How Old Is Leon In Death Island Mga Nobela at Kwento

I died beneath the Ferris wheel. The killer took a photo of the Ferris wheel and sent it to my mother. 'Mom, I want to ride the Ferris wheel with you too,' wrote the killer. In my mother's voice message, her tone was filled with hatred as she replied, "How dare you ask to ride the Ferris wheel with me when you killed your own sister? Why won't you just die?!" As she wished, I was dead. However, what she didn't know was that the one who killed me was my so-called dead sister.

Every time my assistant booked a private room for me, he brought his girlfriend along. I let it slide. The room was on his way home anyway. Then today I pushed the door open and found a sticky note slapped on the head chair: "Freeloaders not allowed." I peeled it off and turned to him. "What's this about?" His girlfriend was already sitting in the head seat, glaring at me. "Can't you read?" she snapped. "Mooching off my boyfriend every damn day. Have you no shame?" "If you can't afford Michelin, don't show up. I can't stand cheap old hags like you. Honestly, if I lived your life, I'd kill myself." I just stared at her, baffled. Justin rushed over and lowered his voice. "Boss, I'm so sorry. She thinks I'm paying for this dinner." "She's a bit of a princess. Doesn't like sitting with people who can't keep up. Tell you what. Let us eat first, and you can order after we leave." Then he took my black card and handed it to the server. I stood there for a second. Then I picked up my phone and called the restaurant manager. "Send security to the private room. Someone stole my card. Call the police."

When Selena Sloane takes her assistant, Preston Jones, to the hospital in order to get his lower back checked out, her 18-year-old self is in the middle of making out with me while having me pinned against the wall. "Darling, how is it that you smell so good and your kisses are still this amazing despite being 30 years old? Oh, I love you so much, darling! "By the way, where did my 30-year-old self go? Why isn't she here to pick you up after work?" I push Young Selena off me sadly. That's when I happen to meet the 30-year-old Selena's icy gaze. "You already have a mistress of your own, and yet you still can't bear to get a divorce from me, hmm? Zack Holt, you really are pathetic." As I watch the older Selena supporting Preston and walking away, the younger Selena starts kicking up a fuss in my arms once again. "That idiot! How dare she speak to my darling so arrogantly? Why, I might as well kill myself right now so that she'll disappear from this world as well!"

Being assigned to become the personal guard of a mafia boss is already a difficult task. Becoming his guard and carrying his child at the same time? Near impossible. “The baby isn’t yours.” Luciano smirked, a deadly glint flashing in his eyes. “Oh, really?” he asked, one of his eyebrows raised. He walked closer to me, each of his steps resonating in the dark room. I couldn’t help but gulp at the sight of him. It has been three long years since I’ve last seen him, but why has he even gotten hotter than before? “I’m going to ask you once more,” he said, leaning closer to my face. I held my head up high, determined not to succumb to his charm. “Is she mine?” I shook my head. “Definitely not yours.” His jaw ticked, and he looked to the side before leaning his face even closer to mine, his hot breath hovering over my lips. I held in my breath and watched the alluring movement of his lips. “Then, which scoundrel does that child belong to?” I placed both of my hands on his chest and gently pushed him back. “Why? What are you going to do about it if you know?” He tilted his head to the side and smirked. “I’m going to kill that bastard.”

There was an open secret among upper-class society. The wealthy man, Brandon Anderson, loved his wife to death. However, he was addicted to cheating on her. He would give everything those young women wanted from him, but he had one strict rule for them: not to expose anything to his wife. Everyone knew that he had loved his wife for ten years, and he had put in a lot of effort to marry her. He had once said that if his wife died, he would not survive. However, this latest mistress did not follow his instruction. She came to me because he doted on her. She sent me a lot of photos of condoms and his sleeping face. “Ms. Lowe, this brand is too good. I was screaming the whole night. Has Mr. Anderson ever used that with you?” It was that moment that I realized the young man who was infatuated with me had given his heart to me, but his body to other people. When I saw the photos, I cried so hard that I had no more tears. Then, I drafted a divorce agreement and signed it. I turned around and saw Brandon, seventeen again, crying as he stared at me.

