Mimic Chapter 3 Jealousy Novels & Stories

Yet here was Mirella—without ambition, without scheming, simply being good—and I could already imagine him respecting her more than me. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into the blankets. I would not let this happen. I would not lose him—not to her. Not to someone who didn’t even want his place but somehow already threatened mine. The healer continued his work, and Mirella never left my side, never letting me feel alone. She wiped my sweat, held my hand, whispered gentle words whenever a cramp doubled me over. Every act of care made my stomach twist—not from pain, but from anger and jealousy.

I need a break from all the business talk and polite smiles, so I drift toward the edge of the crowd, leaning lightly against a pillar, scanning the room. As soon as I leave Silas, there Moris is. Her manicured nails trailing along his arm with familiarity. She leans in with that insufferable smile of hers aimed at him. Even her exaggerated fake boobs press against him. My stomach twists, jealousy igniting in a slow, hot burn that makes my hands shake. What am I supposed to do though? Cause a scene? I won't do that to Silas. I try to clamp down on the jealousy, trying to shove it behind a wall of calm composure.

"Hang in there, Layla! Every extra minute you wait out here is another minute he'll spend feeling guilty and heartbroken over you. When he comes out and sees you sick because of him, that guilt will send his affection level straight into the stratosphere!" The System's voice continued to echo inside my head. Leaning against the freezing wall, I felt my body slowly slide downward against my will. Through my daze, I thought I saw Kendrick Miller—the male lead of the romance novel I'd transmigrated into—running toward me with a panicked look on his face. I deluded myself into thinking he would pull me into his arms, wrap his warm coat around me, and take me home. But none of that happened. … Th

_*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> His jealousy was still there. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> But it was changing shape in the knowledge's light. He looked at it directly and found that it was not the jealousy of a man who had been robbed of something that belonged to him. It was the jealousy of a being who had been given something beautiful and had not known what it was and had not tended it in the way it needed to be tended and had watched someone else tend it with the care and the seeing that he had not managed, and the jealousy was really grief, was the specific grief of recognizing your own failure clearly and completely and without the comfortable armor of your own rightness.

"I'm here to explore, learn about different cultures, and, perhaps, make some new friends along the way." Jasmine's envy began to ebb away as she was once again captivated by Simon's charm. It was hard to stay mad at someone so charismatic, and her initial feelings of jealousy were replaced by a growing attraction. Simon, with his magnetic presence, had managed to turn the tables in a matter of moments, leaving Jasmine wondering what lay beneath the surface of this mysterious traveler. As Simon engaged in a more profound conversation with Mara, Jasmine's initial intrigue turned into jealousy. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she watched the interaction between the two. It was evi

I remain silent during this process, still not sure what to think about this situation. “Oh, this isn’t good.” Axel exclaims, checking his phone. “I have an alert, the police are looking for a fugitive with telekinetic abilities who may be able to identify a high-risk Abnormal known as a ‘Mimic’.” He looks confused and turns to Myah, “Do you know what a Mimic is?” He asks. She doesn’t show any reaction but simply states; “I can’t think of anything relating to that, CC?” Myah looks towards her sister for a further response,

She stopped at the corner and waited for the lights to change. The anger was there. She could feel it running underneath everything else, clean and certain, no ambivalence in it. If Damien had made that call, then every carefully chosen word on the rooftop, the grief on his face, the way he'd touched the locket, all of it had been performance. A very good one. Designed to slow her down. The lights changed. She crossed. But she kept returning to one thing.

“She’s texting him already? While he’s still in our bed?” Mirabel read the message and her lush body tensed with raw, possessive rage. Tears of anger and fear filled her eyes. “After everything we did yesterday… after I poured my heart out to you… she’s still trying to claim what’s ours?” The jealousy exploded into something primal. Mirabel grabbed Michael by the collar and yanked him up. “You liked it, didn’t you?” she hissed, voice trembling with hurt and fury. “You liked being their little cumslut so much that she thinks she can text you like this.”

The assistant let out a sharp cry and looked anxiously at Milton. "Mr. Jenning, Mrs. Jenning just had a skin graft. Now she's suffering from severe burns again…" Because Rita had intentionally burned her arm, Milton had dragged me onto the operating table and forced me to undergo surgery to make up for it. At the memory, a sharp cramp shot through my lower abdomen. The doctors who had been fawning over Rita sneered. "You're defending her this much—what, got some shady relationship going on?" "She brought this on herself. Throwing tantrums and threatening suicide over some love rivalry with Ms. Atkinson—everyone knows the Jenning family's wife is vicious."

Ximena spat angrily. "Xi, I’m sorry. I cannot justify my actions. I was angry and confused. I was mad at you because you had ruined our lives. I wanted you to taste what it felt like to live without money. I didn’t plan for it to drag on for long. I’m sorry,” she begged.