Dinner Quotes

During a family dinner, I, Ingrid Sutherland, bring up divorce. My husband, Samuel Ziegler, lets out a cold laugh in exasperation. "Are you mad just because I peeled a banana for Whitney two days ago? I can't believe you're still throwing a tantrum over that now! She's my sister-in-law. What's wrong if I show her a little bit more care?" He did the same thing in my past life. Ever since his older brother, Charles Ziegler, got seriously hurt, Samuel always put me last and prioritized taking care of the supposedly weaker Whitney Lovette. Whenever I voiced my dissatisfaction, he would criticize me while standing on an irrefutable moral high ground. He would say, "Why can't you be more understanding and cut Whitney some slack?" When it was Whitney's birthday, she proposed going on a skiing trip. But then, an avalanche hit us. Samuel protected her the whole time and led her down the mountain. However, he left me to die in the avalanche. It was then I realized that Whitney was not just his sister-in-law, but also the one he loved. When I remain silent, Samuel chuckles derisively. "You'd better not regret it." It's like he's sure I'm just throwing a tantrum. In one fluid movement, he glides a pen across the bottom of the page, confident and composed. But this time, I'm really giving up on him for good.

"W-What do you want?" "I want to see the girl who saved me. Do you know who I am?" James sharply gazed up at Delilah's blue eyes. Delilah innocently shook her head at him. "From now on, call me, Mr. J." James Harristian, aka James Belgenza, is the mafia leader of Daga Nero, a splinter group of one of the oldest famous mafia families in Naples. Apart from his powerful ruler of the town who controlled the underground weapon industry in Europe, James was also a successful owner of a high-tech motor company. One day, James was deceived into a scam dinner by his mistress. It strived to kill him, but somehow, he escaped. Being trapped in gunshots with his enemy, a flower girl saves James' life from his shameful miserable death. Delilah is a flower girl who runs a small flower shop in an alley in Naples. She thought innocently helping James to get to the hospital without wondering who the man was. When James has another chance to breathe, he does not feel grateful to his savior unless to kidnaps her. Unfortunately, Delilah turns out to be a collateral of her father's debt, which ran off unable to pay. Therefore, he intentionally kept Delilah in his mansion and added more debts to confine her forever. What will happen when the debt is only a scheme to kill James and Delilah is a pawn? Meanwhile, James falls for Delilah, who tries hard to pay her unpaid debt.

My father, Benjamin Ward, was bedridden, paralyzed, and unable to move. The AI model he spent his entire life developing—a model powerful enough to cure terminal diseases—had been stolen and published under someone else's name. Humiliated beyond endurance, he suffered a stroke and collapsed. He couldn't speak. He couldn't even write. I swore I'd find the thief who destroyed him. My girlfriend, Maris Dawn, wept and promised to help me uncover the truth. But at a dinner party, when her first love proudly announced that he'd been specially recruited by a national research lab thanks to that very model, she immediately grabbed my arm, whispering, "Don't make a scene. Grayson just wants a good future. Don't ruin his life." Grayson Vale smirked with disdain. "The old man was about to retire anyway. Think of it as recycling waste." My vision went red. I charged at him, ready to make him pay for what he'd done to my father. Maris tripped me before I could reach him. She threw a check for ten million in my face. "Here's for your dad's medical care. Don't be shameless, alright? Grayson is a rising star. You're just a broke grad student. You should learn your place." I tore the check apart, piece by piece. That check could never buy the Dawn family a future in the world of science.

"Are you warm for me Belle? " "Scorching. " She whispered back as he traced his hand along her inner thigh. She could feel the ache between her legs. Christian nibbled in her ear and whispered huskily. "Then let me turn the heat off. " Isabelle blue has her life under control, a boyfriend, a trustworthy best friend and a caring family until her cousin accuses her of drugging him and forcing herself on him. Sam produces photographs of the scene during a get together dinner, depicting Isabelle on top of his unconscious body. No one believes her including her father who disowns her. To worsen it all, Isabelle can't remember what happened during the party that Sam claimed she had abused him. In search of emotional support, Isabelle goes to her boyfriend's place Dylan. She is not prepared to find her best friend in the hands of her boyfriend, moving sensually in passionate love making. Thrust in a world of hurt, she finds herself in a nearby park in darkness. She almost succumbs to the betrayal but one man lurking in the shadow comes to her rescue. She ends up having sex with a stranger who turns out to be her patient the very next day. What happens when they can't control their feelings towards one another? Will Christian help her uncover what happened the night Sam took the pictures? Will Christian and Isabelle survive hurt, betrayal and secrets? Or will they end up being lethal enemies?

Furina Dunne has never gotten it easy in life. After her mother left her and her dad to marry a rich billionaire, Furina went on a trip to Paris with her friends and drank her pain away. She ended up waking up in a hotel room, stark naked next to a French man. Upon being treated like a prostitute, she had her sweet revenge on that man and moved on with her life. Five years later, she found out that her dad had been beaten up by a loan shark whom her father had borrowed money for his medical bills. Furina moved back in with her dad and helped him. When she received an invitation from her now-rich mother to attend a dinner gala, she attended with one purpose: to borrow money so she could pay the loan shark. Her mother treated her like dirt and she ended up leaving the gala. On her way out, she stumbled into a gorgeous fine specimen of a man, Diluc Ragnvindr Neuvillette. She jumped into his limousine to get away from her mother, not knowing that this man was the same man she’d spent a drunken one-night-stand five years ago and that he was also her stepbrother. The danger was now that Diluc finally had her again, there was no way he would ever let her go … and the dangerous liaison shall commence along with its consequences. 👠👠👠 The moment Diluc spotted her alone at the party, he pulled her into a corner and kissed her. “We’re in a public place,” she said, pulling away from him. His finger dipped lower, “Yeah? Is that why you’re so wet?”

