Did Technoblade Died Mga Nobela at Kwento

WARNING: MATURE CONTENT! Celeste Barlowe had lived in the dark for a decade since her father died in a car accident. Her father treated her like a princess while he was alive, but once he died, she was treated like a rug. Not until she met Elias Turner, the man everyone fears for his uncommon green eyes and what he's capable of. She doesn’t realize, however, that the man has many secrets besides his frightening emerald eyes. He's a monster. But that doesn't take away from the fact that he was the one who saved her. Celeste lives with Elias and has no idea she'd fall in love with him until she discovers his greatest secret, which has something to do with her.

Damien was attacked by rogue wolves. I threw myself in front of him and nearly died for it—two broken ribs, both legs almost torn off. When I woke up, I decided to mess with him. "Who are you? I don't know you." His face went rigid. I almost laughed out loud. I was about to tell him I was joking—when he pointed at the man standing beside him. "I'm a friend of your mate's. He's your future mate." My heart dropped. The words died in my throat. I stared at him, stunned. A second later, Lucien stepped forward and took my hand. "Yes. I'm your mate. Let's go home." Fine. Then I'll take a new mate.

When my cousin died, my aunt forced me to marry her husband in order to take care of the child she left behind. She said that it was a way to pay her back for raising me after the death of my mom. For eight years of being in the marriage, I was bullied by my cousin's son, accusing me killing his mom in order to take over her home. And my husband? He never defended me. To them, I was nothing more than a mere house help. And the day I had looked forward finally came, when I could walk away from the marriage. But fate had other plans—I died in pain that very day. Now, with a second chance at life, I made one thing clear: I was done with that miserable family, for good.

Twin sisters born on the same day after several male generations in the family. But soon the happiness died after a huge mishap took place. One was blessed with protection and love whilst the other one was abused and violated.

The first thing I did after being reborn was add penicillin, a drug the patient was severely allergic to, into his pre-surgery medication administration record. The hospital leadership exploded. “Have you lost your mind?” “Are you trying to kill the patient?” I smiled as I accepted the suspension notice they handed me. In my previous life, I had been the lead cardiac surgeon for this operation. Back then, I refused a request from my wife, Shannon Wright, whose childhood friend, Jonah Hill, wanted to use my patient as ‘practice’ during the surgery. Right there in, Shannon threw a tantrum and demanded a divorce. In the chaos, she ripped out the patient’s blood transfusion line and even knocked over the blood bags, causing the wealthy patient to die on the table. However, they pinned the entire medical malpractice scandal on me. With the security footage wiped clean, I was sentenced to death in the end. My parents sold everything they owned and gathered eight million dollars. They gave the money to Shannon, begging her to hire a lawyer and help overturn my case. Instead, she told them that she and Jonah had been having an affair. From the very beginning, I had only been their scapegoat. The shock shattered my parents. While driving home in a daze, they lost control of the car and plunged off an overpass bridge. Both of them died on the spot. Now, when I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the very day of that wealthy patient’s surgery.

My mother-in-law was rushed to the hospital with sudden chest pain and sent straight into emergency surgery. However, my wife, who was the head of the thoracic department, insisted that her clueless young male apprentice be the lead surgeon instead. The apprentice stood in front of the operating table. He couldn’t even recognize half of the surgical instruments laid out before him. He pouted and fidgeted a little. “I forgot again…” My wife just smiled indulgently at him. Even though the patient’s chest had been opened, she patiently spent ten minutes explaining the instruments to him before the surgery finally began. In the end, the apprentice’s hand trembled, and he accidentally punctured the tumor. Terrified, he let out a sharp scream and threw himself into my wife’s arms. To console him, my mother-in-law’s only chance at survival was gone, and she died right there on the operating table. My wife walked out of the operating room, supporting her badly shaken apprentice, and glanced at me indifferently. “Before you take your mother’s body away, provide an affidavit of non-prosecution to the hospital. Your mom couldn’t have been saved anyway. Anthony is still young. His future can’t be ruined because of your mother.” Only then did I realize that she thought the person lying on that operating table was my mother. I chuckled and said, “I'm afraid I'm not qualified to do that.”

