Grumpy Cat Christmas Memes

"You are more than enough for me, Mia Cara. I wish you would know how much." She was running from one devil but fell straight into the arms of another. Miabella Dennison thought marrying Matteo Valdrighi was her way out. He was rich, charming, and just enough to piss off her toxic family. But then his older brother walked in, Rafael Valdrighi, and became the only man who ever looked at her like she was more than just a doll to be moved around. Rafael wasn’t supposed to care, but she also wasn’t supposed to fall. Now, she’s trapped between two brothers, one who owns her life, and the other who’s starting to own her heart. And when the cat is let out the bag, Miabella will have to decide: Is love worth breaking every rule for?

Waking up crushed under a man, I nearly screamed—until I saw who it was. Adrian. My cold, obsessive husband. The man I spent a lifetime escaping from. In my past life, I trusted the wrong people. Betrayed the only man who ever protected me and died alone. One life ruined me. This one? I’ll ruin everyone who tries again. Now, the game is mine and I write the rules. I'll act sweet. Stay mysterious. And pit every snake against each other. And as for my dangerously obsessed husband? I will tame—wait... WAIT! I was just being a little gentle, why is this tyrant acting like a delicate princess? 'Hey, hey, stop clinging to me! What? You want cuddles? Head pats? You—You are not a cat, Adrian!' … “He’s deathly allergic to strawberries? But he devoured one from my hand like it’s a miracle elixir.” “He has sleeping disorders? But he hugged me and passed out like a lazy cat!” “He’s sulking… because I didn’t hold his hand?” When he saw me hugging my female best friend? He lost his mind. Yanked me into his arms and growled, “Mine,” like a deranged villain in love. I finally understood: no one else ever stood a chance. I was his only obsession.

Elena had once believed that silence could mean safety. That a gentle hand and a warm cup of tea placed quietly on her desk every morning could be a form of love. Lucien was never cruel—not in the obvious ways. He remembered how she liked her eggs, noticed when she swapped her perfume, and sent flowers on days he knew she wouldn’t expect them. He raised her like one would raise a pet—softly, without question. And Elena, foolish in the way only the very lonely can be, mistook his quiet affection for devotion. She told herself he was reserved. Mysterious. That love didn’t always wear its heart on its sleeve. But when the old flame returned—the one who spoke his language without needing to try—Elena saw it. The difference. He looked at her like a man who had found his lost religion. And Elena? She had simply been convenient. No tears, no scene. Just papers on the breakfast table, beside the eggs he cooked perfectly. She didn’t accuse or beg. She only asked for freedom. He didn’t sign. He chuckled. A soft, dismissive sound. “A cat raised indoors doesn’t know how to survive on the street, Elena. You’ll come back." But she didn’t. She disappeared, like smoke—except she didn’t vanish, not really. She lived. She wore colour again. Laughed at bad jokes. Let strange men hand her coffee and ask for her number. Lucien? He watched. He watched her become someone without him. And it drove him mad. The night he cornered her outside the gallery, rain in his hair and desperation in his eyes, he looked like a man undone. "Elena," he breathed, "please. Look at me. Just once." She did. Calm as ever, and her love already gone.