How Good Is That D Novels & Stories

Richard, a 49 year old widower with two daughters. Richard had spent his life devoting his time to his girls and to his work. Ava, a 23 year old girl from a countryside with little or no knowledge on how to survive in Bellamy- city of bright lights and dreams and fortunes. These two crossing paths could only be coincidental as they lead different lives with a huge age gap between. But, maybe they were waiting for each other all their lives to fill the gaps. It would take a lot to be together. But how much can one take? An angry girlfriend. A selfish daughter. They'll find out that love is never enough!

I was the broke scholarship kid, stuck sharing a room with Sherry, the spoiled heiress. From day one, she was all fake smiles and "let's be besties." She'd take me out for fancy meals. She even introduced me to Kenneth—her rich childhood buddy. It was fine—until Kenneth and I started dating. That's when the claws came out. One day, she "accidentally" dumped hot soup all over herself and claimed I'd done it on purpose. Then she demanded I pay her back. I gave her every cent I had, but it wasn't enough. Next, she accused me of stealing her wallet. The school bought it. I got written up, everyone turned on me, and Kenneth? He dumped me with, "You're just an ugly duckling trying to be a swan." I couldn't fight back. Humiliated, alone, and dragged through online hate, I dropped out. Then I let the river take me. And then—I woke up. Back to the moment Sherry introduced me to Kenneth.

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.

On my birthday, my fiancé used his supermarket points to get me a pair of dishwashing gloves. But at an auction, he bought a five-million-dollar gem for his first love. I was mad, confronting him, but he called me a gold digger. "I've been giving you money to spend. Isn't it only right that you take care of me? This was supposed to be my final test for you. If you passed, we'd get married. You've let me down big time." I broke up with him. He turned around and proposed to his first love. Five years later, we ran into each other on a private vacation island. Alex Thompson saw me in the workers' uniform picking up trash on the beach. He mocked me on the spot. "You turned your nose up at the gloves I got you, and here you are, scavenging garbage. Now, even if you begged me, I wouldn't give you a second glance." I ignored him. My son's social studies project was to clean up the backyard with a parent. His dad had expanded the yard all the way to the beach. Cleaning it up was exhausting.

The freshman welcome party was loud—music blasting, people screaming over it. Then the external pacemaker on my chest started shrieking. 10 percent battery. Cold sweat hit fast. I always carried a backup. Always. I yanked open my backpack. No heavy medical battery pack. Just a flimsy power bank. One blinking bar.

After being reborn, the first thing I did was forge a medical report diagnosing chronic kidney disease. In my previous life, my nephew had been diagnosed with kidney failure, and he needed a transplant to survive. I rushed to get a matching test and donated one of my kidneys to him. But over time, my health deteriorated. At twenty, my body felt like it belonged to someone eighty. Even simple chores like sweeping the floor left me exhausted. I couldn't go out to work or earn a living, yet my brother and sister-in-law scolded me for "pretending to be sick." "It's just a kidney." my sister-in-law snapped. "Do you expect to leech off our family forever?" She even went so far as to buy a pair of fresh pig kidneys and smash them in my face. "Since we took one of yours, here's a new pair. Happy now?" Because I had lost a kidney, I died before the age of thirty, alone in a rented apartment. The next time I opened my eyes, I was back—before my nephew's diagnosis even came in.

On New Year's Eve, I prepare a feast. The clock strikes twelve, but my husband, Vincent Porter, still isn't home. My daughter, Lorelei Porter, tugs at my sleeve and holds up my phone. "Look Mommy, Daddy is at this lady's house!" Vincent has posted an update on Twitter. He is with Christine Snow, his childhood sweetheart. They are smiling at the camera, with a boy who looks about ten standing between them. In front of them sits a swan-shaped cake. The caption reads, "The most special day for the most special you." My heart sinks into my stomach. A marriage that came later in life can never compete with a pair of childhood sweethearts. I accept defeat.

At my engagement dinner with Greg Willis, the Rossi mafia family’s underboss, his assistant, Sydney Carlson, casually tossed a half-eaten cookie on his plate in front of everyone. Greg didn’t react. In full view of the guests, he calmly picked it up and ate it. That night, after we returned, I told him I wanted to call off the engagement. He rubbed his brow with his fingertips, his voice steady in that familiar, composed way of his, yet there was distance beneath it. “All this,” he said, “over a cookie?” “She already took a bite,” I corrected him. He fell silent for a moment before replying in a low voice, “Zoe, you’ve always been sensible. Why get hung up on something so small?” “I’m not hung up,” I said evenly. “I just don’t want to settle.” When he saw that I wouldn’t back down, something complicated flickered in his eyes. Then, his tone hardened, almost like a warning. “Think it through carefully. Don’t you regret it.” He was certain I couldn’t leave him. After all, he was a mafia underboss. There were countless people eager to take the position of Mrs. Willis, and I was nothing more than a minor employee at his company. What he didn’t know was that I had never coveted the title of his wife. All I ever had for him was love. But now, that love was gone, and once I turned away, I would never look back again.

At the company's annual party, my fiancée, the CEO, was chosen for a game called "opposite-gender squats." With the whole room cheering, she did not hesitate. She jumped onto a young male intern and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. He held her by the hips as he lifted and lowered her again and again, while she laughed as if she did not have a care in the world. Then came the second round: blindfolded face recognition. When her hands reached the intern, her fingers lingered on his lips and traced them slowly. He suddenly licked her fingertips. Right there, in front of everyone, he smirked. "Miss Smith, your hands are really soft. The way you touched my lips just now… that felt amazing. This kind of perk beats any year-end bonus. You smell incredible, Andrea." Her face flushed red, but she did not deny it. She only smiled, shy and pleased. That was when I let out a cold laugh. "If you like it that much, I will assign you as the CEO's assistant. All business trips next year, you two can go together." Her expression changed instantly. "Daniel, what is with the attitude? Can't you handle a game? It's just for fun. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Who is going to dare play with me after this?" "Fine. If you enjoy playing so much, then go play with him. Because that CEO seat is about to belong to someone else," I muttered.

My girlfriend, Clara Sutton, had severe mysophobia. Before every intimate moment we shared, she required me to disinfect myself thoroughly in advance. She even set strict rules about how often we could kiss or sleep together, and how long it could last. Without her permission, I was not allowed to touch her. I had always believed she treated everyone this way. I even secretly felt relieved, thinking that I must have been somewhat special to her. Then came that night at the bar. During a party, her childhood friend, Ethan Ford, drew a dare in a game of truth or dare. Then, in front of everyone, he leaned in and kissed Clara. Although it was supposedly a punishment for losing, they kissed deeply for a full five minutes. Our friends laughed and jostled one another as they turned to look at me. Only then did I realize that Clara’s obsession with cleanliness had never been a universal rule. It had existed simply because she did not like me. Disheartened, I asked for a breakup. But Clara soon regretted it. With reddened eyes, she begged me not to leave.