Hamatora Nice Novels & Stories

I felt beautiful. It was still bitter cold outside and the only overcoat I had with me was my down parka. That would certainly spoil the look. Fortunately, Nevi thought of everything. A cape made from the same gorgeous satin as my dress and lined with soft faux fur–Nevi didn’t believe in killing animals for their fur—was waiting for me when I went downstairs. It was the perfect finish to the outfit.

Sara peeped in my phone, and Abi went behind me. "You look stunning here!" I pointed to a picture of Hana where her hair is in front, so the design of the gown is seen, and the lighting looks so good with her morena skin. Hana ignored my compliment and just scrolled down to look for some more. "Why are my pictures few?" Abi asked."Because you're all over the place, Abigail," David emphasized it. "The photographers couldn't get a hold of you." We all laughed because of it. A photographer went to our table and asked us if we're done eating because he wanted to take a picture of us.

She had no place to care about that. “This is the newest style, and we just got it today. We’re the only ones selling it in Nilus City!” The shopping assistant was incredibly enthusiastic. “Why don’t you try it and see whether we need to adjust the size?” “Should I?” Dimas looked at Harmonia and asked. Wow, the sugar baby sure was a good boy. Harmonia was stunned. Why was he asking her that question? But since she was repaying him, she had to make sure that the size was just right.

Sora was surprised when she saw Cerci's face turning pale as if she saw a ghost. “Since you tried to be smart with me, you will be cleaning up the attic as well. I want the attic spotless when I come back.” Sora ordered Solana, ignoring the glares she was receiving from her mother. Cerci grabbed Sora by her collar and Alpha Cougar growled angrily from behind.

ller) Anita: Are you the hitman my friend told me about? Hitman: Yes Anita: In that case, I need you to do one simple job Hitman: What is it? Anita: (she shows him a picture of Paris) I want you to ki!l this woman Hitman: Paris Smith? Anita: You know her as well? Hitman: Yeah, the daughter of Mr Smith, a popular baker here in Azrael Anita: Yes, I want you to shoot her d€ad, Infact I don't even care what you do, Just make sure you k!ll her, I want her DEAD, I'll pay you any amount, Just do what you know how to do best.

He's just a truck driver with a criminal record! "Ms. Chapman, should I say you're naive or simply foolish?" The man's gaze turned ruthless, and his smile didn't reach his eyes. "You've heard of the Hamertons of Centrolis, right? Zuko Hamerton, the eldest son of their family, is currently absent!" "What are you saying..." Zeke Hamerton... Zuko Hamerton? "Heh, the bangle you mentioned is likely the Le Esse! It was bestowed as a reward by the king to the Hamerton ancestor when she became a noble concubine!"

More heated. XOXO Natacha_H

“Amara’s my woman. You and the bloody consortium can go fuck yourselves, because you all know I don’t trifle with what belongs to me. You could call a whole bloody mafia war for all I care. You’ll have Amara De Santoro only over my dead body.” Nico scoffed. “Are you sure about that? Because it actually works both ways for me. She’s about ten feet in front of me looking at some high-end winter muffler… completely unguarded. Just like I have a sniper 200 ft away from where you’re standing right now.”

The room smelled of expensive perfume, sweat, and gun oil, a cocktail of danger and pleasure that clung to everything. He sat in the center of it all, in a wide leather armchair that looked more like a throne. His suit was charcoal, the fabric soft and cut to precision, the shirt beneath unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo, ink faded with time, but still dangerous. His voice, when he spoke, was deep enough to still the room. It didn’t need to be raised. It was a voice that demanded silence, and it got it. The phone was a heavy, old-school rotary fixed to the table beside his drink. He liked the weight of it, the resistance in the dial, the way it felt like calling someone w