It's Just A Dream Right Chapter 1

I'd been married to Joshua Merck for five years, but we still didn't have kids. To stay healthy, I took those pricey custom vitamins he ordered from overseas—never missed a dose. Then my cousin came back from studying abroad, took one look at the bottle, and was like, "That brand doesn't even make custom vitamins." I sent them to the hospital for testing. The lab report hit me like a truck—birth control pills. Powerful ones. Suddenly, all those mornings with Joshua hovering over me, acting so concerned while I took my "vitamins," made sense. The whole thing had been a lie. Five years of lies. Just as I was gearing up to confront him, my phone buzzed—a group chat notification. Shirley Hoare had tagged Joshua. [Honey, I had a prenatal checkup today, and the doctor said I'm carrying twins! Your family's about to get two grandchildren at once—excited?] My heart turned to ash. Everything clicked. Fine. We were done. I pulled out my phone and replied to my childhood sweetheart's message from three days ago: [After watching the northern lights, I still wanted to see penguins in Antarctica.]

เธอคือครูสาวบรรจุใหม่ ส่วนนักการวัยคราวพ่อจะเข้าถึงเธอได้อย่างไร ต้องไปติดตาม

เมื่อรักครั้งแรกมัน ก็ยังหวังกับรักครั้งใหม่ เป็นผู้ชายลูกติดแล้วผิดตรงไหน?

"I wore my sister’s diamond ring to survive. I never planned to steal her monster of a husband." ---- "You disgust me, Serena. Don’t think for a second this ring means I won’t ruin you." Those were the first words Julian Cross ever spoke to me. My twin sister, Serena, had it all—the glamour, the billion-dollar inheritance, and Julian, the ruthless, untouchable king of the city’s underworld. I was the hidden twin, a secret our family buried in the shadows to protect their perfect image. While she wore diamonds, I dealt cards in an underground casino just to survive. Until the night Serena vanishes, leaving behind no trace of her whereabout. With a fragile corporate empire on the verge of collapse, my family gives me a deadly ultimatum: step into Serena’s designer heels, wear her wedding ring, and fool her terrifying husband. Just until they find her. I thought the hardest part would be pretending to know a world of wealth I'd never touched. I was wrong. The hardest part is surviving Julian. He and Serena didn't just have a loveless marriage; they were locked in a venomous war. But when I don't flinch at his cruelty, when my street-smart instincts take over and I fight back instead of cowering, the cold hatred in Julian’s eyes shifts into something more dangerous. Obsession. "You used to beg for my attention, Serena. You used to cry when I ignored you." He said. "You used to bore me to death," he murmured, "Now? I can't figure you out. It's driving me insane." But in Julian's world, every lie has a price. The closer he gets, the closer he is to realizing I'm a fraud. And then, the phone rings. It’s Serena. And she wants her husband back.

How rich can a person be? My wife is incredibly rich. People call her "The Queen of Cloudridge" because nearly half the city's properties are owned by her. We've been married for five years, and every time she goes out to meet her first love, she transfers a property to my name. By the time I have 99 homes in my name, she suddenly notices that something has changed. I no longer cry, beg, or ask her to stay. I simply choose the finest mansion in all of Cloudridge, bring the property deed with me, and wait for her to sign it. She signs the papers, and for the first time, she softens. "When I get back, let's go watch the fireworks together." I quietly tuck the agreement away and hum in response. But I never tell her what she's really signed this time. It's not a property deed. It's our divorce agreement.

รับส่งขึ้นสวรรค์ทั่วทุก ‘ซอย’ โดยเฉพาะ ‘ซอยถี่ๆ ซอยลึกๆ’ ผมยิ่งชอบ ‘ซอยตัน’ วิ่งไปชนจึ๊กๆ ผมก็รับนะครับ สนใจใช้บริการนี่นามบัตรผม กด 6969 เรียก ‘ผัวเบอร์ 1’ รับประกันส่งถึงสวรรค์ไม่มีหยุด สะดุด ให้เสียเซลฟ์

