Folding Warhammer Table Novels & Stories

My husband took our six-year-old daughter on a fishing trip, but when his first love called, he left her alone to answer his phone. With no one watching her, our daughter fell into the sea, and we never recovered her body. Heartbroken, I called him and begged him to return, but his voice was cold as he said, “Cheyenne, today’s Queenie's birthday. Can you stop being such a buzzkill?” When I stumbled back home in despair, I found his first love clinging provocatively to him, a smug smile on her face. “What’s got you so upset, sis-in-law?” she sneered. I let out a cold laugh and flipped the dining table over. “As long as you’re alive, I’ll never be happy.”

When my husband, Kevin, and I were at our favorite exclusive restaurant, he ordered a T-bone steak and told the waiter with practiced ease, "The usual, and no arugula in the side salad." I paused, then gently nudged his elbow. "Honey, did you forget? Arugula is my favorite." Kevin's body tensed, and he quickly corrected himself. I even teased him, asking if he was so tired lately that his memory was starting to go. A week later, I came back to the restaurant alone to unwind, only to overhear the young woman at the next table waving to the waiter with a smile. "The T-bone again, and no arugula in the salad. Just put it on my husband's tab." "The account number is 8993." My knife and fork clattered against the bone china plate. That string of numbers was my husband's private phone number.

When we're playing cards during the holidays, my cousin, Owen Thompson, suddenly calls it boring and tells us that he wants to make a big gamble. Then, he tosses his BMW keys onto the table and asks if we're bold enough to follow up with our own bets. I know that Owen is just trying to flaunt the fact that he's bought himself a BMW. Everyone is stunned by his antics. They quickly say, "This is just a game. We're not going to bet anything else." After that, they start complimenting how amazing Owen is to be able to own a BMW at such a young age. I, on the other hand, hesitate to do so. After all, my trump cards are a set of Ks. Having gotten his ego boosted by the compliments, Owen is about to flush the deck when I put my car keys belonging to a cheaper, rundown car. Then, I mumble, "I'm going to follow up with a bet of my own." Everyone falls silent at my statement. They just stare at me in disbelief, whereas Owen widens his eyes out of shock. Almost immediately, things grow heated between us. The moment both of us place our car keys onto the betting table, our feeble relationship as cousins is quick to vanish. But I don't regret my decision. Owen is the one who has decided to bet his BMW, after all. Since he's capable of being this ruthless toward his own relatives, I might as well not give a damn about his feelings at all. Owen lets out a cold chuckle before saying, "How much do you have in that pocket of yours, huh? You really think you can scare me, chump? I have a BMW, for crying out loud! You should gather more money first before placing your bet! Don't go around scamming others with just a shitty car!"

I stepped closer. Close enough to smell his cologne—cedarwood, leather, and power. My hand moved. Smooth, practiced. The pistol slide from under the apron into my palm. I raised it fast. But before I could pull the trigger— BANG. Not my shot. A scream tore through the restaurant as another man launched himself toward Romano’s table, blade flashing. Another assassin. What the hell— Romano didn’t flinch. He shoved the table forward, knocking the attacker off balance. The blade scraped across wood, not skin. I ducked instinctively as the room erupted into chaos. Gunfire cracked. Glass exploded. People screamed and dove for cover. “Get him out—NOW!” one of the guards barked. I aimed for the second attacker. Didn’t even hesitate. One shot—head. Gone. The guard saw me. Confusion flashed in his eyes. Then rage. I ran. I weaved between overturned chairs, plates, and screaming bodies. The smell of blood was real now, thick in the air. One of the guards grabbed me. I slammed my elbow into his ribs, twisted, and brought the butt of my gun down on his skull. He dropped like a sack of bricks. Out. I had to get out. My boots pounded the floor as I tore through the narrow hallway. But then— “Elisa.” His voice stopped me cold. I turned. Antonio Romano stood in the middle of the carnage, suit untouched, blood spattered behind him like art. His eyes were on me. And he was smiling. It was darker. Slower. Like a hunter seeing something worth chasing. Somehow, he knew who I was. “Interesting,” he said softly, tilting his head. “They sent you.” I didn’t answer. I ran. But that voice followed me. He knew my name. And he let me go. This wasn’t over. It had just begun.

