Eight Years Novels & Stories

“As for Uncle Golding, I estimate that you may be able to reach the state of a thirty-eight or thirty-nine-year-old person.” “As for Nana, I’m guessing that your body will be able to return to the state that it was in when you were eighteen years old.”

HELOOOOOO there here comes another chapter of 18 to 80 I hope you like it. Do pop a vote. hehe have a good day.

Luca’s eyes dimmed, and he kept his head down for a long time. “I’m sorry for what I did to you. I came looking for you because I know I was wrong, and I know you won’t forgive me easily.” He raised his head, speaking with absolute sincerity, “Just give me one more chance. After all, we were together for a decade. You still have feelings for me, don’t you?” I snickered. Feelings? They were gone a long time ago. My reaction made Luca freeze. “Are you done talking? If you’re done, stop bothering me. What is a decade supposed to mean to me? I still have plenty of decades ahead of me. I don’t love you anymore, do you understand?”

"Please sign the documents if there are no further issues," Samson said. Ingrid's shoulders slumped at once as she stared blankly at the contract before her. "You don't have any way out of this anymore now that things have come to this, Ingrid. You can return Gaby to me now." "Jordan Newman! How could you do such a thing to me! We were married for eight years! How could you—" "Don't spout this nonsense with me anymore," I cut her off, not interested in listening to her rambling. "I just want my daughter back. We don't have anything to do with each other anymore."

And then the construction, the building rising on the slope in the correct dialogue with the gradient, the rooms stepping down, the weight-bearing room at the hinge, the east bedroom above with its single window. He thought about January. He thought: January will be the eighth year's first month. The eighth year. He thought about eight years at the bus stop. He thought about eight Octobers. He thought about the texture of eight years lived differently from the years before them. He thought: I cannot see what the eighth year holds. I know only what the seventh year taught. He thought about what the seventh year had taught.

Eight weeks to gather enough evidence to destroy Viktor’s empire. Eight weeks to save her babies from being sold. Eight weeks to survive.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

I replied. "At least I'm older than Joan with 7 minutes." I, Joan and Jordan are triplets. *smiley face* Jordan was born 3 minutes before me, then Joan was born 4 minutes after me, making Jordan 7 minutes her senior. But she hated hearing that, I hated it too but she hated it more. And sometimes Jordan always used it to misbehave. That boy can be stupid all the time. "Bros abeg shut up. Be arguing about seniority there. See as long as we were born on the same day by the same mother, we are all mates so just carry your useless facts somewhere else."

And I explain. All of it, or most of it, the version that is true without being everything, which takes forty minutes and two coffees and Tiara asking no questions until I finish because she has always known when to listen and she listens now with her hands around her mug and her chin slightly forward and her eyes on me the whole time. When I finish, she is quiet for a moment. "Eight years," she says. "Yes," I say. "You've been running for eight years," she says. "Because of what you are."

In the eighth year of her husband’s affair, Evelyn Hart had become the most infamous madwoman in their social circle. When her husband, Adrian Whitmore, rented out an entire private island to celebrate his mistress’s birthday, Evelyn plastered every beach on the island with intimate photos of the two of them. Her actions left Vanessa Sinclair, an avid surfer, so traumatized that she became afraid of the ocean. When Adrian arranged consultations with the country’s top medical specialists for Vanessa, Evelyn bought out the lead specialist’s entire schedule for a month. She offered free consultations to everyone else, making sure Vanessa couldn’t even get an appointment. Then came a golden w

While I packed Jack’s briefcase, I found a marriage certificate tucked inside. The official seal had been stamped across the document. In the photo, Jack and another girl smiled at the camera, looking happy and perfectly at ease. My hands trembled as I grabbed the certificate and placed it in front of him. Jack only glanced at it. His expression did not change as he calmly continued eating. “Layla Watson. You know her. She’s the daughter of a minor business associate. “She was attacked last year. Her parents happened to be away, so I stepped in and helped her. Her family’s business has been struggling lately, and they wanted to force her into an arranged marriage to secure some money. S