Warning: Mature Content Shock, cold and absolute, rippled through me. My jaw dropped. “Owned? I am not an object! You can’t just—” His dark chuckle cut me off. It was a chilling sound, devoid of warmth. “Oh, but I do, little bird. You became mine the moment your dear brother, Carlos, sold you to clear his debts. Along with almost all the shares in your father’s company.” The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp. What was he talking about? That couldn't be true, yet the look in his eyes said otherwise. He had sold me like an object, like chattel. Rage, raw and unadulterated, surged through me, eclipsing the fear for a fleeting moment. I tried to push past him, to escape and to run anywhere but his hand shot out, grabbing me by the neck, not quite choking but enough to hold me in an iron grip. He pinned me to the wall, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with an intense possessive fire. “You now belong to Lorenzo Blackwood,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous. “You are mine. To possess. To claim. To own.”

Savannah's dream, was to become a Pastry chef, meet the love of her life and have a family of her own. She wasn't expecting for her life to take a big turn. Luke, can only become the CEO at his dad's company, once he gets married. Desperation gets to him and searches for the perfect target. Savannah. Her dad has no money and she wants to go to college. He needs a wife in order to get his dream job. Three situations one solution. "You're going to marry me."

Deux inconnus dans un ascenseur en panne, entre deux étages d'un hôtel anonyme. Lui, les mains encore marquées par un récent accident. Elle, les lèvres teintées du rouge à lèvres qu'elle vient d'effacer nerveusement. Pas de noms. Pas d'histoires. Seulement l'espace exigu qui rétrécit à chaque expiration. L'électricité statique qui fait crépiter la laine. Un regard accroché à un poignet, une veine qui bat sous la peau fine. La chaleur devient palpable, suffocante. La première parole est un juron étouffé. Le premier contact n'est pas une main, mais un souffle contre une tempe. L'étreinte qui suit est une affaire de survie, une tentative désespérée de prouver qu'ils sont encore vivants face à l'étreinte de fer qui les emprisonne. C'est brutal, urgent, sans fioriture. Le cuir de sa ceinture laisse une marque sur sa hanche. L'agrafe de son collier lui griffe la nuque. Dans l'obscurité intermittente des lampes de secours, ils se dévorent. Chaque baiser est une question sans réponse, chaque morsure une ponctuation. Ils extirpent l'un de l'autre des gémissements qu'ils ne se connaissaient pas, des peurs qu'ils n'avouaient pas. Ils sont à la fois le remède et le poison, l'oxygène et la privation. Quand les lumières se rallument et que l'ascenseur repart avec un grondement sourd, ils se séparent comme on se scarifie. Aucune promesse. Juste l'odeur de l'autre sur la peau, indélébile. Elle sort à son étage, il descend au rez-de-chaussée. Leurs vies respectives les attendent, inchangées en apparence. Mais quelque chose a cédé. Quelque chose a brûlé. Et chacun, dans son silence, porte désormais la mémoire brûlante de cette chute libre partagée, de cet instant parfaitement égoïste et absolu où ils n'ont été que chair, pulsion et vérité crue.

When Yelton Group tanked, their CEO and his wife showed up at our door, begging for a marriage alliance. My dad, thinking I was still head-over-heels for Rosie after ten freaking years, threw a million into their sinking ship and signed me up to marry Rosie. Wedding night? She blindfolded me and kept whispering how bad she wanted it. A month later, I tested positive for an STD. Then I caught her bragging to her friends. "Quinn got wrecked by, like, a dozen girls," she laughed. "Wanna guess who gave him the infection?" Her friends were cracking up. "I scouted all the grossest red-light spots," one said. "Each one's got a different flavor." "Just wait," another giggled. "When the symptoms hit hard, we'll know who wins." Rosie added, "Prize money's ready. Soon as we figure it out, she gets paid." That's when it hit me. It wasn't Rosie in bed that night—it was a lineup of strangers she set up. I lost it. Went straight to her, demanded answers. She didn't even flinch. "Mad? Please. If you hadn't dangled that million to force me into this marriage—or scared Caleb off—do you think I'd waste my time on you? "Once Caleb forgives me, you're done." I asked for a divorce. She locked me in the basement. "Chill," she said. "We're still placing bets on who gave you the STD." Six months later, I died down there. Just rotted away. Then I woke up—right back on the day her parents came begging for that deal. Only this time, on the wedding day? She was the one crying.