Astronomy Table In Hogwarts

Every Christmas Eve, the heir of the Marco mafia family—Adrian Marco, must follow the family tradition: Draw a name to decide whether he’s allowed to marry me. Because I, Irene Cast, am not mafia-born. Unless he draws the slip with my name on it, he can’t take me as his wife. For four years, Adrian has drawn four times. And not once did he draw my name. I always thought he fought with his family because of me— that he was willing to risk losing his position as the Don, just to choose me. Every time he failed, he held me so tightly and whispered, “It’s okay. There’s always next year.” And I loved him so much it hurt. Hurt enough that I was willing to wait, year after year. This year, I told myself: If he still doesn’t draw my name… I’ll secretly switch the result. I sneaked to the door of Adrian’s study, and heard his younger brother ask: “Don… every year you do draw Irene's name. Why do you pretend you didn’t? Is it because you still can’t let Sera go?” But he simply said, in a flat voice, “Sera needs me for something urgent. Do what you always do: swap Irene’s name for a blank one.” He walked out without looking back. Instead of swapping, he tossed the blank slip into the trash, left the one with my name on the table, and hurried after Adrian. I went inside, picked up the blank slip from the trash, and replaced the one with my name. Watching my own name fall into the garbage. Adrian…I don’t want to wait and marry you anymore. I’ll grant you your choice.

I stretched lazily on the bed, much like a contented kitten, before opening my eyes. Hovering above me was a face that could have been sculpted by the gods—a handsome, well-defined face with sun-kissed golden eyes. My first groggy thought was that Cara had finally brought home a decent, well-groomed man for a change. But…. Why is he in my room? I abruptly shoved him away, ending the spell. "Get off your asshole!" With a scowl on my face, I got up quickly. “Was personal space not mentioned by Clara, huh?” I spoke in an irritated tone. “Clara?” He turned and casually picked up some papers from a nearby table, settling down with an annoying smile. “And who might that be, if I may ask?” He doesn’t even remember her? Asshole “Well, if you must know, Clara—” I started, but my words faltered as something shiny caught my eye. What is..? Then my memories began to flood back. —it’s a damn golden sofa. Shit. Brain Freeze. ~~~ Growing up as the oldest kid on a Chicago farm was no picnic for Mary Johnson. Her folks, good ol' Mr. and Mrs. Becky Johnson, were salt-of-the-earth types, who worked hard on their small farm not far from the gritty backstreets of Chicago. They taught Mary and her siblings the value of hard work, self-value. But as much as Mary loved her family, she dreamed big, but those dreams took a backseat when she needed to step up and help support her family. Then, out of the blue, fate threw her a curveball. A chance in the US came knocking, and Mary didn't hesitate. And then she crossed paths with the Blacks – New York’s high society, dripping with wealth and power, who offered her a deal she couldn’t refuse.

"Good girl, now, call me daddy!" He whispers; his voice sexy as . "Daddy!" I voiced out, but it came out as a whispering threat. "Louder!" He commands. "Daddy!" I yelled softly, feeling the deliciousness of how sins are made. He my forehead and then reaches over to the bedside table for a foil packet. "Stay still, don't move," He orders as he releases my hair. He rips the foil while I'm breathing hard, my blood singing in my veins. The anticipation is exhilarating. He leans down, his weight on me again, and he grabs my hair holding my head immobile. I cannot move. He enticingly traps me, and he's poised and ready to take me once more. "We're going to go real, slow this time, Brie," he breathes. And slowly, he knocks on my sinful entrance of mahogany as he slowly pushes inside of me in ease into me until his length is fully buried in me. He was stretching, filling, relentless. I groan loudly. It feels deeper this time, delectable. I complained again, and he deliberately circles his hips and pulls back, pauses a beat, and then eases his way back in. - Let's talk about the most powerful young bachelor, A business mogul of his time, Jonathan Christopher, De Leon. Combined, JACE DE LEON. After a failed attempt from high school, the courageous plus timid girl left him with a very challenging heart target hunt. A couple of years passed, his hunger for her supplemented after prowling her like what feels like forever, he yearns for her which leads to racing hormones and drifting dark desires of his very own Infatuations. How will the relationship between a powerful casanova and an elegant part-timer be restricted?

