Express Yourself

My mom is 71 years old. Thanks to her arthritis acting up, she's in so much pain that she can't descend the stairs at all. She tentatively calls me and asks if she can rent an apartment that comes with an elevator of its own. But my wife, Lucy Glaser, brings out the household ledger and points at the red numbers on the pages. "Last month, you bought yourself a tie, which is 300 dollars beyond our monthly budget. Yet now you're planning on adding another impulsive expense?" Only then do I realize that I don't even have the freedom to buy myself a tie despite earning an annual salary of tens of millions of dollars. My mom is still trying to explain herself in a humble tone over the phone. "Oh, please don't feel troubled about it, Caleb. I was just asking on a whim. I've already grown used to my old home anyway…" After I end the call, I feel rather stuffy in my chest. What's there for me to feel troubled about? After all, I'm a partner of a top-tier law firm who earns tens of millions of dollars every year. The one who keeps standing in my way is Lucy, who's only a mid-level lawyer yet insists on controlling my finances. She also calls herself the best candidate for the household asset allocation.

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

The champagne was flat, much like the expression on Julian’s face. "It’s not that I don’t love you, Elara," he said, adjusting his $5,000 suit jacket. "It’s just that you’ve become... predictable. I need a woman who challenges the world, not someone who waits for me to come home and tell her what color the sky is." Elara felt the sting of the words more than the cold wind on the balcony. For six years, she had been Julian’s shadow. She had curated his life, managed his moods, and dimmed her own light so he could shine brighter. And now, on the night of his company’s gala, he was discarding her like an outdated software update. "Predictable?" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Go home, Elara. I’ve already had your things moved to the guest house. We can talk about a settlement in the morning." She didn't wait for the morning. She didn't wait for the "settlement." She walked out into the rain, her silk dress clinging to her skin like a second, cold layer of grief. It wasn't until three days later, sitting in a dingy motel with nothing but a suitcase and a bruised soul, that the notification popped up on her phone. ARE YOU READY TO LIVE FOR YOURSELF? ENTER THE SURVIVAL GAME. WIN YOUR FREEDOM. Elara stared at the golden icon on the screen. It felt like a trap. Or maybe, it was the only way out.

On the company's designated monthly day off, Gigi Lott, Donald Hoover's secretary, posted an Instagram story. The caption read, "So what if you're the boss of me when we're at work during the day? At night, I'm the one on top!" In the photo, she was lying atop a water bed covered in rose petals, and the usually stern Donald was kneeling down to massage her feet for her. From his pocket hung a brand new golden necklace. Just that morning, I bought several gold bars and gave them to Donald while beseeching him to make our relationship public. He happily took the locket from me, but when I tried to take a photo of us with our phone, he smacked my phone out of my hands, smashing it into pieces. With a look of pure derision, he declared, "Why don't you take a good look at yourself in the mirror first? You really are a motherless wretch who wasn't raised right. Look at the lengths you'd go to just to ruin me!" Throughout the last five years, I had meekly gone along with his demand that we keep our relationship a secret, claiming it was because office romances were forbidden. But now, I was abruptly hit with the realization of how laughable it all was. The next day, I sent my father a message. "I admit defeat. I'm willing to come home and inherit the family business."

I felt his lips brush against my earlobe, a soft brush that suddenly made my toes curl. His breath lingered on my neck before he finally whispered, "I own you Crystal. The sooner you get to accept that the better for you. I'll make sure you submit yourself to me, be it the hard way or the easy way. And I'll break this ego of yours. I promise you" * * * * * * He was her beast and she was his beauty. He was addicted and she was his favourite drug. He was a sinner and she was his sin. In the blink of an eye, Crystal sees her entire life crumble with the death of her parents and she is forced to take a job that she would never have thought off to make ends meet for her and her sister and pay of her gambling father's debt to a crime boss-- being a stripper. Just a glance on the doe-eyed caramel skin beauty swinging her hips seductively on the pole and Leonardo already knew he had to have her as his. He had to claim her for himself. But he was everything she hated. She despised him and loathed his existence for the pain and anguish he had caused her and her sister. She swore never to succumb to him but what she didn't know was that he was also determined to show her that he would earn a place in her heart and life.

On the day of the wedding, my best friend, Elena Hartman, can't bear to part with me, so she threads my wedding shoes with a string and ties them snugly around her slim waist. The groomsmen turn the whole place upside down, and we end up late for the ceremony. She eventually cracks up and tugs at her billowy bridesmaid dress, revealing the outline of the shoes at her waist. "I dare you to come take them. As long as I'm here, she's not getting married!" My fiancé, Miles Lawson, shakes his head and chuckles. "You just love tormenting us, don't you?" Miles exchanges a look with the groomsmen, and they charge at her at the same time. She squeals as she falls back onto the bed, squirming under her layers of tulle. "Don't be so rough! I'm ticklish…" The groomsmen flush bright red. Miles' ears turn scarlet as he feels around her waist. She giggles even louder. "How are you going to undo it through all these layers? Use your head!" Then, she gasped. "That tickles!" Her theatrics make my temper flare. I spring to my feet, lift her skirt, and rip the wedding shoes right off her. "If you're that ticklish, smack yourself with a slipper. Drop the act, or I'll yank out the nerves that make you ticklish!"

