Devotional Book For Women Novels & Stories

The noises Ruth and Ivan made pierced my ears. I wanted to cover them so I wouldn't have to listen to them, but the noise penetrated my soul. I clamped my ears as hard as possible, but it didn't help. I couldn't escape, either. It was as if I'd been placed under a spell that bound my soul to Ruth. I couldn't get away from her. I could only watch as my fiancée, the woman I loved more than life itself, slept with my murderer. I was so disgusted that I wanted to puke.

The only difficulty for Amethyst is how she can deliver it without them noticing. Meanwhile, across the table, the woman who had antagonized Amethyst earlier sat silently in her seat, her eyes burning with humiliation and resentment. She felt as if Amethyst had dismissed her completely, ignoring the respect and face she felt she deserved. She glared daggers at Amethyst, but the younger woman didn't acknowledge it. Amethyst could sense the woman's rage but didn't take it to heart. She knew why the woman felt this way.

It seemed like there wasn't a single thing I could do because I felt so incredibly scared. “I know now that you are really, really, really broken, and I also know now that you have desires that perhaps no one could ever imagine. You are afraid that you are starting to feel that this is a very, very serious problem, right? So I think it's better for you to give one of the best things so that at least you stop playing around. Mary, responsibility is not only about one palace but one world, so I hope you stop thinking about unnecessary problems and focus on other problems. For the women's problems here, I will take care of it any way you like. You have to prepare yourself for problems that you

She whispered into the silence, “Goodbye.” Eva touched her hand, grounding her. “He chose to disappear. We choose to stay.” *** That evening, the villa gathered around the hearth. The children insisted on reading from Eva’s manuscript—her book, titled Hidden Vows. She stood with her small frame lit by the glow of the fire, her voice weaving words into the night: “Once there was a woman who forgot herself, but she found herself again in the eyes of her daughters. She was not the same as before—she was more. She was every version of herself, broken and remade. And in that truth, she was free.”

“You can’t live off your book royalties if you are not promoting and writing. That income will wither away.” I shrugged my shoulder, completely uninterested about such trivial things when the most important person in my life was gone forever, buried six feet underground. “Whatever you say.” “Does that mean you’ll take it?” she asked hopefully. “I guess,” I muttered. I would say anything to get her out of my hair, and when she is gone, I’d tell the company whatever position she found me just wasn’t for me. “Ok,” she replied cheerfully. “I’m having your apartment professionally cleaned right now, then we’ll unpack and get you all settled.”

I smile sadly and stand up then my phone beeps with a message. “Initiate” my jaw becomes hard but my revenge must be done. ************** “Come in” a girl says as I walk into the dangerous home of the one and only Isabella Morretti. I have heard rumors of the black rose that runs the drug world single handedly and deadly. She doesn't have mercy or compassion, so when I saw her at the party I couldn't help but stare because she was just as deadly as she was attractive. “Thank you”, I subtly look around and notice how simple and welcoming her home is, you'll never think she's a drug Lord, “I'm guessing you're not Isabella?”

Women are impossible to live with and even more difficult to live without. I always ended up in trouble every time I got involved with women, especially the pretty ones. They may appear cute, friendly, sweet, and kindhearted, but the truth is, they were just the devil hiding inside their angelic faces. A predator hunting for innocent men as their prey. She will take advantage of our frailty and exploit our weaknesses and vulnerabilities. Scam! Despite it all, we still choose to love them.

"Been there, done that." But then, why was I still staring at the section with such interest? Maybe because I haven't been horizontal in a while or was it the thought that I won't be for a long while to come? Whatever the reason, I was still staring transfixed at the cover of the closest book in my line of sight. A picture of the curve of a woman's back in a red hue titled The Devil's my New Teacher by Ms. OG. I picked up the book and added it to the pile in my hand. Oh well.

The new publisher was a young woman named Eva, who had read the Oracle Letters in university, who had been moved by the story of two women who changed everything. "Why do you keep writing?" Eva asked. "Because they did." "That's not an answer." "It's the only one I have." --- The book was called The Ordinary Hours. Not about grand gestures — about the small things. The coffee. The garden. The hand on your shoulder. The person who stays when staying is hard. I dedicated it to Joana. For showing me that love is not about the dramatic moments, I wrote. It's about the morning light. The shared silence. The choice to be present.

she retorted me prompting to look at her while keeping my gaze on the document laid out before me In the organization, I always avoided interacting with her since it was unnecessary most of the time. “I have something for you also,” she further said pulling a Gift box wrapped with paper. There was a huge, pink ribbon that surrounded the whole packaging and enraged me due to its tackiness. I thought for a while then I took the box from her hands. “You’re welcome,” She replied, I took it with a bit of suspicion and opened it with much anticipation for the worst. Turning it around I saw a pile of books. The titles made my stomach churn: “How can a woman become a better wife?”, “cooking tips for