Grapes Of Wrath Novel Novels & Stories

My jaw clenched so hard it ached, and something ugly uncoiled in my chest, hot, black fury that burned away the cold resignation I’d been drowning in. He was still talking, still spitting poison like it was gospel. “You should’ve seen your face, broken, humiliated… I wanted you then.” I saw Jacqueline flinch, her whole body shaking as his words wrapped around her throat like a noose. And that was it. That was the moment something snapped inside me. My fingers dug into the shovel handle, every muscle in my body coiled tight. Images of that night flashed behind my eyes, the night she found the photos, the night she cried until her voice broke, the night I swore I’d fix it.

The tray in my hand trembled as I balanced three glasses of champagne. My arm ached from holding it up for too long, but I forced my smile to stay fixed. The restaurant was loud with laughter and music, a celebration of wealth and power I had no part in. My white uniform clung to my back, soaked with sweat. The other waiters moved like clockwork, but I was slower—too tired, too distracted. Grandma’s voice echoed in my mind: “Nova, promise me you won’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.”

​I poured a glass of whiskey and stared at the framed copy of my debut novel sitting on the shelf. Cara Mia. ​Writing it had been my only lifeline during this hellish year. It was supposed to be a catharsis, a way to process the madness of being a mafia lord’s wife. Every page was stained with the truth of us. I wrote about the way he smelled of expensive tobacco and gunpowder, the way his Italian filtered through his lips like a prayer, and the way he looked at me as if I were the only thing in this world worth saving.

Trace is sitting in his swivel chair, appreciating the view of the night lights of the city, where the building he owned is the biggest and tallest in the city. Sipping the brandy, celebrating a new success that he has lately. A self-made billionaire, reaching his dreams while he is on the verge of falling apart, but now he achieve his dreams. He feels that everything he wants is at his hand, except one woman from his past. When he finally dares to open the folder, he read all the information carefully, and can't hide his disappointment.

And he hated losing. The Calm Before the Storm Daniel stood on the balcony of the Cain Vineyards estate, overlooking the vineyard as the sun set. The land stretched endlessly before him, his land, where the first Napa-grown Cain grapes were flourishing. Isabella joined him, holding two glasses of wine. “You should be celebrating,” she said, handing him a glass. “You won.” Daniel swirled the deep red liquid, watching the way it clung to the glass. “It doesn’t feel like a win yet.”

After everything she had done for him. Without warning, Nova’s fist tightened around the crystal glass in her hand, the delicate curves of the cup biting into her palm. Her mind screamed for control, but the anger, the betrayal, it was too much. She stood up abruptly, knocking her chair back with a loud screech that echoed through the hall. The glass in her hand shattered with a sharp, resounding crack. The jagged shards of crystal flew outward, some grazing her skin, but Nova didn’t care. Her breaths came out in sharp, angry gasps. Blood dripped from her hand, but it was nothing compared to the searing fury that consumed her.

I was about to read one, 'Home coming' by Yaa Gyasi. I was a bit depressed, because the year was gradually coming to an end. Christmas was fast approaching. And I dreaded it, as misfortunes happen to me few days to Christmas. I shuddered at the fear of what might happen this time around. Last year my wedding engagement was cancelled few days to Christmas. A year ago I lost my job few days to christmas, two years ago I almost got raped few days to christmas by a thug in the car park, thank God I was saved before he penetrated into me. I marked that day as a day I won't ever forget. Three years ago I was in a coma few days to christmas because my Fiance smashed a bottle of wine on my head. My

Grandmother glances over at Flavius then does a double-take when her eyes land on Vega. "I see you have gotten yourself a Spitfire," she says almost as if speaking to herself. "Yes, Vega here is a gift from Ellie," Flavius gleams. "How thoughtful, do be careful as Spitfires are quite dangerous," Grandmother warns. I let out a hardy laugh, "Oh, trust me he has already been bitten. He knows they are not to be taken lightly." "That is good. Now Nora dear help me get the younglings out," she says motioning to the crate.

His voice cut through the silence like a blade. I didn’t answer. I just stared at him, still clutching a handful of grapes, and let a bitter, breathless smile tug at my lips. He crossed the room in three long strides, moving with predatory grace I had come to know all too well. He snatched the grapes from my hand and tossed them aside like they were rotting meat. “Why did you throw them away if they were never good enough for you?” I asked, my voice raw. His expression didn’t soften, but his grip shifted fingers wrapping around my wrists, not to hurt, but to hold firm as he hauled me to my feet and swept me up against his chest.

Her hands trembled so badly that one of the grapes rolled off the tray and landed on the carpet. Her face immediately turned pale as my eyes slowly moved to her. The poor she-wolf almost stopped breathing completely. I stared at her for a few long moments while waving a hand dismissively in the air. “Clean that up.” Relief flooded her face immediately as she rushed to pick up the fallen grape. It was a rather pathetic sight. They were all pathetic to say the least. A small pack I took over barely even deserved to be called wolves. Their Alpha had been far too weak to survive in a world like this.