Novel & Cerita Father And Son Novel

She soon realized that Viktor wasn't saying anything. She spun to find a deep frown on his face, his eyes darkened. When he put the phone down, she was moved to ask “What's the problem?” There was a dangerous edge to his voice as he spoke “Father was arrested” Dante! “Arrested!?” Cassandra's stomach sank.

Dad proved he still had the Alpha instinct flowing through his blood and won't he race. We ate cake until we were breathless, we told stories until our voices grew hoarse, and we simply were. There was no talk of the Council, no talk of Jax, no talk of the scandal. As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of violet and burnt orange, my father and Rosa prepared to leave. "I'll see you in a few days?" my father asked, hugging me one last time. "I'll come visit the packhouse," I promised.

I pulled on the robe with shaking hands and made my way down the long hallway toward his office, the folder clutched tight against my chest like evidence in a trial I wasn’t ready for. The office door stood open. Damian was already there, standing behind his desk in a crisp black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He looked up the instant I stepped inside, gray eyes fixed on me. I didn’t sit. I didn’t greet him. I just held up the folder and said the only thing burning in my throat. “You and Cassian… you’re father and son.” Damian didn’t flinch. He simply closed the laptop in front of him and met my gaze head-on.

How can a man who doesn't understand his own son understand a complete stranger? I stay silent. As I always do. My mother looks at me with the same sympathy in her eyes as she always does. My father levels me with a hard look, as usual. The only new addition here is Anthony Crosswalk. Who looks at me like I'm way beneath him. But, at the end of the day, it doesn't matter what he thinks about me, because it's not him I'm marrying, it's his son, who, from what I've seen, does not like his father. "Where's Warren?" I ask my mother, referring to the boy who used to landscape our garden, AKA my childhood crush.

“Three times today, princess. Filled this tight little cunt while he was texting you like a worried puppy. He was right outside that door, and you were in here naked, legs wrapped around Daddy, whimpering as I came inside you again. How’s that feel, baby? Knowing your man’s hunting for his sweet girlfriend while she’s dripping his father’s load?” “Oh my god, Adrian—Daddy—shut the fuck up! You think that’s funny? your son—was right there, banging on the door while you fucked me. What if he heard us in the shower? What if he pushed in and saw me like this—naked, marked up, pussy swollen from your cock? Fuck, he’d lose his shit, call me a cheating whore, and you’d be the one explaining why his

“My youngest wife.” Youngest. The word landed heavier than it should have. The son looked at me then, truly looked. His gaze sharpened, assessing in a way that felt personal now. Not as a buyer. Not as a man appraising a body. But as a son confronting something he did not want to understand. “So young,” he said quietly. There was accusation in it. I said nothing. His father smiled faintly. “She is well suited.” Something flickered across the son’s face disapproval, perhaps, quickly masked.

The bond between father and son had grown closer day by day, especially since the incident with Josh Corp and the many rumors that circulated back then. "What about your situation there?" "It's just fine. Beverly Hills and New York City, what's the difference?" Leonel walked towards the window of his rented apartment. The night sky in Beverly Hills was bright, with stars scattered across it as usual. The bond between father and son had grown closer day by day, especially since the incident with Josh Corp and the many rumors that circulated back then.

Father leaned behind his son. “You want that girl?” he asked. “Why don’t you have her?” “She only goes for jerks. You know nice guys finish last.” “Well, you’re not that nice. I know what you did to your sister with the hot dog. Don’t deny it.” Jon didn’t. No point. He knew how Father collected information. “Her death would’ve caused quite a few problems.”

With a soft giggle, I opened the document and then began reading. Oh. Oh dear. Leaning closer, my eyes swung left to right, over and over again as I read my father's words. This story was... different. And it most certainly fit the "forbidden" category. I hadn't even made it ten paragraphs in when the action started. But it wasn't the kind of action I expected. Not at all. This was a story about a father and his daughter.

“Where is Dad?” Ice asked their housemaid when dinner was served. For tonight, he was having steak and beans and chilled Cabernet Sauvignon. “He is not back yet, sir Ice. He was summoned to the Manor.” Upon hearing the current whereabouts of his father, Ice threw the glass of wine that was served to him and growled loudly. He was no longer surprised that his father woukd be out late from his shift but knowing that he is in the manor---it triggered his long withstanding rage. He despises that place and he despises the Reds for many things. Ice is Francis’ only son. While his father had a disposition and the understanding and patience of a saint---his son was the complete opposite of the fathe