Martin Pistorius Walking Mga Nobela at Kwento

I used to believe silence meant peace. That if I endured long enough, stayed patient long enough, things would eventually fall into place. But the morning everything changed, I realized how wrong I had been. A room I had once asked for was suddenly cleared. Not for me. For someone else. For her. My husband didn’t hesitate when he said it. No explanation. No consideration. Just a decision that reminded me exactly where I stood in his life. I tried to ignore it. Told myself it wasn’t worth questioning. Until my birthday came. And went. No acknowledgment. No effort. Nothing. Just the quiet understanding that I no longer mattered. Then the truth found me. One moment was all it took to see everything clearly—the lies, the betrayal, the role I had been playing in a life that was never truly mine. So I signed the papers. I walked away from the marriage, from the name, from everything I had spent years holding together. I thought leaving would be the hardest part. I was wrong. Because walking away was only the beginning. And some endings don’t set you free— they pull you into something far more complicated.

My boss, Grant Whitlock, removed every table and chair from the operations team's area during the company's holiday party. Then, he placed one stainless-steel dog bowl in the middle of the stage. "Ops is basically the company's guard dog," he announced. "And dogs don't eat at the table." The top sales guy laughed and scraped his leftovers straight into the bowl. After that, Grant threw a black trash bag over my shoulders. "From now on, you're our walking trash can. Make yourself useful." The room exploded with laughter. I didn't say a word. I just tightened my grip around the master access card in my hand. What they didn't know was that the building's emergency utility approvals, maintenance access, and property management favors all went through me. They were all living it up because of this "dog" they loved looking down on. I had had enough. So, I dropped my employee badge into the dog bowl and walked out on them. I thought, 'After the holidays, no one will be cleaning the mess on those two floors. Let's see how well they survive without me.'

She heard the door click open but it wasn't Nicolai. It was lucifer. Her eyes widened in fear as she got up from the bed. Lucifer walked towards her and she stepped back, her eyes started watering recollecting the event of this morning. She tried to run out of the room but lucifer catched her and locked her in his arms. "Shh... I am not going to hurt you, stop struggling..." She stilled hearing his angry voice. Even if he didn't wanted to hurt her, She wasn't ready to trust him. Lucifer let her go and started stripping, her heart started racing seeing that and she ran towards the door but it was locked. She tried to open it but couldn't. Her lips trembled as she felt his breath on her neck. "You can't escape from us, baby... Never..." He lifted her up walking towards the bed and she started struggling. Lucifer gently placed her on the bed and by now she was a crying mess. He was only in his trousers and that was not helping her either. ******** Three evil hybrids and one innocent mate. How is it going to work? But they clearly know that she is innocent but not weak...

Drevan Valkor is the Darkmoon pack's Invincible Alpha. This makes him grow arrogant and believe himself to be untouchable. Even when he drags a knife across his own hand, the wound closes almost instantly. He laughs at me and says, "Kyra, you gasp for breath after walking just a few steps. What a pathetic, sickly burden." What he doesn't know is that a curse forces me to suffer every bit of pain he should be feeling. The only cure is for him to acknowledge me and complete the mate bond willingly. I endure three years of his pain, his cold shoulder treatment, and his constant entanglement with my "healthy and lively" stepsister. I tell myself that if I can survive until the mate bonding ceremony, I will finally be free. But that hope dies on the night of the ceremony. Before the entire pack, he pulls my stepsister, Belle Wynter, into his arms and kicks me off the altar. "I reject Kyra Wynter as my mate," he declares. "My pack doesn't need a weakling like her." That is the moment my conscience dies. If that's how it is, then he can't blame me for choosing the worst possible cure.

On what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, Irene Casareo’s wedding turned into her worst nightmare. Instead of walking down the aisle, her groom dragged her to the police station, accusing her of a crime she never committed. It was there she discovered his betrayal—he had conspired against her with his own stepsister. Consumed by rage and despair, Irene endured three agonizing years behind bars. Upon her release, freedom barely had time to settle in her lungs when she found herself caught in a bloody crossfire. That was when she met Kristoff Montecillo—a powerful man from the underworld, and the uncle of her ex-fiancé, Dave. He saved her from the armed men, but demanded a different kind of payment: he shook her world with a single, unexpected kiss. And when a lecherous old man tried to rob her of her innocence, it was Kristoff who shielded her once again. Now bound by a debt of gratitude, Irene faces an impossible choice: should she agree to become Kristoff’s fiancée in return for his repeated rescues, or should she say yes only to use him as a weapon in her quest for vengeance against those who shattered her life?

