Black Sabbath Sweet Leaf Lyrics Novels & Stories

Seven years into our marriage, my husband, Lucas Thorne, is hailed as a legendary astronomer in the field of astronomy. It is no secret that he absolutely adores me, his wife. He always keeps a polite, distant demeanor with those around him. Even when his new assistant, Serena Cox, asks for his number, he coldly turns her down. In the year he proposed to me, he named a star "LAW", which was an acronym for "Lucas Adores Wilma". Since then, every asteroid he discovers is named with initials that hold a special significance only the two of us know. To others, they might just be scientific achievements. But to me, they are unspoken love letters. This goes on until this morning, when I stumble upon an unfamiliar phone. I unlock it easily with my middle name, thinking it's yet another quiet gesture of his love. But to my horror, I find a string of explicit messages between him and another woman. The person who was at the receiving end of those messages was none other than… Serena, his assistant.

I had been married to James Tennant for seven years. In that time, he had already kept twenty-nine mistresses, like pretty little canaries in gilded cages. Now, I saw the thirtieth one in our bedroom, young and draped in nothing but a bath towel, lounging across our bed. I turned to him and asked coldly, “Can’t get enough out there, huh? Did you really have to bring her home?” The girl deliberately tugged her towel lower, her pale skin showing as she sneered, “Mr. Tennant says you’re like a dead corpse in bed! He wanted me to teach you how to please a man.” That night, I was forced to watch their little performance right in front of me. The next morning, James was furious at my indifference, resenting me for not reacting. However, he seemed to forget that our marriage was nothing but a contract, and in just one week, that contract would expire.

There wasn't a package pickup station anywhere in our apartment complex. So out of goodwill, I turned my storage room into a pickup station. I took in packages, organized shelves, labeled everything, and stayed up late every night waiting for people to pick up their deliveries. Then one day, a resident showed up at my door and accused me of stealing her $3,000 gold necklace. "You signed for the delivery. Now it's gone. You had to have opened the package and swapped it out." Residents crowded the hallway, whispering behind my back. Not one person defended me. My stomach dropped. They were the ones complaining about packages getting stolen off their doorsteps. I was the one helping them. But over one baseless accusation, they turned on me instantly. I didn't argue. I just sent a message in the group chat: [Notice: Effective immediately, the One-Penny Pickup Station is officially closed. I will no longer accept, store, or manage packages for residents. Please make other pickup arrangements going forward.]

The pills I keep by my bedside have been swapped with vitamins. I almost die after getting a heart attack. After the stent surgery, I ask my husband, Evan Whitmore, to find out who did it. I just want the truth. However, he doesn't even look up and just brushes me off. "It was just a mistake. Cecilia probably grabbed the wrong bottle. She bought those vitamins for me. "Don't push this. She has asthma. She can't handle stress." I stare at him in shock, my chest tightening. I can't tell if the pain is from my healing heart or from the words he just threw at me. Cecilia Monroe is his secretary, and he always takes her side. That moment is when I realize that our five years of marriage mean nothing to him at all.

At the Davenport family dinner, I arrive wearing the same dress Tucker Davenport's true love once wore. His face darkens immediately. He glares at me coldly and orders that my dress be burned on the spot. "Damn it, Willow, can't you show a little self-awareness? Shelby might be too naive to notice, but there's no way I'm letting you appear like this in front of her." The intense heat rushes toward me as the flames consume the fabric. A sharp, burning pain shoots between my legs, crashing over me like a tidal wave. The pain drags me under, but I suddenly jolt awake, barely able to gasp a plea for mercy. Tucker doesn't spare me a glance. He simply turns away to help Shelby cut the cake. Days later, he finally remembers I exist. "As long as you behave and don't bother Shelby again, you'll still be Mrs. Davenport." I stare at the burns on my legs as my tears dry up. I refuse to beg any longer. I'm done being Mrs. Davenport.

I am one of the most ancient and powerful vampires in existence, with wealth accumulated over centuries. When everyone learned I had fallen for a dying human named Damien and turned him into my Childe, they were shocked. Five years ago, I transformed him from a penniless artist into an immortal vampire. I also turned his dying family into vampires, granting them eternal life. Every month, I took $450,000 from my accounts just to support their lavish lifestyle. Damien’s sister pleaded that they had never attended any vampire events and wanted to see what it was like. So I spent $4 million to buy them seats at a grand vampire gathering that only happens once every fifty years, where participants have the chance to gain greater power and become higher-ranking vampires. But before the gathering even began, Damien demanded that I give my seat to his childhood sweetheart Victoria. The whole family supported Damien's decision without a thought for me. So I changed my plans. I severed their immortality, reclaimed my estate, and removed them from my bloodline. That's when the family started to panic...

