Long Before Time Had A Name #meme Novels & Stories

To Willa Fowler, I'm not her husband, but rather, a non-performing asset that awaits her handling. When I fall sick and ask her for help, she grows impatient with me. "This is a low-tier problem that you should be dealing with on your own. There's no need to report to me about it." When I burst into tears from an emotional breakdown, she berates me, "If you lose control of your emotions, you'll just show everyone else the vulnerability in our alliance. Next time, I'll have the PR team teach you how to manage your emotions." Even when I call her for help after getting into a car crash, she doesn't hesitate to hang up on me. "Everything concerning you isn't important enough for me to suspend the hundred-billion-dollar transaction I'm performing right now." I spend seven days in the ICU getting my life saved afterward. On the first day of getting home, I witness Willa bending down to gently coax another young man into taking his medication. She opens her mouth in an attempt to explain the situation to me. But I just chuckle bitterly before handing over the paperwork I've already prepared in advance to her. This time, I sound exactly like her. "Ms. Fowler, regarding our marriage project, after a comprehension evaluation, the return on the investment is deemed too low. Therefore, I'd like to officially propose a termination on this project. "This is the divorce agreement. Please leave your signature here."

A young widow is given one more chance at life when her life is reversed back in time using a time travel machine that had been her late husband's father's life's work, way before she was forced into an arranged marriage. But what does the new trip in time hold for her, especially when she meets her then husband in a new setting, and sees him in a different light, bearing in mind that he is already dead? And how fast is a whirlwind romance when she has to go back to her place in time to an empty bed? "You don't...look like someone who has a long time to live." I said to him, watching as his gaze became a little sad. "I guess when you live right, you don't need to."

"Let’s get married as soon as possible," said my fiancee, Clementine Knaupper, out of nowhere during dinner. I froze with the spoon in hand. Over the last three years, I proposed to get married seven times, and she turned me down all seven times with all sorts of reasons. Then, she told me with a shifty look in her eyes, "I… I’m two months pregnant. The pregnancy is going to start showing soon." I set aside my spoon and stared intently at her. "You were on a business trip two months ago, weren’t you?" She gulped before stating in a troubled voice, "The baby… is my assistant, Stanley Brickley’s. I had too much to drink that night, and I thought it was you. "The doctor says if I get an abortion, it will be difficult for me to have children again. After we get married, we can announce my pregnancy. We can tell people it’s our baby. "Then, I will send Stanley and the baby away. They won’t come back after that." I looked at the woman I had loved for seven years, and for the first time, I felt like I was looking at a stranger. "Clementine, let’s call off our engagement."

All her life, Ilyana has been rejected—seven times by seven mates who looked her in the eye, called her worthless, and cast her aside like she meant nothing. So when the eighth full moon comes, she is ready for both rejection and humiliation. Until her mate turns out to be the deadly and untouchable Alpha King—Kael Stormveil. And instead of rejecting her… he accepts her. Taken to his kingdom, Ilyana thinks her suffering is over until she realizes that being chosen by the King might not be what she thinks. Now trapped between a king that wants every part of her body but not her soul, a deadly secret that could change everything between them and enemies that would tear them apart. Ilyana must decide, Will she finally be chosen? Or will she remain the pathetic omega everyone knows her to be? Find out.

I wasn’t even pregnant, yet I ended up popping abortion pills like they were candy. It was all because in my past life, the moment my widowed sister-in-law got pregnant, every single side effect of her pregnancy became mine. She strutted around happily with her big belly, consuming spicy tamales, while I was rushed to the hospital for violent nausea and stomach pain; she showed off her flawless skin in crop tops every day, while my stomach broke out in hideous stretch marks. When I told my husband what was happening, he just shoved me away impatiently. “Enough with the jealousy! My brother’s dead, and she’s carrying his only child. Of course, I should look out for her. Do you really have to put on such an act?” After that, my sister-in-law went even further. She kept testing her limits during pregnancy and even ate a mango she was allergic to. And me? I went into anaphylactic shock, landed in the hospital, and nearly died. Doctors couldn’t explain it. They just brushed it off, saying I was overly jealous and it was all psychological. Later, my sister-in-law tried to brand herself as a “hot single mom”. She went live, belly and all, to show off her weight-loss workouts. She jumped around for three straight hours. And me? My uterus literally gave out, and I hemorrhaged to death. When I opened my eyes again, it was the exact day she first announced her pregnancy.

