For What It's Worth Book Novels & Stories

"Look at you. Without your parents to back you up, you're nothing but a useless wreck. I'm not going to waste my life in poverty with you. I thought you'd make a comeback, but clearly, you're just useless." Jessica stared at him in disbelief. "Wilson, didn't you say you loved me? You never used to care this much about money before…"

Rain couldn't believe that Ben was utterly unaffected by Clarissa and her two friends' conversation. "The package," said Ben. "The package your father asked me to take contains an old book. Mr. Orwell said the book was worth billions of dollars. Many people are hunting for it. I'm sure all three of them are after the book. Your father will auction the book and use the money for your education, so you don't have to work anymore."

I stood before the locked White Wolf book, a sense of determination washed over me. This was the moment I had been waiting for—a chance to unlock the secrets hidden within its pages and delve into the mysteries of my life. This book had the ability to tell me more about who I was and what I was meant to do. Suddenly, all the trials and tribulations that I had been through in the past year felt worth it for this moment. I deserved this. I deserved to know who I was.

I looked at him, this man who ran an empire and had contingency plans for everything and kept reading glasses in a desk drawer so nobody would know he needed them, telling me with complete certainty that I should finish a book I’d abandoned years ago, and something about the absolute lack of doubt in his voice undid me slightly in a way I hadn’t expected. “I don’t even know if it’s good,” I said. “You won’t know until you finish it.” “That’s terrifying.” “Most worthwhile things are,” he said simply. I didn’t have an answer for that, so I looked back down at my own book, and the room settled back into quiet, and I was almost convinced I’d composed myself properly when I felt him reach across

I stood there for a long time after everyone else had cleared out, listening to nothing in particular, talking myself very firmly out of every single thought in my head. It didn't work. It never worked. I was screwed.

“Val.. make sure you don’t crease the book. Keep it in top quality condition. Dawn.. you know your book would fetch a good price in a faraway future because of the message and signature, right?” “I know.. That’s why it’s there..” She grinned. “Eh--what, what? What do you mean get a good price? Are you selling it? No way.. She gifted it to us!” Valerie grumbled, hugging the book. “Ah.. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not saying that it would be sold during our generation. I’m talking about something like, generations down the line.. You know--our future descendants. I know a lot of people that don’t care about their parents’ or grandparents’ books and would just give it away, throw it in the t

It's already up on my profile. Again, thank you. Please comment and leave a review if this book is worth the ride. I’d love to hear from you. xx See you later, lovelies…

As though being born a girl had made me less useful. For years, I wondered what was wrong with me. Then I watched my mother rebuild herself. I watched Dad love us without measuring what we could give him. I watched three tiny children become impossible little geniuses. And slowly, I understood. Nothing had been wrong with me. Someone else had simply been incapable of seeing my worth.

Victor’s smirk faltered, but Tyson leaned in, his tone cutting sharper. “And you… You’re no saint. You parade yourself as the future, but your degree? Bought. A piece of paper passed under the table. You’re not the only one, either — this country is rotting with men like you, climbing into power with fake diplomas, ghost transcripts, exam halls where the only test is how much you can pay. Kenya is drowning in wolves wearing sheepskin, Victor. And you’re one of them.” Victor stiffened, the arrogance in his face flickering into unease.

He reads it the way he reads titles: not the words but the weight. "The first life," he says. "What the practice earned and what the practice cost." "Both," he says. "Both," she confirms. "The first three books were about the earning. The fourth is the first to say directly that there was also a cost. Not a regret — a cost. The first life was a full life. The cost of the second life is knowing what the first life could have been, which is knowledge you cannot unknow." "Is that a cost or a gift?"