"What's your problem?" Morgana asked, frustrated. "You don't get it. You're like the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I seriously can't let you go. I mean it." Drake replied, his eyes scanning everything that would be his to explore after she says 'YES'. "You're being creepy, you know. Want us to get violent? Cuz I'm all for it." She wasn't loosing her cool now. Drake just chuckled at that. "You know there's a way to solve this." He said. She rolled her eyes, but he took it as a clue to move on. "Let me kiss you." "What!" "I'm serious. If you surrender yourself to me for five minutes and you don't feel like you want more of me, I will get off your back." He said, faking a serious expression. "You're crazy." "You're curious." "Shut up!" "Try it. The best way to get rid of me. Cool deal." He coarsed. After a few minutes of contemplating, she finally agreed, folding her arms across her chest and closing her eyes. How cute, he thought staring at her. "If you disturb me after this, then you're dead." She said, wondering why he hasn't gotten the clue that she's ready. ........... One minute..... Two...... Three....... Four..... five..... "Why did you stop?" Eyes misty and breath ragged, Morgana's gaze continued to hold his own. His smirk made her realized what had just transpired. Damn it! "Baby, five minutes are over. It's up to you now. Should I continue?" He asked, his hands still playing a few magic to keep her in mood. "There are so many stuff we would explore together. Believe me baby, you're gonna enjoy them." He added, seeing how she was about to get herself together. "You asshole!" She cursed. "What did I do?" "Go on." "Hmm?" "Kiss me." She glared at him, but reached for his lips this time. The damn CEO is a good kisser and this cat couldn't resist the temptation.

“I hate you!” I picked up the flower vase from the center table, and lifted my hand to throw it at him. But before I could do so, the man from behind gripped my hand, and collected it from me. “Are you going to sign the divorce papers?” he brought out a gun, and cocked it. “Or would you rather lose your life?” ****************** Sometimes, saying 'I do' could be the beginning of true marital bliss. And other times? It could be the beginning of endless suffering and torture. Abby had only ever wanted a man for herself, and when Claude showed up, he was everything she could ask for, and even more. But sometimes, even criminals wear innocent faces. What happens when Abby learns that the man whom she loved was responsible for the explosion that claimed the lives of her parents and best friend?

She came to him with hope. He used her as a tool. Aria never imagined fate would bind her to a cold, ruthless billionaire. She gave him everything — her sincerity, her trust, her body — only to discover she was never his wife. She was his vessel. A means to an heir. When she found herself pregnant and the truth shattered her world, Aria made a vow: her child would never be a pawn. She vanished without a trace, rebuilding herself from the ground up. Seven years later, Dr. Aria Vale is unrecognizable — a world-renowned surgeon, magnetic and untouchable, with power no one can take from her. When the man who destroyed her ends up on her operating table, the tables have turned. He is on his knees now. But will she catch him — or let him fall?

DARK ROMANCE | EROTIC | VENGEANCE (Not suitable for sensitive person) " Don't worry, Cupcake. Everything is halal when it comes to us. " He twisted the hair string which was kissing her face. Sort of jealousy maybe. " Even if I f**k you here. " He patted the counter behind her. " On the counter. Or on the floor. Or the table of the shop, or the cash counter of the shop. My touch. " He was scanning her pale face when his back of finger caressed her soft and red cheek. " My desire for you. My intention towards you. Nothing is wrong.." Slap! After a hard sound, his words cut off and silence swathed the whole shop along with the kitchen. What will happen when her blind eyes see the wrath of his darkness? Will his obsession tarnish her soul? Will she see the color of the love she was promised?

I was the stand-in who looked most like my husband's first love. He put me through countless plastic surgeries, both major and minor ones, until I became her exact likeness. But then, she came back from the dead. All it took was her saying, "I don't like anyone looking like me," and he sent me right back to the operating table once more. I begged him, telling him that my body couldn't handle it anymore. Alas, he only looked at me with irritation. "Seeing that cheap imitation of her face just disgusts me," he sneered. "No matter how close you come, you'll never be her." In the end, I died on that operating table. Yet, he went mad, trying desperately to recall what I once looked like.

Not every woman sits waiting to play submissive to Mr. dominant or to be swept off her feet by prince charming. Some sit in offices with their legs crossed on the table, and own their castles... Fuck prince charming. But Ricky Mears, an arrogant billionaire isn't prince charming, he's a certified asshole... Neither does he have time to sweep any woman off her feet. Things turn around for the both dominant CEOs when they meet... Suddenly Jade Kimberly Raymonds wants Ricky to play prince in her already built castle, and Ricky wishes she would need help being swept off her feet. Regardless of being an asshole, Ricky still has the body of Adonis, capable of making the woman buried in her work burn. It is akin to fuel kissing flames... The fire in their passion, cannot be quenched. P.S. Cover picture not mine.