Liam Dunlap, my girlfriend's junior apprentice, bragged that he could defuse a bomb with one hand. Then he slipped. The timer began to race. Terrified, he dropped his tools and ran. I stepped in at great risk and saved the hostage. For that, I was commended. Liam, on the other hand, was condemned across the internet and faced severe disciplinary action. My girlfriend tried to speak up for him, but I stopped her. "If you defend him now, not only will your promotion be revoked—people online will come after you too." Later, unable to bear the pressure, Liam jumped to his death. Every line of his suicide note blamed my girlfriend for not standing by him. She said nothing. She simply burned the letter in silence. After that, she rose step by step from a frontline officer to a model figure in the police force. On the day I was kidnapped by criminals, she came in person to defuse the bomb strapped to me—using only one hand. She looked coldly at the device on my chest and said, "See? It can be done with one hand. Why did you all have to drive Liam to his death back then? If I had protected him at the time, the one in my position today… should have been him." The bomb detonated. I died on the spot. After I opened my eyes again, I saw her running around desperately for Liam. She didn't know—the hostage was the mayor's son.

I came home early and found my husband buried deep inside my best friend. I threw a wine bottle at his head, and walked out of the door. That night I ended up in a bar I'd never been to, and somehow in the arms of the most dangerously beautiful stranger I'd ever seen. No name, no numbers, just one night that I told myself it meant nothing. Six weeks later I found out I was pregnant. I didn't know if the baby belonged to my soon-to-be ex husband or the stranger whose name I never got. So I did the only thing that made sense, I ran and built a life in London from scratch and raised my son alone for six years. It was okay, until my estranged father died and left me his entire billion-dollar empire with one condition. I had to marry his protege. Zake Langston. The most powerful man in New York. The man who looked at me across that law firm like he already knew exactly who I was, because he did. He was the stranger from the bar. Now my ex wants my son. My dead father's enemies want my company and the man I'm forced to call my husband is looking at me like the night we shared six years ago was never finished. Maybe it wasn't.

On the day of the company's annual gala, I quit my job and went back to the countryside, using up all my savings to help my best friend raise her daughter. She had died tragically, swept away by the river while trying to retrieve my hundred-million-dollar gala prize ticket that had fallen into the water. Wracked with guilt, I honored her dying wish and married her husband. After the wedding, I sold my blood and even a kidney just to make ends meet, raising my stepdaughter with everything I had. Eventually, she fulfilled her dream of winning the Best Actress Award and was about to marry the richest man in the country. But just as I was preparing to give a speech at her wedding, I saw my best friend, who had been dead for over a decade. She clutched my stepdaughter's hand and accused me of being a homewrecker who seduced her husband, and even claimed I had been the one who pushed her into the river all those years ago. Only then did I learn the truth—she had faked her death all those years ago, just to steal my prize ticket and travel the world, leaving me behind to raise her family. The shock sent me into a cerebral hemorrhage. When I opened my eyes again, I had gone back to the day she drowned.

Seven years ago, I ignored my girlfriend's heart-wrenching pleas and ruthlessly severed our relationship. Now, after seven long years, she had risen to the top—and she was back, ready for her wedding. She didn't come home for mere celebration, though. She came for revenge. She obliterated the company my father had spent his entire life building and did not stop until she shattered his leg, forcing him to endure unimaginable pain. It was all so I'd be forced to go to her wedding and beg for forgiveness. But that wasn't enough. She wanted more. She hissed, brandishing a blade, "If Matthew's not here in ten minutes, I'll slice off a finger for every minute he's late." My autistic brother's fingers, the only way he could create art, became a bargaining chip in her sadistic game. Dad's anguished cries filled the air as he pleaded for mercy, but she was not done. She wanted to tear my family apart piece by piece. My mom, fragile and trapped in the haze of Alzheimer's, was next. Her mind, already slipping, crumbled under the relentless torment. She cracked, completely lost to the madness. With tears streaming down his face, Dad said, "My son died the day you left for abroad."