Made For You Novel Novels & Stories

You spent money on it ʘ‿ʘ It makes my day. If you're into a fast paced enemies to lovers, then you might want to check out my new book "A VOW TO HATE" I assure you, it's splended. Thank you for reading! So much love from my end, C.

Just eggs, milk, juice and some fruit. It was good enough. Better than my dorm room’s refrigerator. The fact that I was about to make breakfast surprised me. I’d never actually wanted to cook breakfast for anyone before. Especially not someone I hooked up with. Still, the baffling thought wasn’t enough to get me to stop. Somehow, making breakfast for Adrian felt right. Besides, it was the least I could do after he allowed me to stay in his home. That was what this was. A thank-you. At least this was better than the note he left me.

I softened my voice and kneeled, gently holding his little hand. He finally turned to look at me, blinking his big eyes. Then he nodded. "Then I want extra meatballs tonight!" Those words finally warmed something in me. The sun was climbing higher, and as I stood in the empty house, something drew me to pick up that phone again. [The world may not let me love you, but my heart still chooses you.] I read the message out loud. It was still sitting in the drafts folder, unsent. It was a secret Philip had written in his youth, full of longing and emotion.

she used her perfect almond shaped nails to make air quotes. Aria chuckled softly, grateful for the distraction. Mila always brought color into dull places. It was her thing. For the past year and half they've lived together, Aria had tried to push her away. Not wanting to get close to anyone but still not rich enough to get a pay for a place on her own.

I knew the secret now—but how was I supposed to expose it? Smash the wall open? No. That would only put me in the same humiliating situation as before, letting him twist the story and paint me as mentally unstable. Staring at the markings on the blueprint, a plan slowly formed in my mind. I spent several days preparing. Then I procured a special type of smoke compound—completely harmless, but with an incredibly strong odor, like sulfur mixed with rotten eggs. Even the faintest leak would fill a sealed space instantly. Another Wednesday evening passed. Marc texted to say the new line was entering final review. He and the core designers would be working late, and I shouldn't wait for him.

The mansion swallowed him the moment he stepped inside. It was like moving from one world to another. The underground prison was cold, damp, and suffocating. The upper floors were different. They were shiny, luxurious, and precise. Every detail screamed control. The polished marble floors looked like rivers. They stretched beneath crystal chandeliers. The light from the chandeliers scattered into rainbow fragments. These fragments danced across the walls.

"What's wrong with doing that now?" Giselle shot me a resentful look before bursting into tears. "Do you want me to suffer with you for the rest of my life?" she sobbed. "Can't I choose a better life?" It was clear now—she was admitting to her relationship with Kevin. All my years of care had been nothing but an illusion. In her eyes, I was just someone to suffer with, not a partner to share joy with. Did she even realize what kind of life I had given her? The clothes she wore were custom-designed by top designers hired by my foster parents, and the meals she ate were at exclusive, private restaurants. Was that really "suffering"?

I basked in the warm sunlight pouring through the window and stretched lazily. Oh, didn't I mention that little detail? I was the overpowered hero of a harem power-fantasy novel. Perhaps I forgot. But honestly, that didn't matter. Being the hero was just damn satisfying.

Emma said, walking deep into the living room. "Thanks." She walked to a set of shelves on the far side of the room, running her fingers over the spines of his books. A lot of them were classics, novels by Dickens, Voltaire, Dumas, Melville, and Hemingway. She smiled when her fingers ran over the spine of not one, but three copies of Mitchell's Gone with the Wind. There were modern novels, too, including Stephen King and Sidney Sheldon, but they didn't look as well read as some of the others.

Maya cried and cursed, "you are so evil Cindy. Is it a crime to become your friend? How could you burn my beautiful skin?" A few people had already begun to gather around so Cindy became upset and replied, "shut up you pretentious bitch. No one is going to buy your act."