Novel & Cerita Glass Sneaker

Everyone in New York knew that Don Lorenzo Capone loved his wife dearly. At the height of our love, he shielded me from a bullet that went straight through his chest. The hospital issued eleven critical condition notices. I cried myself hoarse at the door of the emergency room. "Lorenzo, don't you dare die on me, or I'll instantly find a pretty boy to marry and have children with!" He survived the ordeal, and the first thing he did when he opened his eyes was to marry me. After the marriage, he ruled over New York's largest underground empire with an iron fist, but never allowed any woman to get close to him. On our third wedding anniversary, I went to his private dock to give him a surprise. There, I saw him holding a pair of twins, teaching them how to shoot. The man who could kill without batting an eye was looking at the children with eyes full of affection. The children's mother was Elena Tribbiani, the daughter of an arms dealer who was his equal. "Lorenzo, what if Vivian finds out?" Lorenzo dismissed it casually. "A fragile porcelain doll like her is only fit to be displayed in a glass case. Only a she-wolf like you is worthy of bearing my family's cubs." It turned out, what I thought was true love was merely a carefully-woven lie. I did not confront him. Instead, I sent a text message to an FBI special agent. "Agent Smith, I have a list of the arms deal you’re investigating."

Ernest West left the courtroom with wings on his feet. Leaving Don James was, in Ernest's opinion, the best thing he had ever done for himself. No more tense silences. No more Don's silent, smothering adoration. Ernest had been released. Three years have passed since then. Now, what once was the best choice has turned into a noose around their necks. There is a sinister provision buried within the small print of the divorce papers that Ernest's attorney overlooked; they are obligated to live together and manage the small beach hotel that they used to own as a couple for an entire year. Thus, Ernest finds himself back amid the groaning wooden boards and salty panes of glass within the walls of where their love once withered away. However, Don is no longer the same weak and longing man that Ernest abandoned. He now stands as an intimidating pillar of cold indifference, forged by the stony resolve and lack of concern. Not even a passing glance comes from Don’s green eyes, which regard Ernest with only polite reserve. A year of closeness. A year of unresolved tension. A year of dealing with each and every lie that Ernest tried to bury beneath "irreconcilable differences." In the beginning, the plan is a silent battle—appointments stuck to the fridge, dinners taken in different corners of the house. Yet, there’s something about closeness that reveals the whole truth. Ernest discovers the picture albums that Don never discarded. He listens to telephone conversations in the dead of night that reveal the loneliness he feels himself. And gradually, painfully, he discovers that the greatest error made wasn’t the separation. It was letting Don leave.

On my birthday, my adopted sister, Sophia Norris, frames me for soiling her dress and causing her to not be able to attend the banquet. My older brothers, Gerald and Gary Moore, immediately demand that I give my gown to Sophia. Otherwise, they will cancel the birthday banquet. Furious, I point at them while screaming, "I didn't ruin her dress at all! She was the one who splashed red wine onto it! "Also, I will never give my gown to her! My best friend designed it for me!" As soon as my words fall, Gerald commands the bodyguards to tear the gown from my body. At the same time, Gary picks up a wine glass and dumps red wine onto my face. "It's bad enough that you constantly bully Sophia! Today, her crush, Zachary Green, will be attending the banquet too! Do you have any idea how long she has prepared for this day to come?" Gerald adds, "A vile woman like you doesn't have the right to be born, let alone celebrate your birthday!" After that, a few bodyguards drag me into the basement. Immediately, pitch-black darkness swallows me. I have severe asthma. Breathing becomes insanely difficult for me as seconds tick by. I keep screaming loudly and calling for help, but all I hear is laughter coming from the banquet upstairs. It isn't until the banquet is well underway that Gerald and Gary remember that I exist. But I've already died in the cramped basement.

