Face Time With Eight Novels & Stories

Old commander, Peter Howell, slipped and fell into the water, while his guard—my brother, Joe Castro—was off setting off fireworks with our foster sister, Felicity Castro. After getting a second chance at life, I didn't run to find Joe like I had before. I jumped in without hesitation and dragged Peter out. Last time, I went to get Joe. He made it in time and saved Peter, and from that day on, Peter treated him like a hero. His career took off. But Felicity had started a fire with the fireworks. Her face was badly burned, and she couldn't handle it. In the end, she took her own life. Joe stayed eerily calm and told me it was just an accident. But the day my college acceptance letter came, he grabbed the iron poker from the fireplace and smashed my leg. His face twisted with hatred. "Commander Howell knows how to swim. Why did you have to drag me there? "If you weren't trying to get my attention, Felicity wouldn't have gotten hurt. She wouldn't have died! And now you think you get to go off to college and start fresh? Not happening. "Your future, your life, you'll use it to pay her back!" He beat me until everything went black. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Peter fell into the water.

On Christmas Day, eight months pregnant, I struggled through the kitchen,cooking for my husband and his secretary. When I finally sat down, hoping to taste a piece of turkey I didn’t even get during Thanksgiving, my husband shoved me aside like I was nothing. He slid the turkey in front of his secretary instead. “Alison,you’re already so fat. Stop eating. Let Daisy have it—she deserves to enjoy your cooking.” Daisy，chewing on the turkey I had painstakingly prepared, had the audacity to mock me under the guise of playing truth or dare with my child. “So, what do you think your mom looks like?” “Mommy looks like a fat pig on a farm!” “Her stretch marks? They’re like disgusting worms crawling all over her. Even Santa would run for his life!” Their laughter erupted like daggers piercing me from all sides. Humiliation and rage burned through me as my dignity was stripped bare. I demanded an apology from that vile woman, but my husband—my husband!—turned his cold, cruel face toward me and said, “Get out of here.” Pregnant, exhausted, and humiliated, I stood there in shock. Then I snapped. I grabbed the Christmas cake and turkey and threw them in the trash. I walked out without looking back. This wretched family doesn’t deserve a second of my effort or a single ounce of my love!

I've been caught in a relationship with a divorced man for eight years. We've broken up and reconciled too many times to count. In the end, I tallied ninety-four breakups and five divorces between us. One more would make it an even hundred, but I'm too exhausted to continue this cycle. The first breakup happened when I was giving him my virginity. Halfway through, his ex-wife called asking him to pick up some bread, and he simply left. The fifth breakup occurred when he abandoned me, newly pregnant, on the highway to comfort his ex-wife who was having complications with her own pregnancy. I ended up in a car accident and miscarried. He arrived at the hospital with his clothes disheveled. Despite all the pain he caused me, I could never bring myself to truly leave him. Our most recent divorce happened for an equally absurd reason. His ex-wife and their child were participating in a family reality TV show that required them to appear as a complete family unit. To protect his ex-wife's public image, he divorced me yet again. When filming wrapped, he called to discuss remarrying. This time I refused, because I'm going to marry someone else.

My boss, Kyle Brown, had just processed payroll when Sam Jefferson, the trainee I had been mentoring, tossed me his phone. He said, "Can you hold this for me while I use the bathroom?" I took it without thinking, then froze when I saw the screen. That was because a notification had just popped up: [This month's salary has been deposited. Total: $4,692.00.] I had been with this company for eight years, and I only made one thousand dollars a month. When I was hired, Kyle had told me that we were a startup. As long as I worked hard, I would make big money eventually. But over the years, Kyle had traded in one Mercedes after another while my salary kept shrinking. At present, my savings were less than four thousand dollars. I was close to not being able to afford the medical bills for my younger sister, Eva Rivers, who was very sick and bedridden. Meanwhile, the trainee I was mentoring made close to four thousand seven hundred dollars a month. I stayed quiet for a moment, then turned and asked the employee beside me how much he made. He stammered for a long time and would not answer. I understood it then. I picked up my phone and opened the recruitment message a competitor had sent me a few days earlier.

