Chicken Soup

I was the broke scholarship kid, stuck sharing a room with Sherry, the spoiled heiress. From day one, she was all fake smiles and "let's be besties." She'd take me out for fancy meals. She even introduced me to Kenneth—her rich childhood buddy. It was fine—until Kenneth and I started dating. That's when the claws came out. One day, she "accidentally" dumped hot soup all over herself and claimed I'd done it on purpose. Then she demanded I pay her back. I gave her every cent I had, but it wasn't enough. Next, she accused me of stealing her wallet. The school bought it. I got written up, everyone turned on me, and Kenneth? He dumped me with, "You're just an ugly duckling trying to be a swan." I couldn't fight back. Humiliated, alone, and dragged through online hate, I dropped out. Then I let the river take me. And then—I woke up. Back to the moment Sherry introduced me to Kenneth.

Crimson widened her eyes as the tall sturdy figure stepped an inch close to her. With her face staring at his chest that was broad and looked like that of an athlete, she dared not look him in the face due to the mess she has created. " Kevin we can talk about this in private, I've really toyed with your name this much please don't sue my company, they had nothing to do with this, it was me who claimed that on my own, i'm very sorry." Crimson apologised to the cold looking man as she bowed continuesly. "Why should you be sorry? I didn't know untill today that I had a fiancee. Grandfather is asking when the marriages would be hold." Kevin snapped coldly, Crimson summoned up courage to look up at his face as she didn't want to miss the smirk that was plastered on his face. "You heard me right.. you've claimed me yourself why do you look like a chicken?" Kevin mocked as Crimson scratched her head in frustration.

“God forbid I let you go, Meera… here, push the knife into my heart, until I take my last breath, you can't leave me. Not now, not ever!" “I'm not ready for a new relationship, Greg. I'm broken and still healing. I –” “I'll wait for as long as it takes. I won't force you to do anything. You can take all the time in world.” “Aren't you afraid you'd wait forever?” “In as much you don't go running into that undeserving man's arms, I'll gladly wait.” “And if I do?” “Then you'll have no choice but to watch me kill him slowly." ... Used as a stand-in wife for three years, Meera’s fairytale marriage was broken when she least expected it. As if that wasn't enough to kill her, her enemies plotted and ruined her completely, sending her to death's door, but unfortunately for them, her late grandfather-in-law left a hefty inheritance in her name. Greg, a rebellious and mysterious CEO of a multi-billion dollar company, who had been secretly brooding over Meera’s marriage for three years couldn't wait to hop on the opportunity that presented itself. At the last minute, he entered Meera’s life and gave her reasons to live again. But Meera wasn't ready to give him what he wanted as her heart was still in shambles. .... As deep secrets about the inheritance are uncovered, hearts become desperate and greed set in, will Meera be steadfast and continue her planned revenge or chicken out and embrace another heart wrenching betrayal?

I'm cursed with the most deadly spell of the werewolf pack—leaving me with only a month left to live. However, no one in my family knows about this. Ever since they'd adopted Natali Fisher, an orphan who greatly resembles my older sister, they've poured all their love and attention into her—and stopped caring about me. And at that very moment, I'm curled up in a corner of the woodshed, with blood steadily dripping from the corners of my lips. Dad, Mom, and my older brother, Kent Greene, probably think that I'm throwing another tantrum and am deliberately hiding from them. But that isn't the case this time. They are currently outside cooking Natali's favorite mushroom soup in the courtyard. Their happy laughter fills the air, painting the picture of a warm, loving family. Maybe I could even believe this is a happy family if I weren't about to die soon.

It was all her fault. My life could have been simple—40-hour shifts at KFC, sneaking extra chicken crumbs, and binge-watching reality shows. But no. Instead, here I was, standing at the altar, saying I do to a man whose idea of “casual” involved drugs, women, and murder on speed dial. Thanks, Mom. Not only did she ruin my life, but she also sold it—traded me off to the deadliest Mafia boss alive, Mario Santiago, as if I were some secondhand couch on clearance. Mario Santiago. Yeah, that Mario Santiago. The Human Terminator. The guy whose enemies mysteriously vanish like my paycheck two days after payday. And now, I was his wife. He glanced at me with a slow, wolfish smile that practically screamed trouble. That was when I knew two things: 1. I was completely doomed. 2. This man was going to wreck my heart (and probably my life). But hey, it could be worse, right? At least I’d get a killer wardrobe out of it. *** Are you looking for romance and humor? Stuck with Mario Santiago is a hilarious, Mafia billionaire romance filled with danger, betrayal, drama, and a love story you won’t forget. Dive in—you won’t regret it (but the characters might).

By six, Amelia had whipped up a six-dish dinner with soup—Chad Felton's favorites, of course. By seven, she'd prepped his bath, complete with rose petals and candles. By eight, his slippers were perfectly lined up by the door. At nine, Chad finally strolled in. Amelia stepped up, taking his suit jacket. "Eat first or bathe?" she asked, setting the slippers in front of him and hanging the jacket. "Bathe," he muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

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.

My usually cold and distant wife shared a bowl of soup with her newly joined colleague. Surprisingly, I felt calm, even as I brought up divorce. She sneered at me, "Don't be ridiculous. I'm exhausted. He's just a colleague of mine." "Even if we're married, you have no right to interfere with what I do with my colleagues." "If that's what you think, then I can't help you." When I actually put the divorce papers in front of her, she flew into a rage. "Ryan, do you think the Wagners were still what they used to be? You're nothing without me!"

Le mariage avant l'amour… le héros et l’héroïne à l'esprit purUne grande souffrance à la poursuite de sa femmeL'attrait extrêmeLa force et la violenceLe jour du divorce de Cynthia Lambert, un accord de divorce est soudainement apparu sur l'internet. Larecherche est devenue virale en quelques minutes avec de nombreux commentaires.Parmi eux, la raison du divorce était marquée d’un stylo rouge : L’homme souffrait d’un dysfonctionnement sexuel et était incapable de remplir les obligations fondamentales du couple.La nuit, elle était coincée dans la cage d'escalier.La voix de l'homme était basse : « Je vais prouver que je n’ai pas de dysfonctionnement. »Après son divorce, Cynthia est passée d'une petite employée de bureau à un statut d’experte la plus jeune et la plus talentueuse dans le cercle de la restauration des biens culturels.Elle s'est alors rendu compte que son ex-mari, Michel Perrier, qui avait l'habitude de rester constamment hors de la maison, apparaissait de plus en plus souvent devant elle.Lors d'une soirée, on a demandé à Cynthia ce qu'elle pensait de lui à présent. Elle s'est plainte paresseusement et a dit : « Ennuyeux et méprisable, il n’aime que celle qui ne l'aime pas. »Michel s'est approché et l’a prise dans ses bras : « Peu importe à quel point je suis méprisable, je ne vois pas que tu as un soupçon de pitié. »