Can You See Can't You See What That Woman Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Who are you?” It was simple and easy to answered question, however the woman clenched her teeth and glared the moment I Ddismiss the others. They seem not even aware of her mere existence, or they just quite orderly and focus to what suppose their job was. “I see you are able to see the unseen,” she said, her eyes glowing with darkness. “Whatever you think about me,” I slowly lifted my finger, pointed at her paled-looking face. “Consider this fateful encounter between us as your lucky day.”

"Tell me Damn woman!" ****

OLIVIA’S POV. “ Clinton!.” I screamed out loud as I watched his cock buried inside her, her legs spread out in a arc over his back. Her moan ceased immediately. He ignored my presence and continue to move his waist in rhythm, banging her loud enough for me to hear. “ Moan for me baby.” Clinton said and spanked her on the ass. “ Clinton Bazzi!.” I yelled. “ Why are you disturbing me, woman?.” He roared and got off her. I watched as the other woman pulled the duvet over her body to cover her nakedness.

While Violet just asked me tell her how it works out. I reach the front door of their house. Or mansion? It's pretty big. I guess I got used to living in a regular sized one all these years. I ring the doorbell and look behind me to see Matt still there in his car smiling gently and encouragingly at me. Shortly the front door opens, and I am met with a woman who looks to be in her late 50s. She had kind brown eyes, she was short and her hair was mostly white. She smiles kindly at me "yes? How may I help you?" She asks in a gentle voice.

He casually placed a piece of meat onto my plate and smiled at me—his eyes devoid of guilt or shame. A chill ran through me. I never realized the man I had shared a bed with was this cunning and ruthless. Claudia poked at her plate, clearly displeased. "It had better be that way, or I might start thinking you actually have feelings for her. Don't you dare keep any secrets from me, got it?" Swallowing my bitterness, I purposely picked up the piece of meat and put it back onto James's plate. "Did you forget? I'm pregnant—I can't eat greasy food," I said calmly as I secretly took out my phone and started recording.

Willow wasn't just our manager. She was also George's wife. With her vouching for me, everyone fell into a tense silence. In my previous life, I hadn't been able to make out what was on the screen. This time, I wasted no time. I scrolled through the footage frame by frame. Even though it was nighttime, the ATM lights were still bright. Under the clear, almost daylight-like glow, my face was unmistakably visible. No matter how I looked at it, the person in the footage was undeniably me.

Leaving me standing alone beneath the chandelier, the entire room staring at the woman who tried to love a man who couldn't even pretend anymore. Cameras flashed. Again. And again. Capturing the moment. The perfect illusion crumbling before everyone's eyes. I stood there, every inch of me trembling, my throat tight with unshed tears. He didn't even look back. Not once. And for the first time, even pretending felt too painful.

“It’s a deflection.” His voice wasn’t sharp. That made it worse. Because it meant he was paying attention. To every word. Every hesitation. Every omission. Amara met his gaze. “If you already know what you’re looking for,” she said, “why ask me to say it?” Silence. A long one. Then— “Because I want to hear you admit it.” Her breath caught. There it was. Not hidden. Not softened. Clear. Dangerously clear. Amara shook her head once, small but firm.

Another paragraph passed without registering. When she looked up a second time, the man was still there. Not staring exactly. Just... looking. Every so often his attention drifted elsewhere before returning in her direction. She frowned slightly. Maybe he thought he recognised her. That happened occasionally. Or perhaps she reminded him of somebody. She certainly was not the sort of woman strange men watched across crowded bars. She had never considered herself particularly remarkable. Perfectly average height, perfectly average appearance. The sort of person who disappeared happily into crowds. She tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind one ear and returned her attention to the room.

At the laugh. The smile. The woman she became whenever she forgot to be sad. Something softened in his expression. Something she wasn’t supposed to see. But she did. And suddenly the room felt much smaller. Much quieter. Much warmer. The city lights shimmered through the windows behind them. Hours had passed. Yet neither seemed eager to leave. Neither seemed eager to break whatever this was. The problem wasn’t the silence. The problem wasn’t the late hour. The problem wasn’t even the fact that they were alone.