WARNING: This book is pure filth. If stepbrother taboo, cruel edging games, and obsessive possessive sex aren’t your thing, close it now. Everyone else… enjoy the fall. NOTE: THIS ISN'T INCEST. *** I’ve always wanted my stepbrother, even before the day our parents said “I do.” Nineteen years old, and I still get dripping wet every time Jax walks into a room shirtless, cocky, and smelling like sin. He knows. He’s always known. For years he’s made me suffer because of it, fucking different girls and subjecting me to the ruin of listening to them moaning and screaming his name. He fingers me under the dinner table, tongue in my pussy while our parents room are in the other end of mansion. He makes me lick other girls off his cock just so he can remind me I’ll never be more than his dirty little secret. But he has one unbreakable rule: brothers don’t fuck their little sisters. No matter how hard I beg. No matter how many times he edges me until I’m sobbing. He never fucks me. Until the night our parents’ jet takes off and Jax locks every door in the mansion… I hate him. I crave him. I’m going to make him snap. Because the second he finally shoves that thick cock inside me, I’m never letting him go. Ready to be ruined? ONE-CLICK AND FIND OUT HOW FAR A STEPBROTHER WILL GO TO OWN WHAT HE SWORE HE’D NEVER TAKE.

My mafia husband, Vincent Santoro, was born a monster, incapable of loving anyone. But one day, I discovered he was hiding a ‘forbidden fruit’. A girl from the slums, Claire Murphy. Scarred by life, yet as beautiful as a wildflower growing through concrete. For a man who'd waded through blood his whole life, she was a fatal attraction he never saw coming. He thought he'd covered his tracks. He was wrong. At the Santoro family's annual dinner, I confronted him about Claire, tears streaking down my face. He just lightly frowned, then had his consigliere slide the divorce papers across the table to me. "Isabella. Sign it. The three North Side docks and the shipping lines are yours." I tore the papers to shreds. He just kept raising the offer. He had me thrown into the freezing waters of Lake Michigan. He blew up my family's distillery—the Romano family's legacy. Finally, he took my parents. Tied them in an abandoned warehouse and made one watch as he set the other on fire. "Sign, or watch them burn. Your choice." I begged him on my knees, but a roar of flames consumed the world— The heat seared my skin, the ash of my parents clinging to my face. "No... NO!" When I opened my eyes, I was back. Back on the day I first learned about Claire. This time, no tears, no drama. That night, I called my family in Sicily and set my escape in motion. But the moment I vanished from his world… Vincent Santoro went insane.

After my sister's death, I signed a five-year contract marriage with her mafia husband, Horton Falcone. I became the stepmother to my five-year-old nephew, Luca. On my birthday, I wore my late sister's diamond cross necklace, not realizing what it was. At the family dinner, Luca walked up to me with a glass of red wine and threw the wine in my face. The red wine dripped down my cheeks, its sharp scent stinging my eyes and staining my white dress. He tilted his head back to look up at me, his eyes as cold and cruel as his father's. "Don't think you can replace my mom just because you married into the Falcone family," he said with a malicious grin. "You're the reason she's dead." "I wish you were the one who died. Then I could smash your gravestone instead of celebrating this stupid birthday." "I swear, when I grow up, the first thing I'll do is dump you in the Hudson River myself!" The memory stung as sharply as the wine, and all I could taste was despair. I stared at the child I had spent five years raising as my own, a sharp pain pulsing in my chest. I had thought I could devote myself to the Falcone family, that I could win him over with my love. But now, I was just so tired of it all. It was a family with no love, a child who saw me as his mortal enemy. I stopped deluding myself. It was time to let go. But after I left, that arrogant father and son came crawling back to me like whipped dogs, begging for my forgiveness.

At my three-year anniversary dinner with Vincent Hartwell, his secretary deliberately poured red wine over my head. I finally reached my breaking point and slapped her in front of all the guests. That very night, the incident spread like wildfire through high society circles. When my mother saw the leaked bedroom photographs of the two of them, the shock triggered a heart attack. She collapsed and died on the spot. When I learned the news, I sank to the floor and cried all night. Meanwhile, Vincent stayed by his secretary's side, comforting her. When he came home, he brushed past my disheveled state without a glance, loosened his tie, and spoke in that careless tone of his. "I've already buried the story. Don't let it happen again. "I have a meeting tonight. Pull yourself together and get to the villa within thirty minutes. Madison needs you." As he walked toward the door, he added over his shoulder, "She's fragile right now because of the pregnancy. If you do anything to harm my only child, I won't forgive you." I listened without crying or arguing. However, after he left, I pulled the divorce agreement from my drawer that I had prepared weeks ago. Beneath it lay my own positive pregnancy test. 'Vincent, I'll leave to find my biological father in three days.' This time, I was really leaving. I would make sure my father paid for every grievance I had endured over the last few years.

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.