Novel & Cerita D'wan Sims

Celeste smiled and politely declined, "I currently have no plans to leave YodaVision, but I appreciate your offer, Mr. Simmons." Hearing her refusal again, David Simmons sighed heavily. A moment later, someone noticed his frustrated expression and couldn't help but ask, "David, what's with you tonight? If I didn't know better, I'd think you just missed out on a billion-dollar deal." "It's almost the same." Since the person wasn't a business competitor, he confided, "I came across an exceptional talent, but no matter how hard I try, she won't budge." "Oh? Who?"

He discovered that Alpha Dwayne was, in fact, harboring grand ambitions to unite various supernatural factions under his rule, including the Silver Moon Pack, by force if necessary. Simon's ultimate goal was to position himself as the savior of the Silver Moon Pack, demonstrating his loyalty and commitment. He knew that Mara's heart was intrinsically tied to her pack's welfare, and by ensuring their safety, he aimed to secure a place in her affections. His every move was calculated and precise, a delicate dance on the precipice of betrayal and heroism.

They rippled slightly as the tattoo gun continued it's work. Deft gloved hands drew and colored the skin. A quick swipe removed excess ink. Heavily tattooed arms moved with each stroke, the artwork colorful and bright with splotches of pinks, blues, purples, and greens. She marveled at those arms, strong, tight, and remarkably hairless. The artist wore a black sleeveless shirt, cut to resemble a tank top with wide cut underarms. A faded yellow batman logo was printed on the front. The artist wore tight blue jeans, revealing wide hips and a round ass. Grey boxes poked out of the back as she hunched over her work.

I wasn’t sure what the term ‘mate’ truly meant, but I felt sympathetic towards the unfortunate girl who ended up with Dash. I knocked on the door and waited. “Enter,” he called out through the door. When I entered the room, Dane was leaning against his desk with his hands folded in front of him. He watched as I walked across the room, causing me to stop midway. I realized that if I got any closer, he would have the advantage of reaching me quickly, so I stayed put. “You wanted to see me?” I whispered.

Dean pov. I dislike witnessing her sadness. I understand she's my dear friend Mate, but she no longer desires him. Since learning about their situation, I've been infuriated with Williams for mistreating Sierra. I'm not fond of the other guy, whom I don't know much about. The way he looks at Sierra bothers me. Sierra is at home now, and I'm unwilling to let her go, regardless of who that person might be. Observing Sierra, who sits on the bed overwhelmed with sadness, I ponder if she truly loved Williams or if she harbored resentment.

Where was Shay before all this? [Still... he's clearly wrecked now. Couldn't she give him one more shot?] I didn't even glance his way. Just raised a hand and grabbed a cab. As the door shut, I caught one last glimpse through the window—the same guy who once strutted around like he owned the world, now crouched on the sidewalk, face buried in his hands, sobbing. Back home, I watched the Chat Feed spiral and let out a sharp laugh. [Ley-Bae, pls, reformed bad boys are literally endgame. Just give Shay-Shay another shot. You two are the official ship!]

I knew instantly who'd done it. Before long, the Internet was piling on. "Ten years is more than enough to leave someone in the dust. Mark seriously thinks he can beat Jerome? The same guy he personally shipped overseas to study? What a joke." Then one comment caught my attention. "Is it just me, or is he actually the guy who used to simp for the Burkes' long-lost daughter they just found?" "Nah, you've got it wrong. That's the Swain heir. Why would he be simping for her?"

Was she still dancing at home? “Hi, Sin,” a regular customer greeted me. He sat on the empty seat next to me. “Hi, Dust,” I replied. “I heard you got a new dancer.” Dustin glanced at the stage. “Is she performing tonight?” he asked curiously. “Are you tired of your women? Why did you come back after releasing one of my dancers?” I watched him intently. Dustin Simmons was the country's top tech entrepreneur. He was married, and the media reported positive things about him and his household. Only me and a few people in my club knew the truth.

Farrah didn’t hesitate to follow, curiously looking at the person inside the room. It was a man, shirtless, with an outstanding figure. He was holding hefty dumbbells with both hands. In Farrah’s estimate, this dumbbell probably weighs gigantic. The man finally noticed Twilight and Farrah. With a distorted face, he screeched. “What the h*ck is your problem, old hag? Not even knocking! And who the hell is this woman?” Sadly, it didn't affect Twilight even when called an Old Hag. She just tilted her chin and said to Farrah, “Dr. Lee, the sharp-shooter of the team, Patrick.”