Ea Nasir Tablet Translation Novels & Stories

[Warning: Contains 18+]On a rare stormy night in Las Vegas, a beautiful woman arrives at a luxurious villa with her kid and stands in front of Brent's house, where she displays the wound at the base of her thigh, prompting Brent to have a change of heart and allow her to stay in his house. Hermosa, an 18-year-old single mother, seeks refuge in this attractive and sombre man, Brent's home to escape her abuser. In actuality, she is unable to solve her predicament. In order to ensure the safety of her child, she must employ any means necessary to seduce Brent into having sexual relations with her and gaining his trust... She was like a sensitive jackal and detects flirting between Brent and herself during her stay with him. Each and every time Brent looks at her, he does so with lust and hunger. In his obscure eyes, she can see a sly and intense fire of desire flames. Brent could flirt with Hermosa and enjoy her passionate , but whenever Hermosa's desires were aroused, he always repelled her without any explains. She regretfully concludes that she is not attractive enough... Hermosa does not realize that the most advanced hunters frequently take the form of prey. On her first day in Brent's home, Brent had already activated all of the security cameras... Brent injects a heavy sleeping tablet into her milk during a night of intense desire. His lust consumes his entire body, and he can no longer contain himself other than by quietly spreading Hermosa's legs in his bed in the dead of night...! ! Always keep in mind that the conspiracy will be like a net that will bind everyone's destinies together!!!

In the third year I've decided to support my girlfriend, Iris Fulton, by opening a flower shop, she has gone into bankruptcy once again. The first time she went bankrupt, I sold the house my grandma had left for me so that I could clear the debt of 700 thousand dollars. The second time she went bankrupt, I was able to locate the bank passbook Mom had left for me as a wedding gift. That was how I paid back one million and six hundred thousand dollars. The third time Iris has gone bankrupt, however, I can only grip the note with my filthy rich dad's phone number while staring at her lost and dazed expression. At that time, I'm debating whether or not I should call him. But that night, I accidentally notice the chat history on Iris' group chat that's displayed on her tablet. "Hey Iris, how many figures are you going to fill into the sum of the bankruptcy contract that's supposed to be cleared this time?" "Let's put ten million dollars. Otherwise, that flower-selling plaything will be able to clear the debt in one go. It'll make things very boring." "As expected of you, Iris! I heard that the plaything waters flowers in the morning and waters your flower garden at night. You're never tired of him, are you?" I put down Iris' tablet before calling my dad right away. "You want me to take over the family business and marry your student, right? Fine, I'll do it. Get your men to pick me up in three days."

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.

“Next question.” His eyes locked on her. He was close. Too close. Emily raised the tablet between them. “If your brand—” Scott pressed down on the tablet. Emily backed into the desk. Nowhere left to go. Scott placed his hands on either side of her, caging her in. His face inches from hers. “Scott—” “Next question.” His voice was rough. Emily’s breath caught. Heat flooded her body. “If your brand was a person,” she whispered, “how would you describe her—them?” His eyes dropped to her lips. “Resilient.” His thumb traced her jawline. “Beautiful.” His breath warmed her skin. “Irresistible.” The word hung between them. Emily’s heart pounded. One movement—one inch—and his lips would touch hers. She wanted it. God, she wanted it. “I should go.” Her voice shook. Scott’s jaw clenched. But he didn’t move. “The contract says no physical contact.” His blue eyes burned into hers. “It doesn’t say anything about wanting to.” Emily’s arranged marriage to Ian Hunter was a transaction—his family’s money for her father’s freedom. For three years, she endured his coldness, his cruelty, his mistress. The day his grandmother died, Ian filed for divorce and walked away with everything. Emily’s business collapsed. Ian’s empire grew. Now, she’s desperate enough to make a deal with the devil’s half-brother. Scott Hunter is pitched against his half-brother to claim his billion-dollar inheritance. One of the three requirements is a wife. Emily needs capital to rebuild—and revenge on the man who destroyed her. It shouldn't be. It's unheard of. It's supposed to be a simple contract: one year of marriage, no feelings, no complications. Except Scott can’t stop touching her. And Emily realizes she’s stopped pretending.