Diary A Novel Mga Nobela at Kwento

I don't need anyone's permission, that's it. I turned the first page and started reading it: "Dear diary, Hi... This is me Ivana. Ivana Williams, sixteen now. I bought you with the money I earned from the first ever salary I got in my life from tutions. You're not only a diary, but also now my friend after Miya.

Unlike the others, it was… handwritten. Wait… is this a… journal? A diary… maybe? ‘A life with a Killer' My eye froze as soon as I read the title of the book. It was… indeed a Diary. But why does it looks so exactly like a format of a novel? My head frowns in confusion. Why is there a novel like this? It… sounds interesting but… should I read this? The fact that there are many books in this library, I can say that he just randomly asked books to fill this place…

With a racing heart, I began to read the pages of the diary, hoping to find secrets about the mafioso who had captured my heart. When I opened the diary, my surprise was instant. It was Andrew's mother's diary. I flipped through the pages, and there was information about her married life with Andrew's father, betrayals, Ize's birth, among other things. Although the notes were not completely revealing, I couldn't read all the pages at once; I just flipped through them quickly. However, something at the end of the pages caught my attention. There was a letter, a letter that broke my heart. It was old, written before I even existed, and probably had never been seen by anyone, as people rarely e

“It’s nothing for you to worry about. Just some old notes. Private shit.” Private. Yeah right. The word only made my curiosity burn hotter, mixing with the ache in my cock that hadn’t gone down one bit. While he stood up to grab another bottle of whiskey from the bar cart across the room, I leaned forward quickly and clicked on the locked file. A password prompt popped up. Fuck. I tried the obvious ones fast,his book title, his name, the date on the manuscript. Nothing. Then on a hunch I typed in a phrase from one of his filthiest scenes. The file opened.

I found a few notes of cash so I took out a few notes from that drawer. When I was getting money from the drawer something fell on the ground. I bent down and picked up the book from the ground. I saw that it was a diary. I opened the diary. On the first page, it was written that it solely belongs to Aaron Malhotra. Whoever reads this diary without its owner's permission will face severe consequences... I kept the diary on the bed and gave money to the maid. I told her to bring me 2-3 packets of sanitary pads.

Those thoughts filled her mind. So today, she would finally do something about it. She had bought a brand new diary from the store. It was a special one. With leather on it and a strange P monogrammed on the cover. It was far fancier than anything the Dollar Tree should be selling. Finding it was a score that had Kristen grinning. She was enamored with her new diary. She was eager to get started on it. The diary was thick, too. She could write so many of her naughty ideas in them.

Except for the book, which he carried out to take a proper look at it. Joe jumped on the bed and placed the book before him to rest on the bed. He opened the first page gently. The book wrote dear diary on its first page. Joe adjusted his sitting position to lay on the bed to enjoy the content. “I never thought I would also be writing a diary of my own, well, I guess I am now” the next line of the diary stated. “The first experience I would like to write about on this day being the second day in the month of November 2021 is that…

My first memoir in a new diary. My old diary was filled with stories and stories of girls I've fucked and turned but after this incident that happened on 23/4/2027 I had to start a new diary. So... I was angry that mum was remarrying. I really hate the thought that she couldn't keep her pussy at check after dad's death and jumped into another man's arms. However, she kept reassuring me that it's going to be fine but I hate it as hell.

Watching the road below the way she watched everything, with the particular patience of someone who had learned a long time ago that threats rarely announced themselves. Caelith sat on the edge of the bed and talked. She started from the beginning. The dreams. The feeling on the street that first Wednesday. The black car and the chemical cloth and the ritual room with the candles that didn't flicker. The stranger who appeared and disappeared and submitted her essay and left her on a bench on a road nobody used. Zara, the courtyard, the blood deal. The journal. The friend she called at midnight who knew things she shouldn't have known from footnotes.

I had my journal in my hand, somehow I felt a new need to hold on to it everywhere I went. I was with Damien, though I was bruised all over, it was easy to hide the pain. Besides, I was used to being flogged. We were talking about something that made me laugh so hard. It was actually a comedy skit we watched. I almost lost balance, my journal scattered on the ground. I was embarrassed, more embarrassed because the name "Annabelle Steele" was written boldly on its front page.