My back hits the cold glass of the penthouse window, the city glittering a thousand feet below us. Sebastian’s hand is at my throat—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind me who I belong to. “You were talking to him,” he says, voice low, dangerous. His other hand is braced beside my head, caging me in. “You smiled.” “It was just—” “Don’t lie to me, Ocean.” His thumb brushes the hollow of my throat, and my pulse jumps so hard he feels it. “You’re mine. Every glance. Every breath. Every inch of you.” I should be furious. I should tell him I’m not his property. But then his mouth is on mine—rough, consuming, tasting like the whiskey he hasn’t let go of since the gala. I moan before I can stop myself. That’s all the permission he needs. His hand slides to my waist, fingers digging in as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish. The heat between us ignites like dry kindling. It’s dangerous. It’s too much. It’s everything. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark enough to drown in. “One year,” he murmurs. “That was the deal. But you… you’re making me want forever.” And in that moment, I know the worst truth of all— If Sebastian Velez decides to keep me, I won’t even try to run.

It was no secret that Lucas, the Alpha of the Redline Pack, had spent ten years pursuing me. He did so patiently and devotedly, never wavering, as if loving me were the only purpose he had in this life. But on the eve of our wedding, one conversation between Lucas and his friend struck me. "You have secretly dated Shane for a while now, but you will Mark Charlotte as your Mate instead?" His friend had asked. "How can the two be the same? How could Shane, a substitute, compare to Charlotte? I might consider keeping her if she behaves herself and doesn't make a scene. Don't worry, Charlotte won't mind," I heard Luca say confidently. But Shane has no intention of behaving. On the day for eh Marking, she stormed the Ritual grounds and pushed me hard making me fall of the center stage unto the grass. Lucas was by her side quickly to protect her not me. Shane had lost all reason from the heart break and had a shard of glass to her her neck. "Choose me or Charlotte right now!" She screamed and I saw Lucas descend into a panic. Shane must have gotten injured in the chaos because I could hear Lucas shouting to clear the way and let him pass, saying he needed to rush Charlotte to a hospital. But I was hurt as well, yet he did not care. "If anything happens to her, you will all pay the price," he had declared. Those words shattered my heart and was the beginning of the end. I now know what to do—booking a ticket and left him forever.

In my previous life, during my birthday party, my wife Ruby’s so‑called best friend, Hayden, walked up to me with a glass of wine and a smirk. “Ruby had a little too much to drink last night,” he said. “I helped her shower. Hope you do not mind.” I lost my temper on the spot, and I demanded a divorce. I left with nothing because I wanted to get away from the two of them as quickly as possible. In the end, I died alone in a rented apartment. No one came to see me, not even once. After my death, Ruby’s company went public without any trouble. Her wedding with Hayden became the talk of the city. Everyone called them a perfect match. When they mentioned me, there was only ever one line: "That man just had bad luck. He was never meant for anything better." When I opened my eyes again, I was back at my birthday party. Hayden walked up to me once more and repeated the exact same words. This time, I did not get angry. I smiled. I reached for Yara, my closest friend, who had come with me, and slipped my arm through hers in an intimate gesture. Under Ruby and Hayden's stunned gazes, Yara blinked innocently at Ruby, whose face had gone pale. "Ruby, don't be jealous. Jeff and I grew up together." She paused just long enough, then added with a faint smile, "After all, I was the one who taught him his first time."

On my 20th birthday, my father hosts a dinner for our allied families. He lifts his glass with a smile and turns to his old friend, saying, "It's time my principessa chooses a husband from your sons." Without hesitation, I choose the youngest—Salvatore Carlo. Everyone is stunned. After all, I'm Estella Vinci, the eldest daughter of the Vinci family. I was born into wealth and power, with a father from a long-established Virellian mafia family and a mother from Montavira's ruthless DeNucci bloodline. And yet, I was hopelessly in love with Giovanni Carlo, third son of the Carlo family. In my past life, I got exactly what I wished for. I became his wife. He got what he wanted too. With my father's power, he became the heir of the Carlo family. But after we got married, my adopted sister Eleanor Vinci became his mistress. When my father found out, he was furious. He sent her far away in marriage to Norland. From that day on, Giovanni hated me with everything he had. He drowned himself in nightclubs, night after night, always bringing home women who looked just like Eleanor. He let them mock me and humiliate me. On my birthday, one of them poisoned my cake. I died with hatred in my heart at eight months pregnant. Now that I am reborn, I decide to let them have each other. But the moment I choose Salvatore, Giovanni loses his mind.

