Novel & Cerita Male Lady Dimitrescu

At the company's annual party, my fiancée, the CEO, was chosen for a game called "opposite-gender squats." With the whole room cheering, she did not hesitate. She jumped onto a young male intern and wrapped her legs tightly around his waist. He held her by the hips as he lifted and lowered her again and again, while she laughed as if she did not have a care in the world. Then came the second round: blindfolded face recognition. When her hands reached the intern, her fingers lingered on his lips and traced them slowly. He suddenly licked her fingertips. Right there, in front of everyone, he smirked. "Miss Smith, your hands are really soft. The way you touched my lips just now… that felt amazing. This kind of perk beats any year-end bonus. You smell incredible, Andrea." Her face flushed red, but she did not deny it. She only smiled, shy and pleased. That was when I let out a cold laugh. "If you like it that much, I will assign you as the CEO's assistant. All business trips next year, you two can go together." Her expression changed instantly. "Daniel, what is with the attitude? Can't you handle a game? It's just for fun. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? Who is going to dare play with me after this?" "Fine. If you enjoy playing so much, then go play with him. Because that CEO seat is about to belong to someone else," I muttered.

After I fail in my mission, I am about to be erased by the system and will disappear from this world completely. In the final 24 hours before I am erased, I agree to donate a kidney to my younger brother, Zachary Durham. My wife, Judith Sanford, hugs me excitedly and says she will not divorce me anymore. When Zachary plagiarizes my design, I take the blame and admit that I am the one who copied it. My parents nod in satisfaction, saying I have finally become sensible. Finally, I become the good husband and son they always wanted. But when they see my lifeless body sometime later, they all lose their minds.

My mother had a rare disease. After months of dead ends, I found one person in the country who could treat her. She told me there was a price. She said she needed a husband. I agreed. For my mother, I agreed. For six years I was her ATM. I bought her the bags. I bought her the watches. It got worse. She used my money to keep a kept man. She brought him into our bed. The day my mother had her last surgery, she walked out of the operating room halfway through to go celebrate her lover's birthday. The moment they pronounced my mother dead, I decided there and then, she was paying for that with her life.

After our company loses the eight-million-dollar deal, my girlfriend, Lindsey Corwell, gets mad at me for the first time ever. She goes as far as to heavily insult me in front of everyone in the company. Once we get home at night, she retains her professionalism. "There's no such thing as a romantic relationship between us when it comes to work. The fact that you screwed up still stands. This is your fault." Meanwhile, Lindsey's junior, Gerald Whitaker, sends me an apologetic text. "This is all my fault, Julian. I'm the one who screwed up the deal. Lindsey bought me a cupcake to comfort me. It's pretty delicious. Let me buy you a cupcake as well." The next morning, Lindsey chucks the breakfast I've made for her into the trash can without hesitation. "I told you many times that I don't eat breakfast!" At work, my colleague, Joshua Miller, suddenly approaches me and begins sharing gossip with me. "The newbie really is fearless, eh? He actually had the guts to start a conversation with Ms. Corwell and even bought her breakfast! Guess what happened after that? Not only did she eat it, but she also claimed that it was tasty!" Oh, so that's how it goes, huh? Whatever. Anyway, the woman who keeps texting me is still trying to get me to switch lovers. "If worse comes to worst, I don't mind being a side chick! C'mon, give me a try!" I purse my lips in return. "It's fine. You shall be my official girlfriend now."

I've chosen to participate in a death game. As long as I can escape from the murderer's killing spree in ten time loops, I'll be able to win at least 100 billion dollars. In the first loop, I have my apartment refurbished into a bank vault. Still, the killer is able to bust down my front door. In the second loop, I hide in the ceiling crawlspace. Yet, the killer is quick to locate me immediately, as though he knew where I was, to begin with. In the third loop, I finally realize that something's definitely fishy…

My daughter suffered carbon monoxide poisoning and urgently needed to be taken to the hospital. However, the ambulance was blocked by my wife's car. She was carrying the man she had always loved, who only had a cold. She refused to move and even got into a fierce argument with the paramedics. She said, "Whether your patient lives or dies has nothing to do with me. I have a patient in my car as well. Why should I give way?" In the end, my daughter missed the critical window for treatment and passed away. From that moment on, my heart was completely dead. I took my wife to court.