“How long has this been going on?” Fatima’s voice is steady, almost too steady. Her husband of six years stands there without a hint of shame. “Does it matter, Fatima? Yes, Leslie is pregnant with my child, but nothing is going to change,” he says, annoyed that she dares question him. Her calmness makes him shift, though he refuses to show it. “How. Long?” She repeats slowly, keeping her voice low so she won’t wake their sleeping children. “Three years.” Fatima blinks. “You’ve been cheating on me for half our marriage… with your business partner?” “Lower your voice. Don’t make it sound bad. I’m a man – these things happen.” He even chuckles. “Leslie will be taken care of. You’ll stay the wife, and Leslie and I–” “Will get married,” she cuts in. He stares, thrown off, until she adds, “Top drawer in your office. Divorce papers. Sign them first thing tomorrow.” No tears. No raised voice. No trembling. Just calm finality, and that unsettles him more than anger ever could. “I’m not letting that happen. You’re my wife.” “Ex-wife,” she corrects softly. Before he can react, Fatima pushes her chair back and stands. She doesn’t storm off or slam anything. She simply picks up a magazine from the table and walks out with quiet, controlled steps, far too composed for a woman ending a six-year marriage. And that hits him harder than any shouting would have. No tears. No pleading. No hesitation. Nothing. It wounds his pride. He deserves tears. “Hold on,” he snaps, rising quickly from his seat.

SAVAGE LOVE GENRE: Romance By, Tamar writes PROLOGUE Amour sniffed back her tears as she watched the scene before her. Never in her life would she have imagined getting herself in this situation she currently was. It felt like a never ending nightmare. The sound of footsteps was what rented the room, it was coming from a tall figure, his gaze never left the man that was tied down on a chair with both his hands chained down on the table The figure held a sharp silver colored knife in his hand, twirling as if it was his play toy, a vicious smirk playing on his lips Every step he took instilled fear and panic inside the man that was tied down. “Boss please forgive me! I was drunk so I thought she was one of the clan's whóre I swear I didn't know she was yours" The man begged like his life depended on it. "Which hand did you use to touch her" Aurelio spoke calmly. "My.. My.. L-Left-" He wasn't chanced to finish his sentence when Aurelio cut off his left hand completely. Blood splashed on his cheek as it began bumping out of the man's hand. "Aargh!!!" The agonizing cry from the man echoed in the room as he peed on himself. Aurelio turned to Amour who looked horrified with the scene she just witnessed. His hands found his way to her neck and he gripped it tightly, bringing her face close to his so he could have a clear view of the terrified look on her face. "This Is just the highest level of my kindness compared to what I can do. Remember this, you're mine! Mine to touch, mine to f**k, mine to do whatever I want with... No one else... But me"

Dark Mafia Scene “Who laid a hand on you? Dallion's voice was low, cold, and dangerous. His dark gaze bore into her, daring her to stay silent. When she didn’t respond, the tension snapped like a whip, his voice booming through the room, “Who?” The butler, standing rigid against the wall, swallowed hard before stammering out the words, “It... it was Mr. Rivers, sir.” The atmosphere turned deadly as Dallion's jaw clenched, fury igniting in his eyes. “Bring him to me.” The butler’s eyes widened in fear. “N-now, sir? It’s... it’s late.” Dallion's hand, once braced against the wall near her head, slowly curled into a fist. His eyes never left her face, his possessiveness was palpable. Without looking at the butler, his voice dropped to a lethal calm, “Do you need a better time? Or shall I break your legs to teach you urgency?” The butler didn’t need any more encouragement. He fled the room, returning twenty minutes later with a trembling Mr. Rivers. “Dallion, my friend, what’s all this about?” Rivers began, his voice casual as if nothing was amiss. But Dallion wasn't’t here for pleasantries. His eyes slid to the knife stabbed into the apple on the table, and in one fluid motion, he yanked it free, the blade glinting in the dim light. Without a word, Dallion grabbed Rivers outstretched hand, slamming it onto the table. The sharp scream that followed echoed in the room as Dallion, with one swift movement, sliced through the man’s fingers. Blood splattered across the polished wood as Rivers screamed in agony, clutching his mutilated hand. “No one touches what belongs to me,” Dallion's voice was eerily calm, his expression devoid of any sympathy.

"How can I marry a man I do not know?" "Your father is the one who decides what can happen." "Why do I have to marry him?" "Your father wants to do business with him, and it is so much that it would take us from top twenty to top ten." Nirelle’s fate is sealed. After a life of endless scrubbing, suffering, and silence, her father decides her worth lies in securing a business deal. A deal so massive, it promises to thrust their family into elite status—at the cost of her freedom. Married off to a man cloaked in more secrets than the night sky, Nirelle wants to run. But there's nowhere to go. With every ounce of strength she has left, she chooses to shift prisons—from her father’s oppressive home to her new husband’s mansion. Lucien Vexley is nothing like she expected. The name alone strikes fear on the streets, the rumours painting him as a shadowy, ruthless enigma. Yet the man sitting across from her at the dining table, caring for her in ways she’s never known, is nothing like the beast they described. Lucien is a mystery she can’t seem to solve, and worse, he is her father's enemy. "You are handsome?" "It seems you were expecting me to be a beast?" "Well, according to the rumours," "Am I not here as a scapegoat for something?" Nirelle doesn’t understand the warmth beginning to stir in her chest, the way her stomach flutters when he's near. But something is changing. Something deep. Something dangerous. And she can't help it when she wants to join hands with him to take her father down. Sold to My Father's Enemy is a revenge tale that would keep you at the edge of your seats.

