Good Morning Class

"Good morning, Greg. What would you like for breakfast?" "What? Did you just call me Greg? Are we mates? What gives you the right to call me that? Just because you're my wife? Listen, don't you ever call me Greg." "But... we're... married..." "So what? I only married you because of my grandmother. And let's face it, we're not on the same level, whether it's age, class, or status. You're just an eighteen-year-old country girl." "I'm 26, and you're only 18. An eight-year age gap isn't a joke. Just because we're married doesn't mean you can call me by my name. Didn't your parents teach you to respect your elders?" "How should I address you then?" "Just call me sir. I don't ever want to hear 'Greg' from your mouth again," I said sternly "The Billionaire's Country Girl Bride" is an engaging novel about the marriage between Greg, a rich businessman, and Sophie, a young country girl. Greg insists on being called "sir" by Sophie due to their age gap, and sets strict rules that keep them apart. As Greg brings other women home and ignores Sophie's feelings, she finds support in her university roommate, Diana. The story follows Sophie's journey as she learns to stand up for herself and find her own strength. With Diana's help, Sophie discovers the power of love and resilience.

I was reborn before I signed up for a scientific expedition tour to the South Pole. My boyfriend’s adopted younger sister used a system to forcefully exchange my physical senses with hers. She deliberately went out to do something good on a day with a temperature of 107.6 °F, like delivering water to the outdoor workers. On the other hand, I got so hot in a 60.8 °F air-conditioned room that I fainted from heat stroke. I begged Wendy Little to stop, but she feigned innocence. “You must make a good excuse if you want to lie like that!” Max Little sounded disdainful. “How selfish! You’re quite lucky to enjoy yourself in air-conditioned rooms every day. You can’t tolerate Wendy doing something kind.” Wendy took her time and basked in the sun for a month outside. People took photos of her and put them on the internet. Countless netizens were moved by her. But I died from heat stroke in an air-conditioned room. Nobody even found my corpse. If that was how it was, I wanted her to enjoy the coolness of -184 °F in the South Pole.

My wife, Heather Conner, secretly steals the funds I've saved up for our daughter, Naomi Hartman's surgery. After that, she books a high-class hotel for Jared Winters, the low-income student she has been sponsoring, just so she can celebrate his birthday with him. When I find out about it, I demand that Heather return all the money to me. But she slaps me immediately and blames me and Naomi for causing her trouble on purpose. "This is the first birthday Jared and I are celebrating together! Since it's such a big day, it's only natural that I hold it in a grand and lavish manner! "Instead, you two insist on undergoing that stupid surgery just when I've booked the hotel instead of scheduling it at any other time! You really are vile! "I've already inquired with the doctor about the surgery. Turns out it's completely optional! I might as well put the money to good use by giving Jared an unforgettable birthday instead of having you waste it on a useless surgery! "Even if Naomi does end up dying, that means she's fated to die anyway! You can't blame anyone for her death!" Heather just abandons Naomi, who's still fighting for her life. She then drives Jared to the hotel, where they spend the night watching a beautiful fireworks display. With 12 critical notices issued by the doctor in my hand, I kneel before Monica Brown, the richest woman in the city. "I'm willing to marry into your family as long as you pay me 35 thousand dollars' worth of wedding gifts!"

After returning home from a flight, I realize that my bottle of hair conditioner has run out in the bathroom. The thing is, my husband, Carlos Zappa, doesn't use hair conditioner at all. Seeing Carlos through the frosted glass, I decide to probe him for answers. "Did any guests stay over lately? Or have you started doing hair care?" Carlos flips through the documents, which are stamped with the Zappa family crest, impatiently at my questions. "Maybe a maid accidentally toppled the bottle over when she was cleaning the bathroom. Also, why are you annoying me with such minuscule matters?" When I put on the bathrobe, I feel a ticklish sensation coming from the collar. As soon as I look down, I notice a strand of dried yellow hair being entangled in the collar. The moment the steam dissipates, I see two pairs of intertwining handprints on the bathroom's glass door. I never thought that my home would grow this popular during my one-week trip away from home. I've been married to Carlos for three years, and yet this is my first time finding out that he's actually this wild in bed. So, I secretly text my father, the Don of the Carozza family. "Dad, Carlos has cheated on me. Does the bet we made three years ago still count?"

