Im Sorry Phineas

Alexander knight is the king of country A. It is said that he is the cruellest King who does not blink his eyes when he kill someone. Victoria Herman is the princess of the country K. She is known for her beauty, kindness and brain. what happens when they are forced into an arranged marriage? Will there be love between them? Hello guys everyone. I am editing the story so pls dont unlock the chapters. I have edited up to wedding chapter. And you can support me by reading the chapter daily as I will be updating a chapter with 1500 words daily. Sorry guys pls support me.

Lilith POV A pair of cold, bloodshot eyes stare back at me; if eyes could , I'm sure I would be dead by now. No wonder this place looks so familiar; it is because it's the mansion belonging to my owner, the man I was sold to, "Don Air." My orb fell on Flora, who was kneeling on the floor. Her hair was messy, and I could see bruises from her shoulder down to her arms, making me wonder what happened to her. "I gave you a to do, and you messed it up, huh?" The cold voice of Don Air was forwarded to Flora. He stomped his feet on her body continuously, and her screams and cries filled the atmosphere, bringing nothing but horror. "Master, please! Oh, please!" She cried in pain as she continued to get hit; her body was somersaulting on the floor. I look around the large sitting room, wondering why nobody is helping by stopping this cruel master or even pleading on her behalf, but I see few with pitiful expressions. My gaze met the man known as Thierry, the man's son. For awhile, I forgot he even existed. I got a sharp glare from him, and I looked away. "Please?  "If you are sorry, then you will not think of ruining my business, you good for nothing harlot," he yelled at Flora before leaving the girl. "You!"  His voice thurd in my ear, and I cringe in fear as goosebump from fear clouded my body. He was walking towards me with such a dominating and dangerous demeanor. "Argh!"  I was pulled by my hair and flung to the wall barely. I felt a liquid running down my head down to my nose—it's blood!

After being forced to donate the blood from my heart to my Alpha's beloved witch, I die in the cottage that he'd built for me. Before my death, my five-year-old daughter runs to the castle in the forest to beg him thrice. The first time, she runs into the study and tells him I'm coughing up blood. My mate, Alpha Alaric sneers. "Is this one of Clara's new tricks? I can't believe she taught a child to lie!" He orders his attendant to take our daughter away. The second time, she knocks on the door cautiously and tells him I'm trembling all over. Alaric snorts contemptuously. "What's with the act? All I did was take some of her blood, not gouge her heart out. She'll heal on her own soon enough!" Once again, his attendant chases our daughter out. The third time, she kneels by the study door and weeps, saying that I'm already unconscious. She begs Alaric to save me. This time, he gets mad. He grabs her by the arm and throws her out of the castle. "I told you your mother won't die! Lie to me again, and I'll kick her out of the Wolffang Pack. She can die at the hands of those Rogues!" He breaks her arm in the process, and she clutches it. She has no choice but to pass the family heirloom—a ring—that represents her identity as the Wolffang Pack's heiress to a passing merchant. "I can give you everything valuable I have, Mr. Merchant! I don't want to be an heiress—I just want my mother to stay alive!" The merchant accepts the ring and soon brings a herbalist. However, Alaric's beloved witch, Elena has him taken away. "Sorry, but your father is worried that I'll be upset because my darling black cat is sick. He's ordered all of the herbalists in the pack to focus on treating my cat first." She snorts. "Your mother can wait."

Liliana Patrick, a twenty three years old timid and clumsy lady who lost everything in a blink of an eye. Suffer was an understatement in her case, she had nothing, no shelter, no friends, no family. But when she steps her leg in to Kings Company, she was introduced to another world she never knew about. Nicholas King, an example of rude and arrogant, cold, dominant, commanding and heartless. The thirty years took over his late father's property after he passed away, he shows no mercy to his workers, he can fire you with just a little mistake. But when his eyes roam her body as she walks into his office, he claimed her as his. I took a seat in front of him. "Good morning Sir-" I greeted but he cuts me off. "Did I ask you to seat?" His voice, so raspy, so deep, so sensual, so husky and so......British? I never knew the Kings were British. But what took my attention were those words he said. "Uhh....." I stood up immediately. "I'm sorry" I apologize but he looks angry or something. "You came sixteen minutes late, left my door opened, sat on the chair like you own the place" he snarled at me..... okay, Mr rude. "I.....I said I was sorry" I look away from him, he shuffle and his cologne filled my nostrils, sandalwood and lavender oil. "You are not to talk back till I ask you to. Sit" he ordered and I did. He grabs what looks like my resumè, he looks at me in an instant. His blue orbs holds no emotions in his eyes as he stares at me, but what was so intriguing was the fact that he's intimidating me really bad.

I put my t-shirt down, my hands shaking. I try to ignore them and stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair color is dark brown and a vague hint of golden. My dad used to say that my eyes are ocean blue. A guy in my history cl once said that I had perfect s. Another guy said that I had a great body. They wanted to date me. And I dated few of them. I brush my fingers in my forehead. Then my dark, thick eyelashes. The side of my nose. My s. I run my hand at my neck, then across my collarbone. Am I beautiful? Honestly, I don't know. Maybe I'm not. "You were wrong, Angelina Valentine." A voice inside my head suddenly whispers. "Calm down, Angel," another voice whispers. It's the voice I loved. His voice is fading away. My hands start shake again, my breath rapidly quickening. I am losing control. I have to do something. "Goddammit!" I punch the mirror with my fist. It shatters into thousand pieces. My reflection has shattered into thousand pieces, too. The mirror now looks to me like an art. And my bloody knuckles. "I am sorry, Edwin. I can't promise you anymore, because you left me." I bite my to stop myself from crying. I won't cry. What's the point of crying? My sixth sense is suddenly alert. Somebody is watching me. I spin around. A guy is standing in front of the door, leaning against it. He wears a tight blue shirt, the sleeves folded. His black hair is ruffled and his hands are folded across his chest. The probable most amazing thing about him is his eyes. They are dark green. They are dangerous, beautiful and incredibly unreadable. And they are watching me.