It was the day of my return. The city was talking about the birthday party my husband was throwing for me. He was a lawyer. But the night before the big day, a message popped up on my husband's cell phone. 'It's been five years. I've been waiting for far too long.' My husband pushed me away, though his face was smeared with guilt. "I'm sorry, honey. The GM wants me on a last-minute work trip. I can't make it in time for your birthday." He left without even missing a beat. I opened up the GPS app and watched the red dot move away. That was him. I got an Uber and tailed him right away. His GM was me. I just got the job, and I approved his leave for my birthday. And then he told me, in my face, that I assigned him on a last-minute work trip when I did no such thing. It was midnight. And I was going to find out who this man was meeting at this witching hour.

In those eight terrifying seconds when the plane dropped into darkness, my first thought was how devastated Lucas would be if I never made it to the airport. However, after surviving and landing safely, what greeted me instead…was a photo he shared with his childhood sweetheart, the two of them smiling on a hike. The caption read: [Here's to still being wild with you at sixty.] If it had been before, I probably would have blown up his phone, demanding an explanation and picking a fight. However, then, after brushing so close to death, I just felt… tired.. So I typed out a message: [Let's get a divorce.]

Amanza is introduced to a handsome, wealthy man named Holland Halston, and she is arranged to marry him in as little as eight days! But she could never let him know her real identity! For three years, she kept her identity covered. But by the third year, her marriage fell apart! Holland shocks Amanza on their Anniversary day, causing miscommunication and insurmountable misunderstandings. But why? Will her Secret, his lies, and her hidden identity be the culprit? What happened to this couple and their marriage to make it unravel at the speed of light? What did the husband discover? And what did the wife find out that would make divorce imminent? With the turn of every page, you'll be surprised!

Laila Jones has spent eight years building a quiet, beautiful life for herself and her daughter, Malaya. After her high school boyfriend caved to his racist grandfather and chose football and family approval over her and their unborn baby, Laila left Ohio, moved south, and raised Malaya on her own. Now Malaya is eight, there’s a daddy–daughter dance coming up, and her one Christmas wish is simple—and heartbreaking: she wants to meet her dad. Going home for the holidays was hard enough. Running into Jordan Hall, now the golden-boy quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals, is worse. He’s famous, gorgeous, and acting like he has the right to look at her with regret. Laila is ready to avoid him, yell at him, or both. What she doesn’t know is that after his grandfather’s death, Jordan discovered every letter she ever sent—proof that she kept their baby, begged him to come, and raised their daughter without him. The truth wrecks him, and this Christmas, he’s determined to fight for the family he should have had all along. But Laila isn’t interested in being anyone’s redemption arc. Especially not while his nasty fiancée is calling her a liar to the press and the internet is tearing her apart. As secrets unravel and emotions explode in front of cameras, Laila and Jordan have to decide what matters more: anger, pride, and old wounds…or the little girl who still believes Christmas wishes can come true.

After my boyfriend, Mitchell Cooper, finds out that I've spent 300 thousand dollars on a mug, he demands that I buy his mother a single-level apartment that's worth eight million dollars in the heart of the city. Naturally, I turn his ridiculous demand down in a roundabout way. But this sets him off instead. "Don't be so stingy! My mom will become your mom in the future! What's wrong with showering her with gifts in advance?" Afterward, he records all our expenses that have taken place during our relationship on presentation slides and tells me that we have to split them up. "If you think splitting up our expenses is a troublesome thing to do, then you might as well imburse all of them. You're the rich one, after all. "I've already discussed everything with my family. We'll only give you one dollar as a form of wedding gift. It means 'the only one,' which sounds amazing, right?" Upon noticing my lack of response, Mitchell issues the ultimatum right away. "If you refuse to accept these conditions, then we can call off the wedding. You've already dated me for so many years. I'd like to see if anyone wants a second-hand woman like you." I stare at the long list of expenses that need to be split. I even catch sight of the two-dollar Uber fees that were charged when Mitchell came to look for me in the past. With a smile on my face, I reply, "Okay, then. I don't want a single cent from you in terms of wedding gifts. I'll buy your mom that apartment right now."

Ian Ludwig and I have grown more in sync in the eight years we have been married. I believe him when he lies to me that he's on a business trip, when in reality he's buying a villa for Francesca Yarrington, his childhood friend. He also believes me when I hand him a divorce agreement, saying that it is a property transfer agreement. There's still one month left in the cooling-off period before our divorce is finalized. That gives me just enough time to clear out everything from our eight years of marriage.