To attract more potential customers, my wife decided to join the cycling community. During the two months I was away on a business trip, she posted new cycling routes every single day on the map and became a well-known cycling socialite in the local scene. A neighbor suddenly sent me a video. The location tag pointed straight to my backyard. [Dude, your wife is something else. Already found herself a riding partner? Looks like the bike’s not the only thing getting ridden.] In the video, an unfamiliar lace panties hung on the handlebars of the bicycle. The lush grass swayed rhythmically, with an undulating figure occasionally peeking from behind it. I dialed her number. “What are you doing?” She squealed, “I’m out for a ride, honey. I’ve been landing a lot of high-quality clients lately. I’m working really hard to make money!” “Oh?” I smiled. “With your body?” I tightened my grip on the phone and enunciated each word, “It’s pretty dark in the backyard. Want me to turn on the lights for the two of you?

On one mid-autumn day, my national classified mission finally came to an end. I dug out the phone I hadn't touched for four years, planning to call my wife, Nora Christie, and tell her that I'd be coming home. But the moment my phone screen lit up, I saw a public court notice declaring me… dead. I froze. Then, I looked closer. The person who had filed the petition to have me legally declared dead was Nora. Frowning with confusion, I dialed her number. With a soft chuckle, she brushed it off, saying that it must have been a clerical error by some court intern. Then, she asked when I would be coming home. Just when I was about to answer, I heard a soft, restrained moan from Nora. "Ah, don't touch me there…" Realizing something wasn't right, I told her that I would be back in a few more years before hanging up. Then, I grabbed the medal I had earned from four years of service to my country, and took the next train home. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw when I arrived. Right outside my front door, Nora was holding a wedding ceremony. The groom was Henry Crowley, the poor student I had sponsored!

Our expedition team ventured into a desert wilderness to investigate rare mineral resources when we were suddenly struck by extreme heat that reached 158 °F. I nearly passed out from dehydration and quickly reached into my backpack for the electrolyte water I had prepared in advance. Just as I was about to drink it, I realized the bottle was half-filled with urine. When I turned around, I saw Ben Murphy, my wife’s childhood friend, gulping down my electrolyte water. As I was about to confront him, Amy Garner, my wife, grabbed my sleeve and said, “Don’t be mad. I gave Ben your electrolyte water. He’s almost dehydrated. You can make do with this for now.” My vision started to blur. Clutching the half-empty bottle of urine, I asked through gritted teeth, “I’m dehydrated. Instead of letting me rehydrate properly, you want me to drink this? Are you trying to kill me?” Amy was upset. “Don’t be ridiculous! Ben doesn’t work out daily like you do. He can’t handle this heat. Wasn’t it right to give him the electrolyte water? Besides, urine can hydrate you, too! Don’t be picky at a time like this.” Seeing how unreasonable she was being, I sent a distress signal with my location just before losing consciousness. [Severely dehydrated, near death. Expedition mission suspended. Request immediate rescue. Also reporting a robber in the team. Notify the police immediately.]

To protect the assistant who had been evading taxes, she deliberately gave false testimony in her role as my superior's wife, putting all the blame on me. I protested endlessly, but the law held me accountable. I was imprisoned for two months. Upon release, my colleagues turned against me, ostracizing me and destroying my promotion chances. Seeing that I neither cried nor caused a scene, my wife assumed that I had finally submitted. She even threatened to make amends with a lavish wedding for me. However, during the wedding vows, the assistant, suddenly overtaken by jealousy, ran to the company rooftop and threatened my wife with suicide to force her to cancel the wedding. My wife, who had always been obedient to him, panicked. She abandoned everyone at the ceremony and spent the entire night comforting her assistant. Afterwards, she calmly explained: "Wilson is young and impulsive. I was just afraid he might get hurt. Besides, you were released from prison so early thanks to him. He helped a lot. By right, he's still your lifesaver. I couldn't just abandon him." I looked at the couple rings she had just put on her finger, let out a faint hum, and said nothing. She believed I accepted her excuse and was pleased, even making an unprecedented promise: once she had calmed the assistant, she would take me on a honeymoon. However, she seemed to have forgotten one thing. She had already signed the divorce papers, and I had filed a lawsuit in court to have the case heard. From that moment on, we were no longer husband and wife. We were only plaintiff and defendant.