Novel & Cerita Facial Scrub Kahf

"I'm the only one that can have you, you belong to me now." He pins my arms to the wall behind me while leaning in. I catch his scent, forest pine. My head feels dizzy as he bites my bottom lip. "But why? I-I'm not, I don't deserve-" "Shut up Calvin and take off your clothes." ------------------------------------------------------- David is a star billionaire of a affluent company, having a very abundant net worth. He has it all, the amber fiery eyes that melts everyone in sight, the strong, chiseled facial features that make even the most blessed weep. He has everything, so he should feel like the most complete man in the world right? Not really. ============== Calvin's soft, sweet, quiet and in shambles whenever he thinks of his looks. Never was man as humbled as he. He let people walk over him since birth (quite literally since he chose to be born a day later since the actual day was a inconvenience to his mother) and could only mutter a small sorry whenever someone would tease him of his weight. Ever since a youngen, he dreamed of someone to accept him for what he looked like, but did he ever think he'd be able to find that? Nope. Maybe these two are the pieces they need to complete the shambled puzzle in their souls. Or maybe not, who knows? ---- All rights reserved.

"Walt..." I looked at him, my hand trailed his chest. I was biting my lip, I need him. It felt like I need him to make me forget. It felt like a familiar thing to do. But I still wasn't sure that he wanted us to happen the way it was intended to. Then he cupped my jaw and kissed me. His lips touched mine, his facial hair tickled my face softly. I was opening my lips, as his thumb stroked my cheek. "You need to stop me, Flo, we shouldn't be doing this." He whispered hoarsely in my ear. Flo was abused and misused by her parents because of her ability to see the future and see the dead. Until one day she runs away and finds herself in Walter's protection. She had all the right feelings for him, but he kept pushing her away until she finally left. Then he realized that he needed her more than he knew. Walter had been let down by the universe over and over again. He had to rebuild himself from his lowest moments several times already. He was trying to be strong, and he was finally happy for the first time in his life, only to be fucked up majorly as fate decided to take his wife's life before their first anniversary. He was rebuilding the tallest wall he had ever made, but Flo slowly tearing it apart and making him doubt himself. Will he finally have a happy ending, or will fate screw him again?

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.

When I go home for the holidays, I find out that my dad has installed a facial recognition machine at the front door. "You'll have to pay an entry fee of 50 thousand dollars. Will you be paying by card or payment code?" I thought my dad was joking at first. As I laugh, I attempt to walk through the front door while pushing my luggage forward. But my mom passes me a price list with an icy look. "That'll be 200 dollars for dragging stuff across the floor. You'll also be charged 1,000 dollars per hour for using up the air." I'm stunned by her words. "Mom, stop messing around already!" But when I walk into the house, I realize that the air inside has disappeared. Unable to breathe, my face soon turns bright red out of suffocation as I kneel down on the floor. My mom huffs coldly again. "If you want to live, then pay up!" With great difficulty, I dig out my phone and pay the fees. Once the transaction is done, I can feel air rushing through my nostrils and into my lungs. For a few moments, I pant heavily. As I stare at my cold-looking parents, I finally feel that something is off. So, I scramble up to my feet and rush for the door. But that's when I find out that the front door is already welded shut. There's a payment code pasted on the door as well as a message. "Exit fee. One million dollars."

"Let's live in together ..." She said those words solemnly in her flat facial expression like reading a formal report. “WHATTT???” The young man blinked his eyes in disbelief several times at the woman in front of him as if she has gone insane. But the firm look on her eyes showed him that she was serious with what she just said before. “I like this apartment. You also like it, right?” “Let’s live in together so we can share the rental fee. After 1 year, we can decide whether we want to extend here or not?” The woman glanced at him once again. Requesting for an answer from his mouth. "How?" The young man turned his head away. He seems irk with this weird request but in other hand, he should admit that everything that she said was makes sense too. Especially for sharing the rental fee. It’s a win - win solution! He’s totally broke! And he is in an urge for finding a new place to stay now! "OK. Deal… ” The two of them shook hands as an agreement. "But I also have a request." The young man said those words while his hand still holding her hand warmly. He stared at her and forming a smile on his face seductively. Arissa frowned and raised her eyebrows confusedly. "What is it?" "You can't fall in love with me ..." She sneered out and a mocking smile curved on her face shortly. "No worries. I'm an asexual after all…. ”

My adopted daughter, Phoebe Marsh, possessed an evil ability. Whenever she got hurt, the pain would also be inflicted directly on my biological daughter, Maisie Shaw. She deliberately hurt herself, covering her body with wounds and bruises. Then, she would turn around with cold eyes, watching Maisie writhe on the floor in agony until she passed out from the pain. With no medical solution available, I broke down and held Maisie close, begging my husband, Brandon Shaw, to send Phoebe away. However, he would erupt in fury. "It's obviously Maisie who's been faking illness for attention, and you're making up this ridiculous story to get rid of Phoebe. She's just a fragile, helpless child. How can you be so vicious?" After that, Phoebe escalated her self-harm even more viciously. Meanwhile, Maisie spent every day curled up in the corner of her bed, refusing to let anyone touch her. On Maisie's birthday, Phoebe threw herself from the fifth floor. Just as Maisie was blowing out her candles and making a wish, she suddenly began bleeding from all her facial orifices, and she died instantly. Yet, Phoebe only suffered minor scrapes. I died from overwhelming grief shortly after. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to Phoebe's first day in our home. Maisie was playing with her Legos when she suddenly clutched her ankle and started crying. This time, I grabbed the broom from behind the door and swung it toward Maisie, shouting, "I'll beat you up for faking illness and seeking attention!"