On her first day at work, a new colleague uploaded a 500-million-dollar property purchase agreement to the company group chat. The message was accompanied by the caption: “Thanks for the gift for my first day at work, Dad!” She quickly deleted it, following up with, “Sorry, wrong chat!” I frowned, recognizing the contract immediately. It was the same property my father gifted me for my birthday a month ago. Some sharp-eyed colleagues noticed the contract number and chimed in. “I have a relative in real estate. I remember this property. Our chairman bought it recently!” “So, the heiress has joined us to experience life. Forgive your humble servant for not recognizing you!” The chat was soon filled with flattering remarks. Even my stingy and miserly husband joined in. I felt a coldness in my heart and couldn’t help but respond in the group chat, “I recall the president always opposing ostentatious displays of wealth and advocating humility. This heiress seems to veer away from his usual philosophy.” Instead of support, I faced attacks from my husband and others. “Look at you being so poor and petty. How could you ever compare to Grace? Why did I ever marry someone so shortsighted?” “As if you know the president that well! I think you’re just jealous that Grace was born with a silver spoon!” I sneered coldly and, without hesitation, dialed the president’s number right in front of everyone. “Dad, I heard we’re not that close, hmm?”

       Hello everyone, sorry for the inconveniences, this book is currently under the process of editing and will be on hold till 25th-26th of the Month DECEMBER with regular updates. Thank you so much for understanding, please don't read it yet, wait until 25th-26th of OCTOBER. Thank You! Rava Wolf is a fourteen years old girl, abandoned, woofless and slaved by the rogues. She was just an unknown powerless Omega with no root, no background or neither can she recall where she came from and hoped she could be free. All Rava ever desired was to live a peaceful life, get bonded by her one true mate, get married, have children and live happily ever after. However, to her dismay it became impossible, when she discovers she was fated to the worst Alphas on the planet who will stop at nothing to make her life a living hell.

"Your right I did all those things to you but, all I'm trying to do is protect you!" I screamed. Melody looked puzzled. I could tell that I was even a little bit confused by my own words. Protect her? Protect her from what? She was fine at her home, she hadn't had a great life but the guys dead now. So truly what am I protecting her from? "Protect me? The one thing I really need protection from right now is you! You have no right to say that to me, you're the reason I need protecting at this point!" Melody shouted. She wasn't wrong, I am the one she needs protection from. "That's what I said, yes you're right you do need to be protected from me. But you have no idea what kinda world that you now live in Melody! Mafias..." I started. "I do now! Oh thanks for that by the way! I was perfectly fine living my life not knowing what was happening around me. I didn't ask for any of this Liam. And now thanks to you I am!" "I know that Melody..." "Do you really know Liam?" "I wasn't done talking Melody! Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't realize I was speaking to royalty! I'm done with this conversation! Like I said I'm not telling you anything so leave me the hell alone!"

"Have you forgotten our agreement? Or do you want me to remind you?" "You're not allowed to talk to any other man till you conceive my child Vanessa. I don't want to see you with my brother." "I'm sorry sir." I whispered softly, I felt so uncomfortable with the way his eyes were fixed on me, on my body. This towel is going to slip off any moment now, I thought, as I tried to back away from him. But he grabbed my arm tightly, pulling me closer to him. "I'll make sure you remember our agreement, Vanessa. And I always get what I want, you're mine alone." he said, his lips curling into a dangerous smile. ****

I married Rafe Maretti—the man who owned the Maretti Casino empire. Sophisticated, ruthless, but sinfully charming. By year three of our marriage, I introduced my little sister to his nephew, Adam Moretti—twenty-five, all sharp smiles and sharper ambition. He ran the dirtier side of the family’s business—arms, drugs, the kind of trade that dripped blood and money in equal parts. I married the powerful, irresistible uncle. She married the young, dangerous nephew. It was supposed to be our fairytale. Then one day, I got kidnapped in Rafe’s casino. Snatched by a rival mafia family desperate to force Rafe to sign over one of his biggest, most profitable casinos. Except Rafe didn’t answer the phone or even notice I was gone. The kidnappers grew impatient. First, it was slaps. Then punches. Then they shattered my leg and buried a knife in my stomach. Still no word from my husband. Until finally, after what felt like a hundred unanswered calls, a single message came through. "I’m with Bianca. She’s having a stomach. Stop calling." Once the kidnappers realized I had no value, they dumped me in a rotting warehouse like discarded luggage. It was Isla, my sister, who found me. She got me out. And then the brakes failed. The car spun out. Isla went unconscious beside me. I tried calling Adam. Isla’s husband. But as soon the call went through, all I could hear was. “Leave me along. Isla, I am in the middle of something here.” When I clearly heard a woman’s voice in the back. If not for a passing stranger, Isla and me wouldn’t have made it to the hospital, let along have survived. So when I opened my eyes again, the first thing I thought was: I’m divorcing that sorry bastard. The Maretti can go to hell.