Life Of The Wealthy の小説・ストーリー

"You were promised to me, Alessia, not even death can change that." Alessia Capone was born a mafia princess, powerful last name, perfect future and zero control. At just fourteen, her parents sold her into a blood-soaked engagement with Rino Lombardi, the cold, dangerous heir of Italy’s most feared criminal empire. He was obsessed from the moment he saw her. She hated him before he even spoke. To escape that fate, she ran straight into the arms of another man. A man who turned out to be worse than her worst nightmare. Now, decades later, Rino Lombardi is back. Widowed. Ruthless. More powerful than ever. And still maddeningly obsessed with the one woman who got away. He made a vow to himself. If he can’t have her willingly, he’ll burn the world until she begs to come home. But Alessia is no longer the young girl he once knew. She’s a queen in her own right. She’ll never kneel, never submit, not even to the devil she once escaped. ...Or will she? Because the man she swore to hate may be the only one she’s ever truly belonged to. And this time, he’s not asking.

"Marry me," he replied coldly and emotionlessly. "In exchange, I'll pay your debt." There are no strings attached, and no love is expected. It was just a basic transaction." Sofie paused, her heart beating. She realized she had no other option. But as she stared into his cold gaze, she couldn't help but wonder if she was striking a pact with the devil. She felt a shudder run down her spine. Could she actually pull this off? Marry this man for money, knowing it will be a loveless marriage? In her thoughts, she could almost hear her mother's voice asking her to follow her heart. Sofia's life was flipped upside down when her parents died, leaving her alone and in debt. To be able to pay the remaining dept of her Dad, she have to accept to be the contract wife of a cold-hearted and famous Billionaire, someone she already had a bad encounter with. knowing there is no love between them. What she doesn't know is that she's being pulled into a dangerous web of secrets and lies.

On the day the male influencer patient was discharged, he posted a tearful video accusing my chaste, principled doctor wife of sexually assaulting him. In the clip, he cowered in a corner of the hospital, trembling, his clothes disheveled. With a terrified cry of "Dr. Shelby," he abruptly cut the footage. Overnight, my wife became a monster in a white coat—public enemy number one across the internet. We begged him, again and again, to come forward and clarify the truth. Instead, he posted an injury assessment report and wept about being bullied by his doctor. My wife had no way to defend herself. She was suspended pending investigation—and in the end, she leapt from the thirtieth floor. I endured humiliation and waited for the truth to surface. When it finally did, I obtained a reexamination report that proved her innocence. But by then, no one cared about the truth anymore. And I, consumed by despair, died of cancer. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day that patient was first admitted. This time, I begged my wife to take leave—I wanted to take her away from this doomed fate. But my gentle wife wrapped her arms around me, her eyes red, and said, "Don't be afraid, honey. This time… I won't run away."

Keaton Rourke and I get in a car accident. My liver ruptures, and I'm drenched in my blood. Teresa Bellamy, my wife, leaves me to die and runs off to save Keaton, who only has a scratch on his forehead. I'm unconscious and clinging to life in the emergency room, but Teresa fusses over how to keep Keaton's forehead from getting a scar. I wake up feeling nothing but disappointment and toss the divorce papers right in her face. She rips the divorce papers to pieces like a lunatic and makes it clear that divorce will only happen over her dead body. I used to bend over backward to make her happy. Now I'm ready to divorce her, no matter what it takes.

Everyone in the city's elite circle knew that the most eligible bachelor in the city loved me like his life depended on it. To marry me—a woman living with HIV—Michael Dalio deliberately destroyed his own reputation. Night after night, he paraded through clubs, bedding forty-nine women in a row. He even went so far as to force himself on his widowed sister-in-law, whose husband had just died. Finally, he pushed the Dalio family patriarch into giving in. The old man, holding his tongue in reluctant acceptance, allowed me to enter the family. To give Michael a child, I humbled myself before my sworn enemy, kneeling to beg for a secret medicine. Just as I was about to share the good news with him, I found him hard at work on his widowed sister-in-law's body. "Nancy, you're finally mine. She has HIV—she won't last long. The only woman I'll ever love is you." Turned out I was nothing more than a convenient cover for Michael to marry Nancy. Tears streamed down my face as I pressed send on the message. [I agree to your terms. See you in three days.]

I had been diagnosed with a structural abnormality. The doctor had told me my condition was extremely rare, the kind that had no cure. It was not exactly dangerous. I was just… different from other men in that regard. More intense. Far beyond normal. It had been a constant problem. Every time I brought a woman home, things fell apart the moment clothes started coming off. One look at me, and they panicked and ran like they had seen something they could not handle. My good buddy Gavin Cobb knew how long I had been going without, and he finally decided to help. He told me about a cycling club and suggested I check it out. At first, I did not take it seriously. Riding bikes? What was supposed to be exciting about that? Then he said, "You're underestimating it. The club was full of women. You'd ride up into the mountains at night, and once it was dark, no one could see anything. That was your opportunity. Make them feel good, and they wouldn't push you away. After that, your life would be easy." The idea got to me immediately. I did not think twice. I agreed on the spot.

The King of the West, Lord of the Shadow Sect, and God of War—Howard Lincoln! Five years ago, Howard's adoptive father and his entire family were killed. Narrowly escaping from death, Harold was saved by Tania Jenkins. After that, he was taken away by a mysterious man and entered the military camp by chance. Five years later, a text message brought the God of War from the blood-soaked battlefield to the mundane world, and only then did Howard realize he had a daughter. Since then, the skillful warrior turned into a doting father, protecting his family, fighting other influential families, battling fiercely, and paying back both the good and the harm.

Deep in the night, I saw my son, Carl Turner, drinking a bottle of milky white liquid. I was shocked by the discovery. Our next door neighbor was a pregnant lady, and to top it off, she was the mother of Carl's collegemate. Right after that, he whipped out his phone and played a questionable video, all the while working his other hand under the sheets. In the video was none other than the intimate moments he shared with that pregnant lady! I felt an itch in my heart as I thought of the pregnant lady's daughter, who had just reached legal age. The supple body of a young woman and those alluring curves in all the right places… Since she took advantage of my son, then she had no one to blame for me taking her daughter.

"Mr. Hill, I feel so itchy! My dad has already left, so hurry up and scratch my itch for me with your finger!" At the dining table, my friend, Leon Shaffer's daughter, Maya Shaffer, has had too many oysters, causing her hormones to go out of whack. As such, her libido has risen considerably. Maya is wearing a miniskirt at the moment. Right now, she's parting her legs in front of me, revealing her white panties seductively. I'm used to not feeling a woman's touch all year round. The sight of the young woman's most private parts makes my heart pound wildly and my blood sing in my ears. So, I respond by freeing my manhood from my zipper before wagging it at Maya. "There's nothing good about my finger! Why don't I use this willy of mine for the job?"

"What's that bulge? It looks different from mine." My eighteen-year-old neighbor, sweet but simple, stared curiously at the place between my legs, a hungry glint in her eyes. I played dumb. "Why don't you show me what yours looks like?" To my surprise, without the slightest hesitation, she suddenly tugged off her little white skirt, revealing a smooth, bare patch of skin. "See? Right here—it's totally flat. There's nothing at all."