Boku No Hero Academia Plus Ultra

Vincenzo Moretti était le plus jeune magnat de la finance à Paris. Il dirigeait un groupe technologique coté en bourse, pesant plusieurs milliards d'euros, et faisait la une des magazines économiques comme l'un des nouveaux prodiges de la capitale. Mais seuls quelques initiés savaient qu'il était en réalité le parrain qui contrôlait le cœur même de la mafia du sud de la France. La richesse, le pouvoir, le destin… à ses yeux, ce n'étaient que des pions sur un échiquier. Et moi, je n'avais été qu'une pièce qu'il avait utilisée pour sceller une alliance entre familles. Dix ans de mariage… pendant lesquels il avait couché avec mes amies, mes collègues, avec des personnes en qui j'avais placé toute ma confiance. Un matin, je portais notre bébé à peine un mois pour aller à un contrôle médical. Sa dernière maîtresse, Sienna, a foncé sur moi en voiture. Mon enfant pleurait à s'en étouffer et je l'ai suppliée de nous emmener à l'hôpital. Lorsque Vincenzo est arrivé, son visage n'exprimait que le mépris. « Isabella, depuis quand as-tu appris à te jeter sous les voitures ? Même si tu mourais devant moi, je ne te jetterais pas un seul regard. » Puis, il a tourné les talons, la main serrée dans celle de sa nouvelle conquête. Quand j'ai finalement été conduite à l'hôpital, le bébé avait déjà cessé de respirer. Ma mère, en apprenant la nouvelle, a été foudroyée par une crise cardiaque… elle n'a pas survécu. Je suis restée deux jours dans le coma. À mon réveil, Vincenzo n'était pas venu. C'est son père, Renato Moretti, le véritable vieux parrain, qui se tenait devant mon lit. Je l'ai regardé dans les yeux et j'ai dit calmement : « Laissez-moi partir. Ce que je devais à votre famille, je l'ai déjà payé de ma vie. » Plus tard, cet époux mafieux qui m'avait toujours traitée avec froideur s'est agenouillé devant moi pour me supplier de revenir. Mais je n'étais plus cette femme pitoyable qui baissait les yeux en l'attendant. J'étais… celle qui tourne les talons et ne se retourne jamais.

Je suis revenue à la vie, et j'ai décidé d'écrire le nom de ma sœur sur la demande de mariage. Cette fois, j'ai laissé Laurent Hénault à ma petite sœur. Dans cette vie, j'ai été la première à faire porter la robe de mariée à ma sœur, à lui faire enfiler la bague de fiançailles. J'ai moi-même provoqué chacune de leurs rencontres. Il a emmené ma sœur à Paris, et je suis aussitôt partie dans le sud pour étudier à l'université de Nice. Tout cela, simplement parce que, dans ma vie précédente, j'avais déjà dépassé la cinquantaine, et pourtant, j'ai tout de même accepté de les voir — lui et notre fils — me supplier à genoux de divorcer, simplement pour accomplir sa dernière histoire d'amour avec ma sœur. Ayant revécu une vie, je n'ai souhaité qu'une chose : déployer mes ailes et m'éloigner de tout attachement sentimental.

I chase my six-year-old daughter out of the house on a cold winter day. I cut her new clothes to pieces and dirty her dainty little face with mud. Then, I give her all my savings. She looks at me tearfully and reaches out for me, wanting me to hold her. However, I harden my heart and push her away, saying, "Leave! Go to Bowen Group and look for their CEO, Logan Bowen. Show him my death certificate and your DNA test—he'll take you in." She sobs while looking at me. "Don't you want me anymore, Mommy? Let's go look for Daddy together." After a brief silence, I say, "I can't go with you. I lied to him back then to have you." Yes, I'm a liar. I orchestrated everything from meeting Logan, dating him, to ultimately leaving him with his child in my womb. Even the death certificate I've given my daughter is fake. From beginning to end, I've lied to him about everything except our daughter.

Fedora Smith was done with love. Finished. Buried. Betrayal had ripped out her heart and torched it—her boyfriend of four years and her best friend of twenty-five caught pants down on the very anniversary sheets she gifted him. And their excuses? “You’re not attractive anymore.” “You took too long to marry him.” Fine. If love was a game, she was rewriting the rules. Now, she runs The Bridal Fix, an elite agency providing fake marriages for a steep price—rent-a-bride services for men needing to fool their families, secure an inheritance, or stage the perfect breakup. Fifteen weddings, fifteen divorces—no strings, no mess. Just business. Until Judah Carlstone. He hires her like the rest—one contract, one wedding, one payday. But Judah asks too many questions. Looks at her too long. And when he smirks and says— "Tell me, Fedora… how does it feel to say ‘I do’ and not mean it?" For the first time in years, she has no answer. Because this was never supposed to feel real.

Despite a decade of marriage, Simon never once shared my bed, claiming that he had pledged himself to ascetic practices and that it was beneath him. I thought that he suffered from some shameful ailment and guarded his secret like a devoted fool, until my birthday, when I came home to find him entangled with a brothel worker before the floor-length mirror. When I lunged forward in rage, he drove a shard of that broken mirror straight through my heart. When I awoke, I was gripping my phone, its screen illuminating a message Simon had just sent: [I’ll still give you a lavish wedding, but the marriage certificate? That belongs to her.]