I took my gun beside the table and playing it with my bear hands. I'm eager to kill the assh*le who is now kneeling in front of us but my dear brother said that he should suffer first before we gonna kill him. "Now assh*le, I'm going to ask you for the last time. Who ordered you to kill us?" My Brother said while he pointing his gun on the forehead of the assh*le. "I WILL NEVER ANSWER YOUR QUESTION EVEN IF YOU KILL ME." The assh*le shout right on the face of Clay, which cause Clay to get mad and give him a hard punch on the stomach. "Ouchie! If I we're you I'm gonna tell him who's behind of killing us before my dear husband get angry." Suzanne Medina the wife of Clay. "You don't know me when I'm angry." Clay get a dagger and slice the face of the assh*le. "ARRGGHHH!" The assh*le keep screaming everytime Clay slice every part of his body. I smile a devilished one. That's my dear brother wants. Torturing his prey. But I have a short temper. *BANG!* "Sharp shooter, baby." I'm pointing my gun to Suzanne. I don't want to call a baby. "Easy dear sister." She hang her two arms in the air. She surrender. "WHY DID YOU DO THAT?!" Anger is written all over the face of Clay as he turned to me. "Tss." The damaged has been than and we could do nothing to turn back the time. "Short tempered as always, my dear sister." He about to put his arm when I grab it and put it on his back. "Easy dear sister. I'm kidding." He said.

I was the girl no one noticed. Until I opened File Case No. 0001. Azrael Atlas St. Claire. They call him “The Architect.” A ghost. A cold-blooded killer. A man so dangerous the FBI can’t touch. His death would shatter the economy. Rival syndicates would burn the city to kill him. He has no weakness. Then he found me. He appeared in my archive and vanished without a trace. The next morning, gifts started appearing on my nightstand. First, a bullet coated in dried blood. Second, ten fingers belonging to the man who touched me. He watched. Followed. Stalked my every move. Then one night, he came through my window. He took what he wanted while I floated in haze. I woke up sore, terrified…and craving for more—needing for more. The FBI saw a fracture in me, and decided to weaponize it. They wired me. Made me their spy with a promised I’d be safe if I helped them cage the monster. Yet, at the first sign of blood, they ran. Leaved me in chaos. He stayed. Now, I lived in his world. My mother thinks the lawyer at her table is a kind stranger. She didn’t feel his hand between my thighs underneath. She doesn’t know he’s been sculpting my life for years, long before we ever met. The FBI wants me to betray him. His enemies want me dead for revenge. But the monster who stole my life? He’s the only one who ever truly saw me. And I’m starting to wonder if that makes me just as dangerous as him. They say there’s a line between the victim and the villain. I don’t think I’m on the right side anymore.

One of Ethan Sterling's closest friends got drunk and humiliated me. Called me a nobody orphan who married above her station, said I'd never be accepted by the Sterlings, that I wasn't fit to sit at their table. Ethan smashed a bottle over the man's head. He announced in front of everyone that if anyone ever disrespected me again, he'd make them pay. When I was pregnant and the morning sickness was so brutal I couldn't keep anything down, he went and scheduled a vasectomy. He didn't want me to suffer through another pregnancy. This was a man who loved me like I was his whole world. And yet — when I was lying on the operating table about to give birth, he was standing right in front of me with his arms around Iris, putting on a show for anyone watching. Iris was the daughter of another old-money family and she'd donated bone marrow to save Ethan's mother's life. The night before her own engagement, her fiance betrayed her, and the trauma wiped her memory clean. Now the only thing she knew for certain was that Ethan Sterling was her husband. In her world, I was the homewrecker — the scheming woman using the bastard in her belly to force her husband into a divorce. Ethan promised me it was all an act. Just repaying the debt for his mother's life. Once Iris recovered, he'd walk away from her immediately. But when I picked up the surgical consent form for him to sign, and his first instinct was to pull Iris behind him — to shield her — I knew. His heart had already drifted off course. The fairy tale of a Cinderella marrying into high society was over. Time to wake up.