Misfortunate
On I*******m, I have about half a million followers I grew all by myself, hard work that I will not throw unto the seats because of Abdul's greed.
He hisses and crosses a leg over another, pulling out his iPhone 11 promax and typing rapidly on it. "Abdul?" I call. "Yes, Mrs two-goody-shoes?" I rear back, hurt. Goody shoes? All because I won't take money falsely? Who is this Abdul? Has this man changed right under my nose?
"Abdul," I start gently, walking further into the living room where he is sitting.
Hot Chapters