Novel & Cerita Mammon Obey Me

“Meet your new tutor.” *Oh, hell no.*

“Attention.” His cold voice silenced the room instantly. The mobsters raised their heads from their bows. “The names of those going on tomorrow’s mission have already been sent out. I’m sure you’ve seen your names.” Then his gaze shifted toward Amy again. A chill ran through her body. She still couldn’t read his expression. “But before I brief the mission…” His voice hardened dangerously. “Bring the fool who disobeyed me.” Marcus raised his hand, signaling two mobsters. Moments later, a man was dragged into the hall and thrown roughly onto the floor.

Yeah, but you can’t compete with that, a mean voice whispers in my head. Applause breaks out inside the bar. Noah lifts a hand and mimics a Miss America wave, his full, carnal lips tugging up in a slow smile that grows, becoming broader and wider. Dude could be a fucking toothpaste model. I swear I hear a gasp from every female in the room. The effect of his mouth is positively infectious. If he were a preacher, he’d be saving souls left and right. I roll my eyes. He’s with Dillon McQueen, the backup quarterback, and several other players.

-You'll tell them I'm your boyfriend, he replies, offended by the question. -Damon, they're more old-fashioned; if I bring someone home, they'll think differently, I say, pleading with him with my eyes to stay here. -What? They'll think I want to marry you? They'll find out I don't mind, he says, pulling me into his arms. -Damon, my dad is more difficult; I don't think it's a good idea. -Darling, I'm the boss of a criminal organization, I own a chain of hotels and several clubs, I'm sure if I can handle those, I can handle your dad too.

When Monica was confused by the sudden appearance of the panel on his head, he saw another panel and heard another voice on his mind. Monica was full of questions on his mind, but then he saw another panel and heard another voice.

TOKYO, JAPAN CHLOE MAE BERSALES was wanted! Indeed. She'd been wanted in a good and bad way—from her enraged father to being a billion-dollar Baby Mama of an innocent soul that she would meet nine months from now. The page of her book went beyond extraordinary when the billionaire CEO of Greyson Stockholdings disclosed an offer she could not resist. Well, that was two months ago and in baby steps, she learned to play along in the cycle. An unexpected yet interesting progression in her old mundane life.

“You are such a perfect little mess for me. Look at you. Trembling. Dripping. Breathless. My favorite obsession, laid out like a gift. You want me to ruin you again, don’t you? Say it, my greedy little bitch. Tell me how much this cock means to your needy, soaking cunt. Good girl. That is it. My filthy goddess.” His lips brushed my neck as his tongue dragged across my skin. I moaned in response, blindfolded and cuffed to the bed, completely at his mercy.

“Until then, you’re mine.” “You’re a monster!” she shouted, slapping her hand against his chest, and pushing him away. “You think money gives you power over people’s lives? You think you can own someone just because you want to?” He grabbed her wrist midair and pulled her close, his lips brushing her ear. “I don’t think, sweetheart. I know… I always get what I want. Make me happy, and I’ll make you rich beyond your dreams. Fight me, and I’ll break you,” he whispered, his tone like acid. “Think wisely. Your next decision determines whether you live in heaven or hell.”

Mom, Kian, he—" "Be quiet." Diane shot her a harsh glare before turning back to me. "Since we’re already this far into the conversation, I won’t waste time going in circles. If you want to marry my daughter, fine. First, you’ll prove yourself." "Prove… how?" She set her spoon down and leaned forward slightly, announcing her decision, "Register as a delivery driver. Do it part-time. Work for three months. "For those three months, you are not allowed to use a single dollar from your family. Everything you eat, everything you spend—it all comes from what you earn delivering food."

Believing we're valuable even when we're not producing anything. It's slow. Uncomfortable. Uncertain. But it's also—it's also real. And real, I'm learning, is worth more than perfect. Even when real is hard. Especially then. Later that day, Damien gets a text from his father. Another request for money, thinly veiled as "catching up." He shows it to me. "Part of me wants to respond. To explain why I can't help. To make him understand." "What's stopping you?"