On the night before our engagement ceremony, Jeremiah Clarke's childhood sweetheart, Kylie Yates, used the opportunity to set an explosion in my marital home while I was out on a gathering with my best friends. She insisted on having a candlelight dinner at home. Before she left, she didn't turn off the gas, nor did she blow out the candles. A short while later, the concentration of gas in the atmosphere exceeded the safety limits. The moment it made contact with naked flames, the entire house went up in a ball of flames and hot air. That was how my parents and my younger sister, Aurelia Shaw, died in their sleep. I rushed to the scene like a madwoman. The moment I did, I saw three charred bodies getting carted out of the wreckage. Heartbroken, I bolted over to hug Aurelia's skinny and frail corpse. Finally, I broke down and wailed at the top of my heart. But Jeremiah, on the other hand, just hugged Kylie gently. "Don't be scared, Kylie. This is just an accident. I'll protect you." With an enraged shriek, I rushed over to attack Kylie. At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to rip her apart. But Jeremiah shoved me away, causing me to fall to the ground. "That's enough, Olivia Shaw! This is just an accident! It has nothing to do with Kylie!" Later on, Jeremiah had the audacity to destroy all the clues related to this incident just so he could protect Kylie. Overwhelmed by despair, I used the same method to take down Jeremiah and Kylie with me to hell. When I open my eyes again, I've actually returned to the day before my engagement! This time, I quickly arrange for my parents and Aurelia to stay in a hotel instead. Unexpectedly, an explosion still occurs at night. Three charred bodies are still found at the explosion site. This leaves me feeling very confused. Who are they? What are they doing in my home?

I was known throughout the Shadow Pack as the perfect, obedient she-wolf. So obedient, in fact, that when my mate David left me during our eighty-eighth Bonding Ceremony, I still chose to forgive him. Until that fateful day—our eighty-ninth ceremony—when an anonymous werewolf gifted us a wedding present worth five hundred million dollars. The screen meant to play our sweet memories suddenly switched to a live broadcast: Amy, auctioning off her virginity for exactly five hundred million dollars. In our Pack, the first night symbolizes the deepest loyalty and love between true mates. If a she-wolf loses her first night to someone other than her mate, she is shunned by the entire Pack—branded with shame and rejection. Tears shimmered in Amy’s eyes as she looked straight into the camera, like it was her final goodbye. “David, if I can’t be your mate, then my purity means nothing.” “I only hope… you’ll never forget me.” David didn’t even hesitate. He threw away our moonstone ring and bolted from the ceremony hall. The Pack murmured in stunned disbelief. Everyone knew one thing: I loved David—but David only had eyes for his so-called savior, Amy. Now, the only question anyone whispered about was whether we’d make it to the ninetieth Bonding Ceremony. But I knew the truth— There would never be a ninetieth. So I left, my heart shattered in silence. But later, I heard he had regretted everything he had done— And had been desperately searching for me ever since. Because the truth was, I was the one who saved his life—not Amy.

After getting drunk, my husband’s childhood sweetheart drove and ran over my seventy-year-old mother, crushing her into a mangled corpse. She died on the spot. However, my CEO husband, Jason, insisted on signing a settlement on her behalf. “My mother-in-law was committing insurance fraud. She deliberately lay under the tires. She should bear full responsibility.” Not only did he get his childhood sweetheart, Olivia, cleared of all charges, but he also transferred the 10,000,000-dollar insurance payout from my mother to her as emotional damages. “Olivia and I grew up together. I cannot just watch her go to prison and ruin her life. Be reasonable and stop making a fuss.” After leaving the police station, Olivia made a post on social media. [Jason standing up for me was so amazing. Childhood sweethearts really are forever family!] Jason liked her post right in front of me. I remained terrifyingly calm. “Jason, let us get a divorce.” He scoffed. “You’re just saying that to make me comfort you, right? Megan, you are 30 years old. Can you stop being childish?” I had brought up divorce countless times, and he never believed I would truly leave. What he did not know was that among the case documents he had just signed, there was a divorce agreement. He had already signed it himself.

At our daughter’s three-month milestone party, my husband Garrett’s so-called "best friend" publicly humiliated me. “Hey, Vivian. I heard you're a little loose down there after popping out the kid.” "If it's that bad, you better get some tightening surgery quick—don't wanna mess up your marriage vibes!" Garrett shot her a playful glare and snapped, "Knock it off, Scarlett! You can't just say whatever pops into your head." Then he turned to me with a breezy shrug. "She's just like that—total tomboy. We grew up together; she means no harm." Scarlett shook her half-exposed breast and pouted, "Oh, come on, don't take it personally, Vivian. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous of you." "See, my problem is the opposite. I'm way too tight—hurts like hell during my period. No clue who's gonna get lucky with this later." Then she cut her eyes toward Garrett with a playful wink. " Oh right, you've tried it before, haven't you?" The room went dead silent. Every pair of eyes drifted toward me, barely concealing their curiosity. I smiled, set down my wine glass, and looked at Scarlett with fake concern. "That's strange. I don't remember making it that tight when I did your surgery."