"You'll never be my mate. You'll never be my Queen," he snarled, slamming into me like he hated how much he needed me. I moaned, wrapping my legs tighter around his waist. "Then why do you lose control every time you're inside me?" He growled, his pace growing rougher, desperate. I smiled. "Keep lying to yourself, Xander." "I hate you, I hate you so much," ****** Raven is the most hated wolf in her pack for a crime her family committed against the Royal Family. She was hated, bullied and insulted at every turn, and as if things couldn't get twisted, fate decided to play a game on her, the one man who her family betrayed turns out to be her fated mate. The ruthless Alpha king Xander. The very man who despises her existence. She tried to reject him but he refused her rejection, promising to make her life a living hell. But things are not as they seem. There are secrets that need to be unraveled, a dangerous pull they cannot ignore, a bond they cannot sever. And as their worlds collide, Raven begins to uncover dark secrets buried deep within their pasts. Betrayal. Lies. Forces that threaten not only their bond but everything they’ve ever known. And what happened when the line between hate and passion blurs? Will Xander and Raven look past their family hatred and join as one to fight their enemies or will their hatred consume them both?

From the outside, her life looked like a storybook — young love, a growing family, and the hope of a future built on hard work and devotion. But behind closed doors, it was a different world — one filled with control, silence, and bruises too deep for anyone to see. Before she turned twenty-one, she had already survived a violent marriage, the constant threat of losing her children, and a battle between truth and lies that nearly destroyed her. Every time she tried to rebuild, life seemed to find a new way to break her — a false accusation that stole her children, a fire that turned into murder, and the death of the man who had helped her believe in love again. Echos of Ruin is the raw, unflinching story of a woman who refuses to stay broken. Through violence, betrayal, and unbearable loss, she finds the courage to keep moving — to fight for her truth even when no one will listen. It’s a story of motherhood and survival, of loving and losing, and of discovering that sometimes the only way to save yourself is to walk through the fire. Told with haunting honesty and sharp clarity, this memoir is not just about what was taken from her — it’s about what she refused to surrender: her spirit, her strength, and her voice. Because even when the world tried to silence her, she learned the most powerful truth of all — the human heart can shatter a thousand times and still find the strength to beat again.

How would you define your worth? My name is Cassey Timmerhaus, a seventeen year- old noble daughter, whose goal is to find my worth and guarantee my own happiness. In worth comes opportunities, in opportunities comes wealth, in wealth comes love, in love comes happiness, and in happiness, I can die blissfully. But the path to self- realization was harder than I presumed. The unfathomable range of emotions, the twisted justice to prove yourself righteous, the betrayals, the sinful encounters and the fight for the honorable seat, are things I never expected but had to experience. "To honor your family is the noblest thing. How could you fail in such a task as easy as breathing?" I faced countless humiliation and disgrace; degraded by the people I call family. "I am sorry, but how could we dare tarnish a lady's hand by making her work for us, mere commoners? Surely she wasn't casted away to be like this. For a noble like her, it would be better to starve than sweat her palms." The rejections from those who once respected me ruined my valued trust. She once said that in this endless pit of woes, thy love shall save me. But, I doubt that. Even if I have love, will I be able to make it last? Will I be able to make him stay? Will I ever be worth of such fortune, when I am just a grass?

It was almost New Year. I had just withdrawn money from the bank when I noticed that the amount on my passbook didn't match the cash in my hand. I counted carefully—my passbook showed a different figure than the five thousand dollars I was holding. Frustrated, I turned and went back to the counter to find the teller who had handled my transaction. Clutching the receipt, I tried to be polite. "Excuse me, I think there might be a mistake with this transaction." Instantly, she snapped, pointing her finger at my nose. "Don't you know that once you leave the counter, we are not responsible for any discrepancies?" I waved my hands, trying to explain. "No, wait, look again. I clearly withdrew five thousand dollars, but on my passbook, it shows…" She cut me off impatiently. "When you filled out the form, it was all right there. Once you leave the counter, it's not our problem. You signed the form yourself, confirming everything. Are we supposed to correct it every time someone claims a mistake after leaving the bank?" I froze. No wonder she kept repeating that the bank isn't responsible after leaving the counter. She thought I had come back to ask for more money. What I was really trying to explain was simple: I withdrew five thousand, yet my passbook showed that I deposited five thousand.