To get a divorce from Dante Conti, I volunteered to walk away with nothing—even our three-year-old son. Seeing that I had deliberately changed back into the old clothes I wore before marriage, Dante froze for a moment, then sneered, "So? You don't even want Nico, the heir you fought so hard to give birth to?" "Careful. Play your part too long, and you won't be able to recover the scene," he warned. I pushed the signed agreement toward him. "Don't worry. This isn't acting." Dante shot me a puzzled look before signing his name. "So obedient? Fine. I'll be magnanimous and let you see Nico from time to time." He set down the pen, his gaze appraising me. "And if you regret it… come to me now, and maybe—just maybe—we could remarry—" I cut him off, standing and walking away without a word. He had thought I married him for the Mafia's power, that's why I had given him an heir to inherit his family. But once he knows I'm dead, there will be no more misunderstandings.

Book One Kelly Bradley didn’t need to worry about falling in love when she came up with her plan to marry Jack Sutton. She’d dated so many great guys over the years, but not fallen in love once. Not with any of them. It just wasn’t in the cards for her. So, when she approached powerful, sexy Jack Sutton and proposed a temporary marriage-of-convenience, she wasn’t one bit concerned that her heart would be on the line. But, when Jack agrees and she moves into his home, Kelly quickly discovers just how wrong she was. Before she knows it, not only is her heart on the line, but her life is, too. Book Two After a near-death experience, artist Ashley Price is compelled to paint visions of the dead. Then she paints a man buried alive and, recognizing the surroundings, she rushes to save him. Instead of being grateful to her for rescuing him, Detective Jack Sullivan accuses her of being in league with a serial killer. He swears he will put her behind bars. Except, the more time he spends with her, the more he falls under her spell. Can he trust her, or is he walking into another deadly trap?

Joan Belle has been in love with Christopher Hale since they were teens. He is the CEO of Hale Industries, her friend, and her next-door neighbor. She dreamed one day, he would look her way. She made herself to be an admirable woman; a model on the side and a businesswoman, creating her own clothing line at a young age. However, despite her success, Christopher Hale never once asked her on a date. Countless times, she tried to catch his attention, but she failed miserably. Just when she thought she had lost all hope, Cole Adams, Christopher's best friend, an athlete, and a superstar model offered his cupid services. "Joan, if you want to win Christopher over, you have to show more. You are a model, but on normal days, you dress like a nun!” With his chiseled face and athletic frame, walking closer to Joan, he added, “Men are simple. , simple.” Along the way, Joan found out that someone secretly loved her. Who will she choose? *** WARNING: This is a romance novel. It contains mature content not suitable for young readers. Follow me on social media. Search Author_LiLhyz on IG & FB.

After losing a round of truth or dare, Ezra Everton pointed at me from across the room like it was nothing. "Her. The brokest girl at the whole art institute. For fun." The room exploded with laughter. Everyone waited for me to get dumped on the spot and humiliated. I was already about to tell him to go screw himself when bright red floating comments suddenly blew up in front of me— [Don't say no! Say yes! That's a walking jackpot!] [Make his heart race for one second and you'll unlock a $100,000 payout!] [I'm screaming. Ezra's family is crazy rich. One tiny leak from his wallet could build a whole new wing for Evervale Home!] [For real. He acts arrogant, but he's secretly such a softie. Win him over, and you're basically set for life!] Evervale Home. The orphanage. A hundred grand? My eyes widened. I looked at Ezra's ridiculously handsome—seriously punchable—face and swallowed the "go to hell" sitting on my tongue. Then I met his amused stare and smiled sweetly, hiding the edge in my eyes. I stepped up and hooked my arm through his. "Sure, babe."

I caught my fiancé, Nico Falcone, in bed with my own cousin, Bianca Rossi. Right before our wedding. When I confronted him, he just called the whole thing off and ran me out of New York. I didn’t see him again for five years. Then came the charity gala for the New York Families. There he was. Nico. He pulled me aside, saying he felt bad for the state I was in. He offered to make me his mistress. I told him to go to hell. He got ugly. The whole room was laughing. Whispering how an outcast like me had no business showing my face in New York. I clenched my fists, the sound of their mockery ringing in my ears. Just then, the entire ballroom went dead silent. Every head bowed in respect. Don Lucas, the most feared man in New York, was walking slowly toward us. He stopped right in front of me. With the whole room watching, he dropped to one knee. He took my hand—the one Nico had squeezed red—and kissed it. His voice was dangerously low. “Who hurt my future wife?”