Rivergate's most elite social circle had always shared an unspoken rule. Men were free to play the field as they pleased, drifting from one woman to the next. Women, on the other hand, were only allowed a single, discreet indulgence on the day they came of age—a privately hired "life assistant" meant to take care of their physical needs. … On my coming-of-age day, I picked Elliot at first glance from a hundred applicants who came in for interviews. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, looked composed and restrained, and carried himself with a calm maturity that set him apart. He was steady, meticulous, and obsessively clean. The only condition he agreed to was that there would be no bodily contact—hands only. And after every encounter, he would scrub his hands with disinfectant alcohol a hundred times. Over five years, the empty bottles alone were enough to circle the villa seven times. I used to think that one day, I'd help him overcome his barriers and truly make him mine. That illusion shattered the night I got drunk and accidentally wandered into Elliot's room. Hidden beneath his pillow was a DV camera, and inside were several videos of him pleasuring himself. On the screen, the same man who had always been calm and rational with me was staring at the lingerie of the adopted sister who had caused my mother's death, his Adam's apple bobbing as he moaned her name, "Chloe… I love you…" Only then did I realize that every step he had taken toward me had never been about me at all. It had always been a carefully concealed, long-nurtured love for her. So, it was very odd that he cried when I took my adopted sister's place in marrying someone else.

Emma's life was not different than Cinderella's, she was punished by her stepmother and sister. And only a prince charming could change her life. For five years, Emma lived in Charlotte Miller’s shadow—forced to play her double, smile for her photos, write her speeches, and disappear the moment the spotlight hit. She was paid to be silent, obedient, and forgettable. Until the night everything shattered. Her heart. Her pride. And her place as Charlotte’s puppet. They forced her into a marriage with Xeros Martinez—a dangerous billionaire heir of the Martinez empire and a man who makes danger feel like desire. She was a substitute bride for him, and the only thing she expected from him was coldness and rejection. But what she didn't expect was his intervention when Charlotte's mother was about to whip her. "How dare you touch my vanilla?" He growled like thunder. "Try it again—and I'll remind you why people fear my name." Their marriage may have begun as a business arrangement, but the heat between them refuses to be ignored. Because later, when she tried to avoid the heat burning between them, he dropped his towel with a smirk, “Scrub my body, wife.” She hesitated. “W-Will I…?” He stepped closer, water dripping down his chiseled chest. “Isn’t that what a wife does?” And when her fingers brushed against his skin, he leaned in, voice low and wicked: “Tell me… do you think I’m sexy?” She mumbled a breathless yes. “What was that?” he asked, teasing. She shook her head, flustered. So he grabbed her waist and smashed his lips onto hers, stealing the truth straight from her mouth.

My roommate had a peculiar knack for pestering everyone into liking her posts on social media, all so she could collect enough likes to claim some prize or another. It was her way of life—nagging, nudging, and guilting us into clicking that little thumbs-up. One time, the campus beauty queen liked my roommate's ad for a facial mask. Not long after, she was in a horrific car accident. The vehicle caught fire, and her face suffered severe burns, leaving her disfigured beyond recognition. Meanwhile, my roommate seemed to undergo a miraculous transformation, her complexion turning porcelain fair and flawless as though she'd been kissed by the heavens. Then there was the academic prodigy, a shoe-in for graduate school, who liked her tutoring service post. Shortly after, he was exposed for academic fraud, and his once-brilliant reputation was reduced to ashes. Strangely enough, my roommate's research paper suddenly won an award, catapulting her to fame and fortune. And me? I fell into her trap too. I liked her rental agency ad, and before I knew it, my world crumbled. A scandal erupted, revealing that I was the result of a mix-up at birth. It turned out she was the long-lost child of wealth and privilege—a hidden gem cast into the rough, now reclaimed by her rightful family. As for me, I was packed off to the countryside village she had escaped from and forced into a brutal marriage with an old man. My life became a living hell, and eventually, I died there, broken and forgotten. But fate wasn't done with me yet. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day my roommate begged me to like her post in exchange for yet another prize.

To help my husband, Henry Carter, pay off a million-dollar debt, I clean windows and scrub toilets in an office building on Valentine's Day just for the triple pay. After I'm done with the windows, I am about to transfer the last 50 thousand dollars of the debt when a post suddenly pops up on my phone. The title of the post is, "What is something you see in real life that makes you feel sorry for someone, even if they are your enemy?" One of the top comments says, "The person I hate the most is my boyfriend's wife. My boyfriend pretends to be poor to spend money on me and cheats his wife out of over a million. That woman works day and night at a cleaning company just to make money for me! "This has gone on for eight years. That woman has been scrubbing toilets for eight years! Even if she is my enemy, I feel sorry for her." I freeze, and my fingers tremble uncontrollably. No way. It has to be a coincidence. I stare at those words, stunned and unable to recover from the shock. Then, a new comment appears, "Now, my boyfriend plans to fake an illness by telling his wife that he has cancer. He's going to trick her into giving him money to buy me a car." At that exact moment, Henry sends me a message. The instant I open it, I feel my heart skip a beat. It reads, "I'm sorry, honey. I'm sick—I have cancer. The doctor says we need to prepare 80 thousand dollars for treatment. I hate myself for this. Why am I even alive? I'm just dragging you down with me." The words "late-stage liver cancer" in the attached diagnosis report are painful to look at. I think in dismay, "Henry, you do not need to pretend to be sick. You are indeed in the late stage of cancer."