Breakfast Translate

Ella is her name. She's just an ordinary girl. Oh, wait, is she really as ordinary as we presumed about her? Allora, you can't guess it right. For she herself didn't know about her true identity. Living in a ramshackle hut with an old man with whom she had no blood relation. There's nothing extraordinary about her lifestyle or even her. She wakes up, prepares breakfast for both of them, and then the old man leaves of food hunting. They're living an extremely poor life which is a common status in her surroundings. And one day she had a mysterious dream, the one she had never thought of. Not even in her dreams! Her 18th birthday was coming right after two days and she's having his dream as a present. Well, a present worth it all. Forest, wolves, handcuffed maiden, and the demand. A two-word demand, asking for the keys. What keys those strange, voiced creatures were asking for? Whose keys? She didn't know but soon she will know.

Something strange is happening at the Dumitrese mansion. Every month a few slaves are taken away and never return. Amos, a slave who has been in the slave area of the Dumitrese mansion since childhood, tries to find out what's going on. But, unfortunately that day he was caught. His brother was shot to death. Amos was saved by Seraphine, the youngest daughter of Tudor Dumitrese. But, after knowing who Sera really was, Amos wished he had died with his brother. Sera played with Amos like a toy. She never let him be free. Until Amos had earned the hatred of Sera's fiance. Amos realized that the Dumitrese family was not human. *** Note : English is not my first language. But I tried my best to translate it. I hope you enjoy reading it. Feel free to leave comments. Thank you ❤️

In the third year the law firm was established, Claire Stone joined the firm as an assistant. From then on, my boyfriend started buying breakfast for her. My childhood friend also drove her to and from work. As for me, I became the wicked woman who bullied the newbie. The repeated disappointments made me decide to expel them from my life. So I agreed to a marriage contract with someone else, and while my boyfriend and childhood friend mocked me, I left the firm we had formed together. Later, they learned that they had been showering all their love and attention on a spy sent by a rival law firm. When they regretted their actions and asked me to go back to them, my husband sent them an invitation to our wedding.

"Good morning, Greg. What would you like for breakfast?" "What? Did you just call me Greg? Are we mates? What gives you the right to call me that? Just because you're my wife? Listen, don't you ever call me Greg." "But... we're... married..." "So what? I only married you because of my grandmother. And let's face it, we're not on the same level, whether it's age, class, or status. You're just an eighteen-year-old country girl." "I'm 26, and you're only 18. An eight-year age gap isn't a joke. Just because we're married doesn't mean you can call me by my name. Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders?" "How should I address you then?" "Just call me sir. I don't ever want to hear 'Greg' from your mouth again," I said sternly "The Billionaire's Country Girl Bride" is an engaging novel about the marriage between Greg, a rich businessman, and Sophie, a young country girl. Greg insists on being called "sir" by Sophie due to their age gap, and sets strict rules that keep them apart. As Greg brings other women home and ignores Sophie's feelings, she finds support in her university roommate, Diana. The story follows Sophie's journey as she learns to stand up for herself and find her own strength. With Diana's help, Sophie discovers the power of love and resilience.

"I can't be with you," he states, and I look up at him in outrage. "This isn't right." I take a step closer to him, pressing my body on his and feeling him responding with desire. "Look me in the eye and tell me that it feels wrong." He doesn't move. But he doesn't turn away either when I lift my hand to his chest, letting my hand trail down. "Don't," he warns, but I can only hear lust in his voice. "Dont' start a game that you can't finish." I don't listen. I let my touch speak for itself, to let it translate all the need I feel in my body right now. I go lower, much lower, until he finally snaps and grabs my face, devouring my lips and pressing me up against the wall. "You asked for this, and now I have to claim you." *** Astrid Marshall has always been infatuated with her best friend's dad, former Alpha Klaus Slate. At first she thought it's just a childish crush, but she later finds out that they're connected in ways that she can't comprehend. They're fated mates. He's the man of her desires, but she's his temptation, the woman he's forbidden to have.

On the one thousand and ninety-fourth day of being Mrs. Harris, I asked James Harris for a divorce. His face showed a hint of confusion, but it quickly shifted to his usual, composed expression. "As you wish," he said, his tone as flat as if we were discussing whether to replace the milk on the breakfast table. He did not even bother to ask why. On the one thousand and ninety-fifth day, I gently saw him and the children off, acting as if nothing had happened, and then completely left the Harris family behind.

"I, Zade Matthews, Alpha of the High-claw pack, reject you, Sierra Whitmore, to be my mate and Luna to my pack. You are to work here and obey every command and to accept my rejection" Nobody wants to hear the word rejection. Especially when you're not even strong enough to handle the aftermath of it. At 18, I had just got my wolf, Mina. I was not supposed to mate with an Alpha. I'm an Omega living an Omega life. But the moon-goddess had other ideas, and I was mated to the cruellest of Alphas there is. I'm what they would call a slave to the pack. In other words. I was dispensable if they didn't want or need me. So, when I was invited for breakfast with the Alpha, my mate, I should have taken that as my first red flag. I have never eaten with them. Even when my parents were alive. 6 Years later, just after my 24th birthday, the mate-less Gala was just around the corner once again, and I was tired. Emotionally and physically tired. I had nothing to live for. I had nothing to hope for. Every Omega knows they don't get a second chance at love and every omega had to accept that. That was simply our fate. So, being assigned to accommodate Alpha Nikolai's room was not one of my top things to enjoy, but here I was. Five minutes was all I wanted to have to myself when cleaning the room on the very top floor for the Alpha of all Alphas, so I stopped and sat down to rest my aching body. And cried. Only...the scent of all scents hits me. His scent. Alpha Nikolai Anderson. He doesn't know me, but he chooses to love me. He chooses me.

I knock on the door, heart pounding like it always does when I’m about to see him. “Come in,” Justin’s voice calls—cool, smooth, and frustratingly calm. I take a deep breath and walk in, holding the folder tightly. “Here’s the report you requested, sir.” He doesn’t even glance at me. Just keeps typing, his expression unreadable. “You’re late,” he says without missing a beat. I clench my jaw. “There was a delay at the printer—” “No excuses, Joanna. Just do better next time.” Ouch. Professional and cold. As always. I nod, ignoring the sting in my chest. “Yes, sir.” I turn to leave, gripping the doorknob—just one more second and I’ll be out of this weird tension-filled office— “Wait.” I freeze. I turn around slowly. “Yes?” Justin stands now, walking toward me. In his hand, a familiar brown paper bag. He holds it out. “You didn’t have lunch.” I blink. “I’m fine.” “You skipped breakfast too. Eat.” I hesitate. “What is it?” “Chicken pesto. No onions.” My breath catches. He still remembers? “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly. He shrugs, not meeting my eyes. “I just… remember things.” My fingers brush his as I take the bag. Warmth. Stupid warmth that shouldn’t still feel this familiar. Then, he looks at me—really looks at me. “You shouldn’t skip meals… wife.” Silence. My chest tightens. “Don’t call me that.” But my voice is too soft to sound convincing. I walk out before I say something I’ll regret. His words echo in my mind like a dangerous lullaby. Cold one second. Kilig the next. God… he’s still him. And that’s exactly the problem.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.