Novel & Cerita Delilah Blue Death

He thought he was using Delilah but turns out he was being used too, UNKNOWINGLY! "Y...you!" "Your brother died after having a taste of the most poisonous oil out my cooking ingredients. And Zephyrine? I...I sent her into a world of nothingness, making her dissipate like smoke. Next is Aiden, your so-called upcoming Alpha, but first, I have to deal with you!" Delilah thrusted the sharp sword deep into his skin and Thane growled out, spitting thick blood. "D….Delilah, p..please." he begged as he had no choice than to beg for his life to be spared but it was too late. The Banshee in front of him was blinded by revenge and she'd stop at nothing until he avenges her son's death!

If not dying, maybe suffering enough to wish for death. The plants around the Darkmoon pack are poisonous. I’m still in the middle of my decision making when I hear footsteps and a familiar scent fills the place. Delilah enters, holding an empty glass in her hand. She has taken her makeup and clothes off, now dressed in only sweats and a tank top. Even that looks nice on her. She is the type of person that will make a sack look nice, She notices me, standing clueless in the middle of the large spotless kitchen. Her eyes go from me to the things laid out on the counter and she raises a brow.

"I didn't want you to find out this way." "Well, I did." I scoffed again. "You even told him that your name is Camila. Why the fuck would you even do that?" "Because I don't want him to know I'm Delilah! I don't want him to find out that I am his assistant's daughter."

She pursed her lips. Lucas shoved the box into her hands nonetheless. "You're still as stubborn as ever. I'm here to ask you about your mom's third death anniversary. If you have any plans in mind, let me know in advance so I can help you with it." Ariel paused briefly. She did not expect Lucas would remember about that. Elena passed away a year before Ariel got married. It would soon be her third death anniversary. Jayson probably was not even aware of this. "Alright, I'll see you at the convention hall in a bit." Lucas looked at his phone and stroked her hair as he always did. Then, he turned around and left.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. A pause. “He’s gone.” The words echoed. Lisha didn’t move. Didn’t react. Just stared. Ethan Cross— The man who controlled everything. The man who feared nothing. Was dead. Just like that. And in that moment no one noticed the glass of wine still trembling slightly in Lisha’s hand or the quiet storm behind her eyes. Because while the world saw shock Lisha felt something else entirely.

There, right beside my husband Brandon in the photo, was my so-called best friend, Melissa. … Snapping out of it, I stared at Melissa's two-faced expression. She must have known about the lottery win by then. They had probably plotted the whole thing, faking his death to pocket the cash. "Noelle, don't take it so hard. You're already unwell. What if Brandon's death makes you worse?" I shrugged off Melissa's hand and asked with eerie calm, "Where's Brandon's body? I want to see him." Melissa blinked, thrown off by my composure. "In the ward," she stammered.

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

he asked angrily. “I’m truly amazed by your courage, Tyler Jefferson. Too bad your courage can’t help you know what will happen next,” she said, and with that, there was a loud commotion in the hall as blood splattered on the walls and a few persons dropped dead. “Malia, shouldn’t we apologise to her? I don’t want to die,” Delilah whispered to me, as she found her way with her vision to my side, even in the darkness. “Don’t you dare say a word,” I hushed her.

"You haven't seen anything yet." I scooped her up by the waist and carried her to the bedroom next door, tossed her onto the bed, and pulled off her nightgown from behind—already a crumpled mess. There she lay, like a silvery-white fish spread out on a cutting board. After all, Delilah was no inexperienced girl. Instead of covering her bare, exposed breasts, she reached for my waistband. Her breath caught. The wanton heat on her face looked ready to drip, and even her voice turned syrupy thick. "How are you even built… bigger than a… that's over eight inches, isn't it?"