Novelas y relatos de Komik Pernikahan Hangat

Karen had known him for a while, and only he wore this color. The others had already gathered together to discuss, "Could it be that this celebrity who just turned 18 is Director Kevin's wife?" "18 is not the legal age for marriage. I don't think so." "You don't necessarily have to get a marriage certificate to be husband and wife. Making love between a couple will do." "True, true. Besides, some people get their marriage certificates, but they don't make love. They are just fake couples with a certificate." The hot discussion between colleagues reached Karen's ears one by one, as if these words were targeted at her.

The wife kept complaining about everything in the restaurant while the husband was trying to comfort her. “Everything sucks! And you , why are you still here?” She frowned at me and I flinched. “I’m sorry” I uttered and walked away. “How is he coping. That woman got some attitude.” Hudson said. Hudson is also a waiter in the restaurant. He is really friendly and we got along well. “He is her husband, he would know her to handle her.” I replied him. “Uhm camille” he called. “Yea..” i answered

I wanted to say something, just anything, but the words felt too heavy, stuck somewhere deep in my throat. I pulled my hands out of his at once, leaning back into my seat. Marriage? That word alone scared me. I had barely recovered from the last one. Four years of pain, lies, and almost losing my life. And now Williams Banks, the city's most popular flirtatious billionaire bachelor, was asking me to marry him like he was reading from a simple script. But he kept talking, his eyes never leaving mine, my heart thumping loudly. Words burning behind my ears. I had not expected to hear such from him. I was only a three-day divorced woman. Why was he talking about marriage?

There was nothing new today except her story, and if I had known, I wouldn’t have bothered with it. I clicked on it, expecting a photo dump of her free time, but all I got was a flyer for a gala she was attending. I had clicked on the next story, not caring much about it, but something overly familiar caught my eye, and I was tapping back. I had to be wrong; it couldn’t be… But it was, just as I had suspected. They were having a medical gala for gynecologists, and guess who was a fucking host? My husband. The man I was fucking married to, the one that had just made promises to me some days ago.