Kono Dio Da Face Novels & Stories

At the company's gathering, everyone has the right to order for themselves. When it's my turn, however, the new intern, Hayden Belmont, snatches the menu from me. "The order's complete, so there's no need to order anything else." I merely ignore Hayden as I tell the server, "I'd like some continental herb-baked snails, please." But Hayden slams the menu at my face while glaring at me angrily. "I said you're not allowed to order! Who do you think you are, huh?" The hard edge of the menu leaves a scratch on my face. Blazing pain is all I feel at the moment, which fuels my temper even more. So, I pick up the menu and throw it back at Hayden's face. He's quick to shriek and yell at me in fury. "Do you have any idea who I am? My mom is Natasha Belmont, the biggest client of this company! Even the CEO has to show some respect to me, and yet you have the nerve to lay a finger on me? "I'll have your 800-thousand-dollar bonus canceled right away! Soon, the entire industry will blacklist you!" I'm stunned, to say the least. My biological aunt, Natasha Belmont, has been single for 40 years. Since when does she have a grown-up son?

Despite my parents' objections, I stay by Julian Grant's side for ten years. He goes from having nothing to building his own empire. The moment it's time to fulfill our ten-year promise, I proudly tell my parents I'm going to marry him. But then, he gives the vice president position meant for me to another woman. I confront him only to overhear a woman's hesitant voice behind the door. "Mr. Grant... you gave me the VP role, but what about Ms. Jones? Aren't you two getting married?" Julian's tone is cold and sharp, though his face is calm and unaffected. "Noelle's been with me for ten years. Who else would even want her? Relax—she won't dare make a scene." The words hit me like a slap to the face. Without another word, I turn and make a call to my arranged marriage contact. "Are you free?" I ask. "Let's get married."

I run into my former sister-in-law, whom I haven't seen in ages, during a prenatal checkup at the hospital. Wynne Jenkins glances at my belly. And just like she always does, her face crinkles with disdain as she starts nagging me. "Look at you, wandering around with a pregnant belly at your age," she hollers. "What if something happens to my baby nephew? Can't you be a little more sensible and stop making Sean worry all the time?" She must have forgotten. A year ago, Mom was gravely ill. Her only wish was to see me married with children. I staked everything and proposed to Sean Jenkins. On our big day, I waited from dawn until nightfall—only to receive a 30-second voice message from him. "I won't show up at the ceremony, and I won't marry you. This is what you get for bullying Lav." Mom was so enraged by Sean's recklessness that she suffered a heart attack and passed away. After taking care of her funeral, I erased every trace of myself. With what little I had left, I fled Horton—while Sean was still abroad, skiing with Lavender Quinn. And yet now, Wynne says, "Sean spends more than two weeks every month flying around looking for you. He's lost nearly 20 pounds in less than a year. "He's been waiting for you, Janelle. Now that you're back, please stay and build a family with him." I smirk and raise my hand, flaunting the ring on my finger. "Sorry, I like to keep a low profile. I'm already married, but we kept the ceremony simple. That's why you didn't know."

My cousin, Myra Walsh, leaves a voice message in the family group chat in a mean and uncouth manner. "Mom, I'm not meeting that guy who drives a rundown car. One look at him tells me that he's a single pathetic loser." She then kicks my chair. "Hey Sam, that useless piece of shit is a good match for you. Why don't you take my place on the blind date?" I follow Myra's line of sight. There's an old-looking car parked outside, and the owner, Henry Quinton, is currently reclining against the car while smoking. My entire family thinks he's just an ex-convict who has just gotten released from prison and is unable to land a job yet. I'm the only one who knows that's not the truth. Last week, when I was carrying out my internship at a bank, I witnessed the bank manager inviting Henry into the vault. Apparently, the trail of numbers Henry has in his savings is as long as a phone number. After putting on some makeup on my face to make me pure and innocent, I put on an oversized shirt before heading out of the apartment. In the cold wind, I cower slightly from the cold as I hand a thermos flask over to Henry. "Sir, Maya said she's not a match for you, so I'm here in her place." Henry snuffs out his cigarette, his gaze fixing on my flapping hem for three seconds. "Lass, if you want to be with me, you'll have to suffer tremendously in life." "I'm willing to go through anything as long as I get to be with you." That night, Maya flaunts photos of the bag a rich scion has given her. As for me, I've gone over to Henry's apartment.

