Classy Trashy Novels & Stories

"Pack up your things. Leave the key in the flowerpot by the door. You don't need to come here anymore, Ms. Armstrong." His voice was cold, and he left just as decisively. The sound of the door closing was heavier than usual. I turned on my phone. On the screen was a photo of Jared and me together. No long dresses, no jewelry. Both of us were in suits, with perfectly measured smiles on our faces and gold-rimmed glasses on our noses. It looked like the "Employee of the Month" photos that hung in office hallways. Jared was right. We really were very similar.

he pointed at the dummy again, “fell and startled me!” Classy rolled his eyes so hard it looked painful. “You know what? I don’t give a damn about you, you feeble biscuit.” Elliot raised an eyebrow. “‘Feeble biscuit’? Who is this ‘feeble biscuit’?” Classy’s smirk was icy. “Um. You. And him.” He nodded at Emma. Elliot’s face darkened. “I think you need to learn some manners, recruit.” Classy’s stance shifted, ever so slightly. “I think that’s enough ‘manner’ talk for one day.”

A backstabbing ingrate! Another crisp smack echoed harshly in the empty hall. The other side of Jim's face quickly swelled up. I didn't look at him again. My icy gaze passed right through him and landed directly on Anne, who was cowering behind him. I walked up to her slowly and looked down at her. As I loomed over her, I smirked coldly. My voice was gentle as I said, "How kind-hearted you are, Annie. You can even happily pick up the trash that I, Cecilia Forrest, throw away. Not only that, you've even managed to create a 'miracle of love' with it."

I scroll through them, each comment slapping harder than the last. “Talk about trash.” “Promiscuous doesn't even cut it at this point.” “Funny how ‘classy’ women always end up exposed.” “Two billionaires openly at the same time? Girl has no concept of shame.” My vision blurs slightly, and I don't realize how long I've been staring at my screen until Cole plucks the phone gently from my hands. “Stop reading garbage,” he says firmly. “Our flight’s boarding soon.” “How can I not?” My voice comes out strained. “They're basically dragging me through the mud.”

Knowing that he was being laughed at, Stefan held his breath and climbed the stairs and paid no attention to the two men's banter. But, Kay howled again, "Damn motorbike taxi!" "Ha-ha-ha." Stefan was still cool and patient. Because he was used to being insulted, the little taunt just now amused his ears, especially since he didn't know the two people. However, the next morning when Stefan was about to leave for a ride, he was suddenly surprised to find two bags of rubbish on the seat of his motorbike. There was also spilled liquid. In fact, the trash can was only two metres away from Stefan's motorbike. He took the rubbish and threw it into the bin. Then he cleaned the seat of his motorbike

I whispered to her as I brought out the key to my locker, the class was unusually silent and everyone was staring at me, " uh-huh, this usually spells trouble, perhaps, they were against me because my mum got married to the father of the famous child actress, well, I don't care about them, I thought as I opened my locker and got a shocker, it was as if I opened a dustbin, my locker was filled with debris and dirt, I noticed that my key had been tampered with, I gasped as dirt poured out on my feet, staining my socks, "Are you selling dirt?" Celine snickered and there was laughter in the class, of cause, it has to be her and no one else, she slowly walked in front of me, flanked by her bimbos

Straight in the eyes with no fear or regret in her. What does she think she is? Looser!! "Oh my god, I didn't know that trash like you wears leopard shoes? Well maybe because by your looks you seem like a 'Use Me' dustbins on road." "What?" She spoke back to me. Fuck!! Isn't she a Saint? Did she opened her mouth right now?? "Did you just call me trash can?" I asked her, astounded. "Why? Is that something more than you can handle? Should I call you poop? Because you stink!!"

I mutter sarcastically, stepping inside. The room is massive and luxurious, but undeniably him. The dark colour palette, the faint scent of his cologne, and the sheer presence of it screams Raffaele. I slip off my heels, tossing them aside as I peel away my clothes, desperate for the warmth of a hot shower. As the water cascades over my skin, my mind spirals. Raffaele. Jasmine. The Mafia. The kiss we shared earlier. The way he makes me feel—reckless, alive, yet so unsure of where I stand with him.

Funny. "Is that how fond you are of this piece of shit?" Cassy said, pointing at me. "Watch your mouth Cassandra, you are not allowed to call Angel like that. I don't want to hear you say that again." "Is that so? You now dare to talk to me this way after you get hooked on this whore's daughter?" "Disgusting, that's what you are, Cassandra. I guess I've never known you for several years we've been together on this campus. Do you call yourself classy? Not even close."

The man behind my pathetic wardrobe dilemma. “Oh Dahling, slutty is sooo overrated. Men want class, and something left to the imagination nowadays. Only the club scruffs go after booty in dental floss.” Camilla sips her English tea and gazes at me wisely. “You have so much potential, a whole other class of sexy. I mean, have you looked at that hot girl in the mirror today, Sophie Dahling, you’re truly fucking stunning. You’re what the mere mortals call ‘da bomb’.” Camilla is definitely another class of sexy, and I haven’t been able to stop staring at her since the walk over here. I may not have any sort of attractions to women, but I can appreciate, Camilla is a new breed for me.