissed to a reporter. Priest Paul spat at my feet. "You're a disgrace to the clergy," he growled. Their words cut deep, but I knew the truth. Our love, though forbidden, was genuine. As I entered the courtroom, the weight of the world bore down on me. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the judgmental gazes of the crowd. I scanned the room, searching for Amahle's familiar smile, and found her in the back, her eyes locked on mine.