A strong, influential, and well-respected man in society, has a high sexual libido, hence, sex became his weak point. He was carried away by the touch of young women till he got lots. His pretty wife, after years of being angry with his high sexual habit resolved to save him with the same thing he loved most, which is also his weak point- sex. Later, she realized that she did not just save her home and marriage, but also her husband's life, call, and career.

In my previous life, my husband had suddenly died of a brain hemorrhage, leaving behind a massive mountain of debt. For the sake of my son, who was still in high school, I sold the house my parents had left me, gritted my teeth, and worked three jobs to pay off the debt. Overworked and exhausted, my health deteriorated, and I eventually collapsed in the hospital. From my bed, I could hear my son, now a graduate from a prestigious university, smiling as he spoke on the phone. "Hello? Dad, it's me. Yeah, she's about to die. I bought insurance for her, so we should get close to one million. You and Aunt Rena should come back home right away." The "Aunt Rena" he spoke of was none other than my husband's childhood friend and neighbor who had known him for years. It turned out that the debts were all part of a massive money-laundering scheme between my husband and his childhood sweetheart. They had fabricated false accounts to hide their crime, and he had faked his death to escape the law. My son, eager to become the heir to wealth, had stood by and watched me work myself to death. When I next opened my eyes, I was back in the moment of my husband's feigned brain hemorrhage, the day it had all begun.

On the day I was kidnapped, my husband was looking after his sick sweetheart. I called him, asking him for help. Yet, he merely replied coldly, "Danica, you are a bad liar." After that, he heartlessly hung up the phone call on me, causing me to get brutally murdered by the kidnappers. I failed to show up as scheduled on the day we agreed to finalize our divorce. He called me in exasperation, only for the phone call to be answered by the police. "Mr. Ferguson, are you a family member of the deceased Danica Reed?"

Mom, Dad, and Jesse—my younger sister—went out to sea on a trip, but they were caught in a tsunami, and all three perished in the accident. I was left all alone—just as I was about to start university—burdened with nothing but a mountain of debt. In the end, everything I had saved for my university tuition, along with the house Mom and Dad had left me, was taken by debt collectors. I was then forced to work in a shady factory, laboring 16 hours a day, sleeping in a shabby ten-person dorm, and surviving on nothing but thin, flavorless broth. I finally cleared the last of the debt when I accidentally discovered that Jesse—who was supposed to be dead—had appeared on television and become a famous dancer. Mom and Dad even gave an interview about her success. It turned out they had taken out a massive loan and faked their deaths to flee to Pravia for Jesse's dance studies, leaving the entire debt for me to deal with just as I was supposed to start university. I went to confront them, demanding the truth, but they threw me out like trash. I was then hit and killed by a speeding truck at the side of the road. "How could Lorraine be such a nuisance, not even having the decency to die far away from our doorstep?" I have been given another chance, reborn on the day they faked their deaths.

I lost my dear son, Henry, to a traffic accident. He had been on his way to one of his part-time jobs. Despite working a lot, my son was still a top scorer on the SATs. “Mom, I don’t want treatment,” he begged with his last breath. “I just want Dad.” In my despair, I called Matthew Foster, my husband, more than one hundred times, but he never answered. We had been married for eighteen years, but one day, he spent all of our savings in order to pay for the treatment of his deceased comrade’s son. That got us into a debt worth one million dollars. To help him pay for it, both Henry I and worked hard to earn money. My son went as far as working five part-time jobs a day! That accident cracked his head open and tore his stomach. He was in urgent need of money for treatment. Since Matthew was not responding, I had to leave Henry’s side to rush to his workplace, where I ended up hearing that he was throwing a party for someone else’s son because he had gotten into a prestigious school. “Mr. Foster gave Zack a seaside mansion, a luxury car, and a limitless black card in hopes that he will succeed in his future studies and have a smooth and healthy life.” As I watched my “poor” husband hug his comrade’s widow and son, I called him for the 101st time. “Henry wants to see you one last time.” “I’m busy right now, Wendy. Be good with Henry and wait a little while longer.” When Matthew hung up impatiently, I put down my phone in silence. I whispered, “Matthew, Henry can no longer wait for you.” At that moment, I decided that I was not going to wait for him anymore either.