Fluffy Hair Drawing

I pleaded with my husband Cedric Fleetham over and over, and finally, he agreed to take our daughter camping in the mountains for her birthday. When I found her late the next night, she was already gone. She lay at the foot of the mountain, her tiny hand still clutching a drawing of our family. As I knelt beside her, my heart shattered. Meanwhile, Cedric was busy updating his social media. His post read, [You and our daughter are my treasures,] and it was accompanied by a photo, where he stood beside his childhood sweetheart and held hands with another little girl, watching the sunset. And there, in the corner of the picture, was a tiny hand—my daughter’s hand. The cruelest truth of all was that my daughter took that photo.

She was only supposed to be the help… but she might just be his salvation. Billionaire Asher Brown is a man haunted by loss. Ever since his wife’s tragic death, his world has revolved around two things—his daughter, Chloe, and his business empire. Love is the last thing on his mind… until Dahlia Reigns walks through his door. Hired as Chloe’s live-in maid, Dahlia never expected to become more than just an employee. But as she brings warmth and laughter back into the Brown household, she finds herself drawn to the brooding man behind the suit. And Asher? He can’t seem to stay away from her. But not everyone wants to see them happy. Catherine, his late wife’s sister, has her own plans—and she’s willing to destroy Dahlia to keep Asher under her control. As secrets unravel and lines blur, Asher and Dahlia must decide: Will they risk it all for love, or will the past win once again? SPECIAL NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR Dearest incoming readers, this may sound unkind but it needs to be said. Please, if you're expecting a fast-paced, smutty romance book, then this one might not be the one for you. This book is a slow-paced, fluffy romance that focuses on building trust and a lovable communication with mature and understanding characters. Which means no toxicity from the ML and FL of any such. While there will be smut, more of it to come, please do not expect it within the first few chapters. If you're looking for something different and unique, I suggest you give this one a try, and if it's not your style, please skip. Bad and unnecessary comments will not be condoled. Thank you.

" I can be your angel saving you from nightmares and I can also be the monster under your bed, clawing at you when you sleep", Leo whispered drawing her closer to him. " I am ruthless, don't try to change me", he smiled gripping her neck. "You are a monster", Elizabeth spat to which he laughed. Elizabeth, a nineteen years old orphan found herself in the street of America after escaping from the orphanage. Stealing and pickpocketing has been her means of survival. She found herself in the most dangerous situation when she stole an important item from the most powerful American mobster. Will he take interest in her or will she become one of his pawns?

" I think you need to be punished whore." turned around and pulled me with him, my hair still in his grasp. He pulled me up the stairs with him. My hands-on his trying to free my hair from his grip. He climbed up and stood near the last step and turned towards me. " Get ready wifey." He smirked while speaking. " I fall you fall jerk! " I whisper. He pushed me down releasing my hair. I fist both of my hands on either side of his shoulder and pull him down by pulling his coat. He stumbles because of my unexpected move and holds my waist by pulling me closer and supporting my head by placing his hand under it. I fall down with Jason on top of me.

I am a postgraduate archaeology student whose fieldwork combines GIS technology with excavation, and during one project I become entangled in a concealed emotional relationship with two lecturers. Linus is restrained, intellectually rigorous, and emotionally distant, offering a sense of order and safety rooted in academic discipline, while Theo is charismatic, passionate, and ethically unstable, drawing me into intensity and risk. What begins as professional admiration develops into intimacy shaped by secrecy, hierarchy, and blurred boundaries. As the excavation exposes layered traces of past lives, I am forced to confront my own desire, ambition, and guilt, and the story ultimately centres not on choosing between two men, but on learning how to live with complexity and accept the consequences of crossing lines.

Ever since my mom gave birth to her second child, everything in the household is tied to drawing lots. Everyone has to draw lots in order to decide whose favorite food will be served for each meal. We have to draw lots to see who among us gets a hug from our parents. Every time, I end up drawing the short end of the stick, so everyone automatically assumes that my younger sister, Anabelle Madden, gets the better lot. She easily reaps my parents' love without having to do anything at all. Whenever I feel like crying because of the injustice, Mom will scold me instantly. "I bought the lottery box because I was worried that you might feel upset about this. I'm doing this just to be fair to both of you. "If you want something, you have to be the one deciding who gets what. Your father and I won't interfere with your decision at all. Since you can't draw the better lot, that just means you have bad luck." Hence, I keep practicing my lot-drawing skills every day, hoping that I can eventually draw the better lot in order to obtain my parents' love. But for ten years, I never get to draw the better lot. Not even once. On my birthday, Anabelle wants to go to the amusement park, so Mom tells us to draw lots once again. I secretly glue two short lots together before giving it to Mom in an attempt to get her to stay with me. Instead, she slaps me and berates me for being a disobedient child who cheats in lot-drawing. Then, she leaves the house with Anabelle. When I fall to the floor, I feel the short sticks piercing through my neck.

In the second year of our marriage, which Brett Mason had secured through relentless means, he brought home his latest conquest—a stunning blonde. As the door swung shut, he ran his fingers through her silky hair, flashing me a smug, triumphant grin. "Wanna join us? You might learn a thing or two about not being such a dead fish." I could still recall how he once adored my hair, claiming that just stroking it would melt away his deepest worries. It turned out any woman could serve that purpose. In that instant, a profound sense of release washed over me. I retrieved the divorce agreement I'd stashed away in a drawer and handed it to him. "Sign it, and I'll make room for her." My days were numbered, and I had no intention of wasting what little time remained entangled in his resentment.

The man in front of Emanuele is handsome: ebony-dark skin, shaved hair, shining eyes and big defined muscles. There is one thing wrong, however: a WOMAN is supposed to be answering the door. The beginning of this confusion, however, is just the tip of the iceberg: a fiery romance is about to emerge between them, as well as the obstacles.

“True love stories never have endings.” Dean said softly. “Richard Bach.” I nodded. “You taught me that quote the night I kissed you for the first time.” He continued, his fingers weaving through loose hair around my face. “And I held on to that every day since.”

To encourage overall development, the kindergarten had asked each student to create a hand-drawn poster. My daughter Holly refused my help and insisted on doing it all on her own. Little did I know, most of the other children had their parents do the artwork for them. In comparison, Holly's delicate strokes were quickly dismissed. Not only was her work discarded into the trash, but her teacher also called her out in the parent group, criticizing her for being careless with the assignment. As I racked my brain trying to figure out how to help Holly regain her confidence in drawing, I was surprised to see Holly's artwork among the winning entries in the state-level children's art competition. But the signature wasn't hers—it belonged to another student from her class.