I'm in a secret marriage with Jessica Justice, a female CEO, for eight years. In order to please Cole Miller, Jessica has almost gotten divorced with me 99 times so far. The first time she brings up divorce, it's because my socks' colors are mismatched. The second time she does, she claims that the way I mop the floor is too ugly. … The reason of the 98th divorce is that I step through the doorway with my left foot first. Every time divorce is brought up, I'll always beg Jessica to not go through with it in an extremely lowly and humble manner. After that, I'll accept her condition to get back with me, which is always a punishment. Apparently, my pain and suffering is the only thing that can make Cole smile. The punishments range from washing Cole's feet to eating 100 slices of mango—which I'm very allergic to—and getting sent to the ICU as a result. This time, since Cole is in a bad mood, Jessica decides to go with a thrilling punishment. "As long as you can climb up a tower of 6500 feet without wearing a safety line, I will never bring up divorce in front of you ever again." All color has been drained from my face. Still, I nod while gritting my teeth together. But the next day, Jessica brings up divorce to me for the 100th time. The reason is that Cole has climbed 6499 feet just to please her. But apparently I've climbed an extra foot, so I end up stealing his thunder. This time, I no longer plead to her to stay. Instead, I tell my grandpa that I agree to inherit my family's assets that are worth ten billion dollars. Heck, the number of socialites who yearn to marry me can line up to the moon and back.

The day before our wedding, my husband gives me a sapphire ring. I place a hand on my slightly bulging belly. As I lie on the operating table, I call him and tell him I want to call the wedding off. Shortly after, his secretary calls me tearfully. "I was the one who was impudent enough to select the ring, ma'am. Please don't blame Mr. Nolan for this. It's all my fault." Archer Nolan holds her in his arms and coaxes her gently for a long time. He only says one thing to me. "You're already carrying my child. Can you really bear to leave me?"

My name is Greyson Langley-just call me Lang. I'm a heavy-metal band player who just back from a concert tour. On my Clofus campus, I reunited with my friends and my beautiful four crushes. Later, I heard about the largest prostitution complex in South East Asia was threatened by being evicted by the government. There, I met a prostitute with a golden voice with a dark past. So, I promised to free her from that despicable valley. Later, I found myself torn between five different women in five irreconcilable lives. The deeper I became involved in their lives, I catapulted into the intrigues of a world that threatens my life and may shatter my heart. And even my nation's democracy. One day, I found a diary written by my grandfather, which made me enlightened also threatened. Stranded amid love, danger, passion, and violence, I should choose between myself, my lover, or my nation. What I begin in compulsion now becomes my urgent need. Come, read my story ... If you dare! WARNING: This story contains adult, explicit, disturbing, and sensitive material. Reader discretion is advised.

I rush into work this morning and accidentally send the car photos meant for the dealership into the medical intern group chat. The new intern snaps at me. "Dr. Tyson, why are you sending me pictures of my car? Are you jealous and trying to steal attention?" I stop short and ask if she has mixed things up, because the car is mine. She fires back with a whole stack of photos of herself driving a G-class with one hand, plus videos to prove the car in my picture belongs to her. She even tacks on a snide little jab. "You're a shameless, broke wannabe. You want any spotlight you can grab. You think a picture of a car is going to make you the lady of the Reed family?" I frown and turn to my husband, Jackson Reed. "Since when does the Reed family have a second lady of the house?"

I made a deal with Sonia Quindt—the billionaire CEO. After I'd proposed to her ninety-nine freaking times, she swore she'd finally show up for the hundredth. Spoiler: she didn't. She was out there at some concert with her boy toy. And, of course, someone caught them on livestream. Big kiss. Big viral moment. Meanwhile, my face was plastered all over the internet too—lonely guy number one, waiting for a bride who never existed. Everyone online started making bets. Who was the mystery woman? How long until I came crawling back for the hundred-and-first proposal? Sonia, apparently struck by some last-minute guilt, promised she'd make it right next time. Said she'd actually show up. And she did. Wedding dress. Perfect makeup. Cameras ready. She got a text from me: [Sonia, there won't be a hundred-and-first proposal. We're done.]