Novel & Cerita Becoming Unbecoming Book

She offered me a small, sympathetic smile before turning to leave the room, leaving me alone with the deafening silence and the weight of what I had lost. As the door clicked shut behind her, I let out a shuddering breath, my chest tightening with the weight of unshed tears. I couldn't decide what hurt more—the loss of my baby or the realisation that Grayson had been gone for four days. But what else could I expect from someone as heartless as him? To him, I had been nothing more than a vessel for his child. Now that I no longer served a purpose, he had discarded me like something broken and forgotten.

"Think about it, Elliot. The world respects a man with a strong partner by his side. Isabella is willing, She would make things easy for you. Don't let this opportunity slip away." With that, she walked past him. The door shut behind her, leaving Elliott in the silence once more. He exhaled, shaking his head. This day had been a nightmare. His father’s threats and his mother’s scheming. His entire life being dictated by people who saw him as nothing more than a piece in their empire. He needed a drink. Grabbing his keys, he walked out — The bar was dimly lit, buzzing with quiet conversations and the clinking of glasses. It was exclusive, the kind of place where the elite came to drink away t

Tasting the filth, the fire, the fever he wrote into every page of my skin. The next morning, a box sat on the kitchen counter. Hardcover, freshly printed. My was name on the cover—and his. ‘Yours, Uncensored.’ “Is this—?” I asked, fingers trembling over the title. “Our story,” he said behind me, pulling my robe down to bare my shoulder. “Every filthy, furious, unforgettable chapter.” “You’re insane,” I breathed. “And you love it.” He kissed the top of my spine. The back cover quote? I read it aloud.

Then a staff member touched her arm. The moment vanished. Lena smiled. Turned away. And continued walking. --- By dusk they retreated. Nobody argued. Nobody wanted to stay. The place crawled under their skin. The false peace. The manufactured contentment. The smiles. God. The smiles. --- The bookshop basement was unusually quiet when they returned. People gathered around the central table. Waiting. Watching. Hoping. Bea hated being the one who had to speak first. She rubbed her hands over her face.

he said, staring directly at me. "Of course. I wanted to have a baby," I replied. "Wanted?" "Yes. I used to want many children. I would always dream about pampering them and picking them up from school. I always dreamed of going shopping with them and making their favourite meals. I paused. "But that was before." "Before what?" Daniel asked quietly. "Before I realised I needed to become someone first." I held his gaze. "Now, all I want is to leave this place and grow into the woman I was always supposed to be."

But the content was unmistakable once I understood what I was reading. It described, in careful and frightened handwriting, an encounter with what the writer called the Unmaking. A presence, the writer said, that had appeared in the eastern territories claiming to offer freedom from limitation, freedom from balance, freedom from the careful checked structures that the old families had built to keep power from concentrating in any single line. The writer had refused whatever the Unmaking offered. The writer had died three months later, of causes the letter's continuation, if it had ever existed, did not survive to describe.