Books Like Can't Hurt Me นิยาย & เรื่องราว

"I should’ve strangled you with a towel the second I was done playing with you!" "Damn it, I trusted you! I really thought you treated me so well and even cared about my education because you truly wanted to be my woman!" I smiled faintly, tears silently streaming down my face. Boys like Daniel, spoiled by a life of luxury, often grew into insufferable narcissists if they were even slightly dim-witted. They thought conquering a woman was as simple as snapping their fingers and imagined themselves as untouchable kings. But what Daniel didn’t realize was that the sharpest weapon is often a velvet glove.

Author Note: Dear Readers, Since English is not my first language, there will be tons of grammatical mistakes. Please continue reading this book only if you don't have any issue with that. Rest I could guarantee you that you won't get bored with the storyline. The following are my books which are completed until now if interested do give a look over them. Her Unloved Mate Winning My Mate Back I Belong to Him Can't Help Falling in Love. My Bride is Not a Human

There are times I needed help like to carry my luggage to the elevator, to assemble the things that slipped out of my hands, and to hail a taxi, and very simple things, I am always finding someone near me to help. “You are over thinking it.” Sasha would say. I couldn’t help it. It is in my blood. Rule number one, never talk about blood if you don’t want to cry. So, I kept rules, like never to open the news related him or related to business in any way, don’t watch any kind of romantic films and best, never read them. Never stare at happy couple, never look at pregnant or infants and the last one- Never think of the word rules, for I had a past with rules too; just keep my head down, go to or

Now it was my job to protect all of our kind. VENUS P.O.V... "Now, I know that I can't make you stay, but where's your heart, but where's your heart, but where's your-, and I know there's nothing I can say to change that part, to change that..." My eyes snap open to the alarm on my phone playing my favorite song, Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance. They have been my favorite band for years. "So many bright lights, they cast a shadow, but can I speak?"

I feel my hands sweating with nervousness. I can hear the cars stopping in front of the house. Slowly I walk to the wall-size windows, and I peak out. I am curious to see my future dear husband. One thing is for sure. He should sleep with one eye open because I might kill him in his sleep and become a black widow. I have no problem with that. I close my eyes, shaking my head. I think my books have a bad influence on me. This would be a good plot. I make a mental note to write that story. A mafia story. Who knows. It might even be a best-selling story.

Inside the Archive, the shelves moved with my breath. I passed by a book bound in velvet dusk. Its title: The First Time You Chose Softness Over Safety. Another: How You Loved When No One Was Looking. I reached for a third. It burned with light before revealing its name: What You Became When You Stopped Trying to Be Understood. I wept then—not from pain, but from reunion. The guide touched my shoulder. “There’s one more,” they said. They led me to a door I hadn’t noticed.

This was my last hope. “This is my last hope! This fucking study is…” I would have roared, body trembling and palms sweating when my gaze fell on the bookshelf. “Maybe I'll find a book that will help with my madness after this.” I sighed, giving up. I began to rummage through the covers, hoping for a title that would catch my attention. Shawn seemed to read a lot of books on self-growth and improvement. He also read a few about redemption but when I found one titled: ‘The Weightiness of Guilt’, something about it drew me closer.

Daniel Hart was a chapter closed with no intention of being reread. And then, on a crisp Saturday morning in early October, I met him. The bookstore was nearly empty—one of those independent shops with mismatched chairs, shelves that reached too high, and the scent of cedar and old paper in the air. I went there often, drawn to its quiet corners and anonymity. I was in the psychology aisle, flipping through a worn copy of The Body Keeps the Score, when I heard a voice behind me. “That one saved my life. Or at least explained why I couldn’t sleep for three years.”

The Silent Patient, The Art Of Dealing With People, Criminal Psychology, Bad Science, The Power Of Your Conscious Mind, Thinking Fast And Slow, Atomic Habits, Rationality, Talking To Strangers, Righteous Mind, The Theory Of Everything. I suddenly stopped reading the names of the books when my right knee hit the wooden shelf. I bent down and rubbed it, trying to soothe the pain. It's like a thunderbolt fell on my knee. It's a little ache but I react to it a lot for a moment. It's terrible, like a thunderbolt! Once again, I glance up at the shelf. It's filled with books which are related to psychology, human development and universe theories etc. I huff.

Most importantly, the person needed to be comfortable listening. Marcus opened another database. The search became narrower. Behavioral health specialists, clinical psychologists, correctional rehabilitation consultants. Mental health professionals with experience working around inmates. He moved through dozens of profiles. Some were overqualified. Others had no experience inside secure facilities. A few had backgrounds that would make even a routine employment check raise questions.