Greatest Ever Novels & Stories

I'd gone to his study to surprise him, only to find him bent over the design schematics for our rings. The original "Amor Aeternus" was crossed out. Replaced by that new line of Latin: Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. My sin, my greatest sin. Five years. The guilt had never left him. Her shadow still loomed over everything between us. "Isabella?" the priest prompted gently. I lifted my head and looked out at the crowd. My father, Don Rossi, his eyes filled with expectation. The Moretti council, sitting ramrod straight, waiting for the answer that would end a decades-long war between our two families.

Haven took the card after Camela gave it to him and put it in a black wallet that was very worn and unfit for use. Haven's true power lies in his hands, after three years he renounced all the wealth and power he had as the billionaire war god most feared in the military and business world. The Royal Express MasterCard is the number one rarest BlackCard. In this world, there are only seven types of cards. Only special and selected people are invited by the world bank. with a minimum wealth of 100 billion rupiah who can get the card, must also meet the selection requirements.

To fulfill his young girlfriend Wendy Baker's dream of becoming vice president, my husband faked amnesia after a car accident and used it as an excuse to strip me of my position. One afternoon, I happened to overhear a conversation between them. Wendy sounded hesitant as she asked, "Aren't you worried Elaine will never speak to you again if you do this?" My husband did not seem concerned in the slightest. "I'm only letting you have some fun for seven days," he said casually. "After that, I'll just tell her my memory came back. What's she going to do, hold a grudge against someone who was supposedly sick?" My footsteps slowed. I heard every word. However, instead of exposing his lie, I qui

I hope you were listening. The End

But he ended up giving the shortest, most powerful speech ever heard of. The student had gathered. Winston Churchill stood in front of them. Everyone was quiet, if a pin had dropped, they would have known. Waiting eagerly for one of his powerful speeches. He looked at the students in front of them for a few minutes. Then he cleared his throat and said: “Never give up! Never give up, never give up.” He said it thrice and bowed thrice for them. He taught resilience. In other words, what kept him to become great was his ability never to give up. The student started clapping for him excitedly. He had taught them lessons they would never forget. The ability not to give up is a deep secret of grea

Not ever. ‎

She's like the greatest musician ever. "I don't think she should be the greatest ever; there should be other musicians better than her." "Well Kendrick, as far as I'm concerned, she is the greatest." Okay, whatever you say ma'am, I'm not into music anyway, so I can't argue much. "Yeah, that explains a lot."

It’s been five years, yet he still looks uncannily similar to when we were still in our teens. “Why is he here?” I whispered to Maximillian as my gaze remained on the man standing beside my cousin. He was wearing a midnight blue tuxedo suit. The obvious fit is a hint that the suit was tailored to his liking. “Because he’s invited?” said Maximillian in a questioning tone. “That’s Mr. Nicholas Moretti. He is the owner of ELVs apparel, and chains of hotels and restaurants. He’s quite famous among the bachelorettes in the business world. The man had a clean record for dating gossips,” she filled me in like a true gossiper. Though I know she’s only doing her job.

He reached back in and brought out a box which he opened for me to see the largest, juiciest, most decadent chocolate-covered strawberries a girl could imagine. Thinking back on that day, it really ought to have been the best day ever. But there were so many more days to come—word of advice: never sell yourself short on your best day ever. Keep looking for that next best day and living for the future rather than reliving the past as your only good day. I still had a wedding to plan for and a whole life with this adorable, loving, romantic man.

Watching him pace around, I finally called out, “Silas.” He stopped in his tracks and, as though he’d been commanded, stiffly sat down. He didn’t move a muscle, his avoidance replaced by an almost forced stillness. “Am I really that terrible?” he asked, his voice low. The truth was, he was. “You’ve failed at every role you’ve taken on, haven’t you? You’re neither a good husband nor a good father.” His face fell, a chaotic swirl of emotions dulling his expression into one of muted despair. He looked like a stray dog, cast out and utterly lost.