..Saw my hubby, but I was in another woman's body, and this time he wasn't my husband, his uncle was. ~ A voice suddenly cut through the silence. “Oh my goodness, you're finally awake Mrs. Blackwood!” Mrs Blackwood? That was.. I tried to speak, but my voice was a mere whisper. The nurse, a kind faced woman with a warm smile, helped me sit up and handed me a glass of water. As I sipped, fragments of memories began to resurface. A car crash.. screams? and Kenneth's face? But why couldn't I put two and two together? "Can you help me to the toilet?" I asked the nurse, my voice still weak. The nurse nodded and assisted me out of bed and my legs trembled beneath me as I walked, unaccustomed to bearing my weight after such a long time of bederiding Once in the bathroom, I stared at the mirror, expecting to see my own reflection but the face staring back at me was unfamiliar, younger and prettier. A jolt of fear immediately coursed through me. Who was this person? "Mrs. Victoria Blackwood?” I heard the nurse call out from behind and it dawned on me.. that name belonged to Alexander Blackwood's wife, my husband's uncle! A wave of panic washed over me. What was happening? Why was I in this body? I stumbled backward, the nurse catching me by my waist. "Steady Mrs. Blackwood. You're still recovering." But I wasn't recovering. I was lost. Trapped in a stranger's life.

I mistook being wanted for being loved. It's an easy mistake when you've never had either. Roman gave me five years of broken glass, bruised wrists, and a soundproof bedroom. I stayed because leaving felt impossible. Because I had a son to protect. Because I thought love meant enduring. Then one day I ran. And the courtroom that was supposed to save me became another trap — because the lawyer I trusted had already been bought. Tired of it all, I decided if I couldn't be free, I wouldn't be at all. I decided to commit suicide. The worst part? The man who walked into that hospital room and saved my life is the same man I've spent five years trying to forget. The stranger from one reckless night. The father of my son. Damien Douglas. Brilliant surgeon. The only man who has ever looked at me like I was worth seeing. But there was a big problem; he was Roman's stepbrother. The deeper I fall into Damien's world, the more I realise my marriage to Roman was never about love or control. It was about keeping me from finding out who I really am. Who my father was. What was taken from me before I was old enough to know I had it. Roman's family destroyed my father and buried the truth. Now I have it back. Now it's my turn to bury the Douglas family, but will I bury Damien also?

On the day I rejected Isabelle Hale, Wall Street's newest golden girl, everyone thought I had lost my mind. She had everything: a Wharton degree, a national finance championship, a perfect family name, and a résumé polished enough to make doors open before she even knocked. But I knew what was hiding behind that name. Fifty years ago, her grandfather stole my grandmother's acceptance letter, her New York scholarship, and the future she had earned with her own hands. He used them to escape an Appalachian coal town with another woman, then built himself into a celebrated Ivy League professor who lectured rich students about ethics. My real grandmother, Grace Walker, was left behind in coal dust and shame. My mother grew up carrying the weight of that stolen life. They lifted me out anyway. I made it all the way to Manhattan, to a glass conference room at Northbridge Capital, where Isabelle sat across from me in a black suit tailored like victory. She thought her family name would protect her. She thought I would bow. Instead, I closed her file and said, "You didn't pass." By the next morning, they had fired me, dragged my name through the mud, and turned a press conference into my public trial. They forgot one thing. I didn't climb to the top of Wall Street to beg for a seat at their table. I came to take back every name, every chance, and every voice they stole from women like us.