"The Rossi family doesn't need a Don. We just need a Donna." As the only heiress of the Rossi family, this was the law that I had set when I received the Browning pistol—a pistol that resembles the ultimate authority in the Rossi family—from my Papa when he was on his deathbed. But three years ago, the police relentlessly investigated the money laundering business that my fiance, Lorenzo Moretti, was in charge of. If that business were to get exposed, the Rossi family's hundred-year-old legacy would be ruined. In order to protect my family's legacy and to allow Lorenzo to continue legalizing my family's businesses, I decided to become the scapegoat for all the crimes. On the rainy night of my arrest, I personally handed the pistol over to Lorenzo. "Protect my family for me before my return." This gave Lorenzo legitimate authority to run my family. He used the pistol to purge my subordinates and take over the family business. He even broke my law by announcing to the public that he'd become the next Don soon. An invitation with golden borders is soon leaked from the family's inner circle. Lorenzo's and another woman's names are printed on the cover. During a visit, my private lawyer says mockingly, "If you don't get out of prison now, the Rossi family might take on another man's last name for real." I just sneer in response. After that, I get bailed out of jail in advance and return home to celebrate Lorenzo's "funeral". But no matter how many times I scan my iris at the biometric scanner in the estate, the result always comes out wrong. A young woman, who's toying with the pistol, opens the door at that moment. The contempt and disdain in her eyes are plain to see. "Where the hell did a crazy woman like you come from? You came to the wrong place. This is my private turf, you know."

In my dormitory, there was a poor student. With all the good intentions in the world, my roommates and I were eager to help her, not realizing how much our help would cost. She wasn't impressed by the hairdryer we offered, insisting on borrowing a branded one instead. The skincare products we gave her? They were applied to her feet. And, as if that wasn't enough, she specifically demanded luxury face cream. One day, I lent her my tablet to look up some information, and to my surprise, she secretly opened up my gaming app, spent all the diamonds and reward tickets I had saved for half a year, and left me empty-handed. When I asked her to pay me back, she turned the tables and posted a public message online, accusing me. "I'm just a poor student from the countryside, never played games before. Are the materials in the game really worth this much?" Before I knew it, the comment section was flooded with criticisms of me. In a fit of frustration, I fired back with a post of my own, throwing her into the spotlight. "Well, I suppose you've never tasted the bitterness of being cyberbullied, have you?"

Right before graduation, my roommate waved around a job offer from some overseas company. It had a three-day workweek, with a starting salary of $50,000 a month. It sounded too good to be true, so I warned her it might be a scam. When she struck out on other job leads, I asked my dad to get her a position at his company. She scoffed at the eight-hour days and $6,000 monthly salary, calling it slave labor. Then she went live online, falsely accusing my dad of inappropriate advances and pressuring her to bear him a son. When skeptics questioned her, she swore no woman would lie about her honor. The internet erupted, branding my dad a predator. Our company collapsed under the backlash, leaving us drowning in debt. To spare me, my dad jumped from a rooftop to his death. Devastated, I wandered into traffic and was struck by a truck. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day Amber got that shady offer.

My cousin, Erin Johnson, is passionate about testing my boyfriends. Although I keep turning her offer down, she keeps insisting on doing so for me. Once she successfully seduces a boyfriend of mine, she'll dump him instantly. Then, she'll announce in our family's group chat that said boyfriend isn't a good match for me. When Erin does the same thing once again, she doesn't realize that she's stepping into a trap I've specifically set up for her. There's no way she won't step into it.

There's a month to Angela Thompson's wedding, but she's no longer sure whether to proceed with it. The reason for her doubts? Her fiancé, Carl Swain, wants to have a child with his good friend's widow, Lucy Hogg. Carl says, "Keith was my best friend. He died so suddenly, leaving Lucy alone in this world. She tried to take her life a few times, you know. Maybe having a child will help her get past this." Angela can't understand it. She says, "Lucy can adopt or marry someone else if she wants a child. She can even go to a sperm bank abroad if she wants! Why do you have to be the one to have the child with her?"

After passing five rounds of interviews, I secure an offer from Larson Group based on my own abilities. I can't wait to share the good news with my boyfriend, Noah Gardner. However, he reports me to HR, causing me to lose the job. "Isabelle can't find a job and is really anxious, so I gave the position to her. You can just send out a few more resumes. It's not like a few extra days matter," he said nonchalantly. After Isabelle Buchanan starts working at Larson Group, everyone showers her with praise. I laugh in exasperation and call my older brother. "Mr. Larson, can our company hire me as the CEO's executive assistant?"