Two years after we marry, my husband moves his sister and her family into our marital home. The four of them settle down and refuse to leave. So, I quit both my jobs. I laze around at home all day and splurge on various things. I have so many parcels delivered that they pile up by the door. Occasionally, I ask my husband and his sister for allowance. When the management office sends someone to chase for our maintenance fee, my husband breaks down so loudly that everyone in the building can hear him. He asks me whether I've lost my mind—who will support the family if I don't work? How will we survive without money? Am I going to allow our family to starve? So, it turns out he does know that we'll starve without anyone generating income. Why does he and his sister stay at home and plot to take away all my money, then?

I was reborn back to 1975, when the child in my womb was three months old. I did not tell anyone and quietly had an abortion. However, I still wrapped cotton around my belly every day, pretending the baby was still there. In my past life, my husband Declan Huxley's childhood sweetheart Jane Patton and I gave birth on the same day. She had a healthy, ordinary baby boy. But my child looked nothing like us—he was mixed-race, with features of the Valorian people. Declan and I were both locals, so there was no way our son could look like this. Enraged, Declan scolded me in front of everyone, accusing me of cheating on him and having a disgraceful affair with a Valorian. No matter how many times I explained, no one believed me, and I became the shameful woman everyone pointed at. Worse still, Declan reported me and handed in some foreign letters he found at home, which led to me being taken by federal agents and sentenced as a spy. I spent ten years in prison, and when I finally walked out, I was nothing but skin and bones. Meanwhile, Declan had climbed the ranks for his so-called loyalty to the country. He held Jane's hand and brought along my real son, Seth Huxley, then threw 500 dollars at me like it was charity. He said, "Back then, Jane was accidentally deceived by someone else and gave birth to that brat. Unlike you, she has a gentle nature and couldn't endure hardship, so I had no choice but to switch your children. "This money is payment for your ten years and your reputation. You have a criminal record, and I already filed for divorce long ago to be with Jane. Seth also thinks you're not worthy of me, so you better take care of yourself." Seth also looked at me with disgust. "Mommy Jane treats me very well, and she's not like you; she's never been to prison. I don't want a mother like you!" When I learned the truth, the fury was so overwhelming that I had a stroke and died in despair. In this new life, I want to see how they plan to scheme against me when the child is already gone.

Cold and proud to all, Beamon Slade, Northarch's strongest Alpha, reserves his gentleness solely for me. Everyone knows that I'm his Luna. But today, his first love is infected with deadly wolfsbane and on the brink of death. He hands me a herbal pill that can seal memories and temporarily remove the mate mark. "Eiro won't last another three days, Swan. "Could you give me three days to fulfill her dream of becoming a Luna through a symbolic marking ceremony? I won't hurt you. This pill temporarily severs the bond and makes you forget me. "When the ceremony ends three days later, take the antidote and you'll remember everything. We'll get back together." Looking at his calm, gentle expression, I silently swallow the pill without hesitation. He has no idea, but I crafted the pill with my own hands. There's no such thing as an antidote. Three days from now, I'll completely forget him. All our embraces, vows, marks, and his past gentleness will vanish with the wind.

He stared at his emotionless flower before guiding two fingers under her chin forcing her to look up in his dark blue eyes. "I am asking you again fiore. Say what I want to hear?" He mumbled carssing her ice cold lips even her body was shivering because of all the torture he gave her a while ago but the girl being herself didn't reply him. "Answer me! Will you say it now?" He warned her that he wouldn't stop until he hear her what he wants but looking in his eyes she emotionlessly replied. "No, Master. I don't love you." An emotionless ice flower of his was the only quest of his life. He wanted nothing more than to conquer her but can he? Or will he end up in a pit of her vicious love which will throw him on his knees for her? Spin off Yes, Master containing Rafael Hunt and Rose Story.

Quelle est la première chose que tu ferais si tu renaissais ? Moi ? Je commencerais par divorcer de mon mari, Gabriel Delacroix. Oui, Gabriel Delacroix, le même homme qui dirige la moitié du monde criminel depuis l'ombre. Le Parrain. L'homme le plus riche du monde. Celui dont rêvent toutes les femmes ; son visage était partout sur les magazines, nommé « L'homme le plus sexy du monde » cinq années de suite. Dans ma vie précédente, j'avais tout essayé pour qu'il me regarde comme si j'avais de l'importance. Je l'avais épousé. J'avais donné naissance à son fils. J'avais avalé toute ma fierté en essayant d'être l'épouse parfaite. Mais ça n'avait pas marché. Pour lui, je n'étais pas différente d'une serveuse à qui il laisserait un pourboire — oubliable, remplaçable, invisible. Alors cette fois, je ne supplie pas. Je ne fais pas semblant. Je remets à Madeleine Girard la clé de ma place dans sa vie, et je m'en vais. C'est le premier amour de Gabriel, et aussi l'ombre qui avait hanté chacun de mes jours dans ma vie précédente. Madeleine était assise en face de moi ; elle a cligné des yeux comme si elle n'avait pas bien compris ce que je venais de dire. « Tu as tellement essayé de me repousser », a-t-elle dit lentement, les yeux plissés. « Et maintenant tu veux que je sois avec Gabriel ? » « Oui. C'est tout ce que je demande. Parle à Gabriel. Dis-lui de signer les papiers du divorce. » J'ai regardé son visage confus et j'ai continué : « Tout le monde sait que je ne pourrais jamais abandonner Gabriel. Alors si je dis que je veux divorcer, il ne me croira pas une seule seconde. Mais toi ? C'est toi qui peux faire en sorte que ça arrive… n'est-ce pas ? » Elle a ri, parce qu'elle avait enfin sa chance. J'ai ri aussi, parce que j'étais enfin libre.