At the company team-building event, I got called out by my colleague Samantha Rowler for not removing my price tag—she accused me of being a "freebie chaser." "Oh wow, Carla, you drive a BMW 5 Series. Are you seriously planning to return your clothes within seven days too?" she sneered. I tucked the tag back in and ignored her snide remark. But after the event, as soon as I got home, my phone started blowing up. My chat apps were going insane. A friend had sent me a link: [Luxury-Car Executive Turns Out to Be a Return Addict!] Someone had filmed me leaving the price tag on and posted it to a short-video platform. I opened the comment section and was met with a barrage of insults. [Can't afford to live, huh? Tag warrior.] [Is this car a sugar-daddy gift? Those who know, know.] [OMG, does this woman have some kind of illness? Which brand is this so I can avoid it!] I immediately knew Samantha was behind it. I messaged her to delete the video. Instead, the next second, she blocked me—and pinned a comment to the top of the thread: [You can know a person's face but never their heart!] I was about to post a statement to clarify, my finger hovering over the send button, when I noticed the video's likes had already shot past ten thousand. I laughed. If they wanted a scene, fine—let's make it bigger. I quickly posted a new update: [The outfit is really nice. I'll wear it again next time.] The netizens erupted. The insults doubled, the heat skyrocketed, and the post shot straight to number one trending. I just put my phone down and went to sleep.

I took the casino business Angelina, my stepsister, had always wanted. The very next day, the heir of the Corleone family who was Angelina's childhood companion knocked on my door. With that deep, captivating face, he asked, “Principessa Annelise, what’s the point of those bloody businesses? Why don’t I take you to enjoy a life of real pleasure?” So, I agreed without hesitation. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I sealed those lips I had long wanted to taste. After that, I began frequently skipping internal mafia meetings. I let the businesses in my hands fall into decline, little by little. I spent extravagantly. Every day, I only cared about indulging in pleasure with Lorenzo in high-end clubs and private yachts. That was until my father, the don, fell gravely ill. The night before the family leaders gathered to choose the new don, he served me in bed and asked me to hand over control of the family to Angelina at the meeting. I knew that was his true purpose for approaching me. However, this time, I only quietly touched the don’s ring hidden beneath my pillow, the symbol of the family’s highest power. “You’ve given me a great experience this past year. But the power of the don is too tempting. For the next game, I won’t be playing with you.”

(My fiancé cheated on me, so I made a plan to get back at him by cheating with his father) “Who do you belong to, baby girl? Me or Finn?” He buried his face between her legs. “You! I… belong to you… Daddy!” Maisie cried out ecstatically. “Ugh… so good.” He grunted. “You look so… good when… I touch you, Pet!” Becoming the submissive pet of her father-in-law was her twisted plan to get revenge on her fiancé, Finn, for cheating on her. She had vowed, "I'll fuck his father as much as I want for what he did to me. Then, I'll marry Finn, make him watch me fuck his father, and divorce him." It was a clear plan, one meant to mess with both Finn and his father. But she had no idea that this would spark an unending obsession from Rafael Caruso—her father-in-law, a secret mafia don, a man nobody dared to cross. "I was never a part of your silly games, baby girl," Rafael growled, his voice dripping with authority. "I wanted you even before Finn. You are my submissive pet. You signed the damn contract, and you will do as I fucking say." He gripped her hand, pinning her to the wall. "I will keep you as long as I want, for as the contract stands. You belong to me! There's no escape!”

I was severely allergic to shrimp. Even touching the broth could make it hard for me to breathe. They used to treat me like a fragile little princess no one could touch. So there was never seafood at home, and even relatives were reminded before each family gathering. Then my little sister was born, and everything changed. Shrimp became her favorite food. She kept asking Mom to make it for her. That was the first time Mom snapped at me. "Can't you just stay away from it? Do you really have to make your sister unhappy?" Dad only shut the kitchen door and handed me a mask. But on the day of Dad's promotion dinner, I accidentally ate shrimp hidden inside a puff pastry. My throat tightened. I clutched my neck and ran to Mom for help, my face turning purple. But Mom flung my hand away, her voice cold as ice. "Today is an important day for your father. What stunt are you trying to pull now? "Do you think everyone has to revolve around you? Go back to your room!" She shoved me into my bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. I did not even have the strength to call for help. All I could hear was the sound of people outside clinking glasses and offering congratulations, while my fingernails scraped bloody marks into the door.

My boyfriend suddenly posted something on his Instagram. [I’ve offered my body and soul to the country.] I was about to ask what he meant when he sent me a plane ticket to the northwest. He explained that the mission was confidential and that he could not be in contact with me during this time. Ten months passed. He was supposed to be away, but he came home unexpectedly and caught me at a prenatal checkup. When he saw my eight-month-pregnant belly, his face turned pale with anger. “I’ve been gone for ten months. How are you pregnant?” I shrugged and said, “Weren’t you supposed to be gone for three years? Why are you back after just ten months?”

In my past life, I walked away from an invitation to the elite Academy just to take the fall for Luca. He held my hand, swearing he’d get me out. Swearing he’d keep me safe for the rest of my life. Instead, I rotted in a cell until I died. While I was bleeding out on the cold floor, Luca was marrying the Don’s daughter, living the high life. When I opened my eyes, I was back. Luca was sixteen again, face pale as a sheet, shoving a bloody gun into my hands. "Elena, you're a lifesaver." I slapped the piece away. "Dream on. I ain't taking the rap for you this time."