Call Of Cthulhu Cthulhu

"Call me sir." He demanded."What?" I heard it correct yet asked again to make sure did I hear correct? "Don't your thick head get things at once?" He asked furrowing his eyebrows without moving his gaze from mine. No way I am going to call him sir. Thick head! It's the second time he told that. What does he think of himself?I cleared my throat and spoke. "Firstly, I'm not going to call you sir. I'm not your slave to do so. And secondly, I don't have a thick head." I protested. "Slave? Seeing a word by its abbreviation." He quirked a brow. "Your thick head has a little knowledge in it." This time he inched more close while the corner of his perfect shifted to a smirk. Move back, Mister!"Yes, I do see a word by its meaning," I said, trying not to fall in his gaze. (S.I.R = Slave - I - Remain) He got closer and closer and stooped near my ear while keeping his hands on the table, either side of me. I could feel his brushing against my earlobe when he spoke in a low deep voice. "If you don't, I'll cancel this deal." 'No! I can't let this happen.'~~~~~~~~~~~~~~I am either drown into the deep green sea or flew up into the bright blue sky, for sure I was lost in his blue-green eyes. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Time marched by days into months and months into a year. Everything in my life has changed but one thing remains the same. Years ago I would've never pictured my life the way it is now.

After five years in a secret relationship with my boss, Eric handed my hard work to his childhood sweetheart, Shelly. Suddenly, they were the perfect power couple. And me? Just the girl he kept hidden. He never even looked my way. So why was I still holding on? One phone call later, I was done. Time to leave—and see what else was out there.

Diabla Leone is the oldest daughter of Gianni and Lorena Leone Don and Dona of the Leone mafia, Diabla was named for the hell she put her mother through during her birth and all that came before it. D as her friends call her wanted to be free of the strict Italian life her family lives up to so she did what any other Mafia princess would do. Right?

“Uh, sir, maybe it's better for you to get dressed first?" Amy said. “No need, Ms. Brooke. I'm more comfortable this way.” Samuel smiled, pulling Amy's hand so her position was closer to him. “Besides, I won't need the towel for much longer.” Amy frowned to hear that. “What do you mean?” “Please, Ms. Brooke, ah, maybe I should call you Amy instead. After this, we will be more intimate. It will be awkward to call each other by our last name. Agree?” *** Amy Brooke (twenty years old), the eldest daughter of Brooke's family, has everything all women want: youth, beauty, wealth, and a great family. However, she will lose all in an event and changes her life immensely. Samuel Hoffner (thirty five years old), a billionaire, has everything all men want: great looks, wealth, popularity, and power. However, he is an anti-commitment guy. When they will meet each other and tie in a marriage contract, what will happen later? Can Amy make Samuel fall in love with her? Will their marriage survive or will it be only a short-term arrangement?

I was pregnant. On my way to deliver documents to Tristan Goldberg, a flash flood struck. Desperate, I dialed his number, praying he’d answer. After a few rings, the call connected. But instead of Tristan, a woman’s voice answered. "Tristan, whose number is this? Do you want to answer it?" There was a brief pause, and then Tristan’s voice, cold and indifferent, cut through. "It’s just my maid. Ignore it. Hang up." And just like that, the call disconnected. Staring at the torrent rising around me, my pulse quickened. I texted him, begging for him to send a rescue team. Minutes passed as the waters climbed to my waist, churning and relentless. Then, a message from Tristan finally appeared. Tristan: [What kind of ridiculous story are you making up now?] Tristan: [Emily, do you think you're eighteen, playing these childish games? I want that document in my hands within thirty minutes, or we're getting divorced.] A surge of terror shot through me as I looked up, catching sight of a heavy branch snapping loose and crashing down. In an instant, everything went dark.

As if it was not enough that she was getting married to a man she barely knows just to clear her parents bills, things turn worse when Sophia moves into her husband's mansion and starts hearing whispers of her name, and a plead for help. When she decides to brave up and follow the call, she finds, to her shock a very hot man in the dungeon. And OH..... He is her mate as well

Seraphina Blackwood discovered the truth on an ordinary Thursday. After years of predawn breakfasts and midnight work sessions, after countless school plays and bedtime stories, her eight year old son had chosen someone else to call family. The other woman had been there all along, slowly taking her place, Sera's husband equally complicit…while Sera was busy keeping their household afloat.

Caspian Lynch's wife has had enough of him being poor. She asks for a divorce on the night before his birthday mercilessly!"One day, when you and I meet again, open your eyes and see for yourself who I really am!"Who on earth is this delivery guy? Why do they call him "Lord Caspian"? It seems there's more to him that meets the eye!

On our wedding night, Zach received a phone call and left my side. From then on, I knew that all of my efforts over the years had gone to waste. After all, the person he loved had returned. “Cassia, let’s get a divorce.” “But we just got married two days ago.” “You know that I don’t love you, and I never will.”

Emma Blanton twists her ankle, and my fiance, Matthew Harrison, insists on becoming her personal chauffeur. When I voice my disapproval, he makes an even more outrageous decision. He moves Emma into my apartment at Bellemont District—the apartment I bought with my own money. He argues like he's the victim, "You're being selfish. She's injured, and living alone is too dangerous for her right now. I'm just being a decent human being. "And that place is sitting empty anyway. Having someone there helps with security." On the morning we were supposed to get our marriage certificate, he doesn't show up. I call, expecting apologies. Instead, I hear, "Emma had a fever this morning—101 Fahrenheit. I had to take her to urgent care. We can postpone getting the marriage certificate. Her health can't wait." To hell with postponing! I grab my phone and call David Rockefeller. "Do you want to marry me? Then get to City Hall. I'm serious—right now."