Novel & Cerita My Way Or The Highway Book

That was something I would never forgive. With all the evidence in hand—and an additional charge of attempted rape—Connor was sentenced to ten years in prison. Ten years—the best years of his life—gone behind bars. It was a punishment far crueler than death. I threw myself into my work, into acting and rebuilding my life. My career soared, my world finally steady and bright. … A decade later, I heard about Connor again. He was dead. After his release, the Presley family had already gone bankrupt. Unable to cope with his downfall, he drowned himself in alcohol.

“Cy. Cy! Come here!” Speeding up his walk, he ended up sitting beside his friend as well. Then she showed him the book in her hand. “What is that?” Hera licked her lips before answering the query. “I saw this book in one of the stacks that the club was giving the freshmen.” “You liked it?” “No, it’s not because of that,” Hera answered. “It was written by a student from this school.” Learning that information, Cyril got a little interested in the book. Not because it was written by a student from the school but because the title seemed to be hiding something about the writer.

The open landscape atop the cliffs is far too exposed—if I’m to have any hope of traveling safely, I need to head north along the edge of the woods, if not through them. As I near the trees, I see a two-lane road running along the base of the hills. My recent geography lessons tell me it must be Highway 1, a road I can follow all the way to San Francisco—if I can stay alive, that is. The road is empty, of course. It must be years and years since any vehicles drove upon it. That doesn’t mean it’s not used by walkers…or crawlers…or slithering things.

I drove faster than I should have and slower than I wanted to. The road stretched out ahead of me - two hours of dark highway and white lane markers disappearing under the car in a rhythm that should have been calming and wasn't. I had the heat on too high, and I hadn't noticed until my hands started feeling strange on the wheel. I turned it down. Small adjustments. That was what this drive was - small adjustments to things I could control while the thing I couldn't control sat in my chest like a stone.

His heart clenched, as if an invisible hand had reached inside and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. He had always assumed that I was just throwing a small tantrum, that I would calm down in a few days. He thought I wouldn’t leave him, that I would wait for him to settle things with the Camorra. Never did he imagine that I would actually walk away without saying goodbye, leaving behind just a key and a note. He sprinted to his car, fumbling with the ignition. His hands shook so hard that he didn’t even fasten his seatbelt before hitting the gas. He ran through two red lights on the way, the scenery outside blurring past.

Chapter One My poor car died with a sad, sputtering cough. It left me completely stranded on the side of the dark, lonely highway like a total fool. I smacked the steering wheel with the palm of my hand and let out a loud, frustrated groan. "Great. Just great," I muttered to myself.

Maybe my mother hadn't either. The city outside the window was a wall of noise. Horns screaming. Engines roaring. Every sound pressed against the inside of my head until my breathing unraveled. How does anyone survive this? When we stopped at a red light and she kept talking gently, persistently, endlessly something in me simply snapped. My hands found the door handle before my mind gave the order. I popped the seatbelt, pushed the door open, and ran. A car swerved and missed me by inches.

He sat in his car for a long time before finally driving away. … True to his word, Derrick showed up at my door every single day without fail, stubbornly insisting on driving me to work. I preferred riding my electric scooter and feeling the freedom in the air. But his luxury car trailing beside me was impossible to ignore. People around us couldn't help but stare at him. And then, they would turn to look at me. I glared at him in frustration. "Can you stop following me to and from work? It's annoying." Derrick blinked, unwavering. "No. It's dangerous here. I can't let you go around alone."

Leaning in, I whispered to her, "It's not like it's your money. Go ahead and splurge. It's on your boss." Rhea hesitated but ultimately couldn't resist the temptation. The items she picked, though few, ended up being more expensive than everything she had selected for me combined. I said nothing throughout the checkout process. After all, Jack was the one footing the bill. I wanted him to see Rhea's greed firsthand. Once the mission was complete, I pretended to look exhausted. "Darling, I'm tired. Can we go home now?" Jack nodded with a quiet grunt, then turned to Rhea. "Ms. Carhill, you should head home early too."

Who would have thought that the only time I had ever been called a slur, would be from the mouth of Zach Lawson? Zach seemed to realize his mistake. His tone softened, and he said, "Sydney, get on your knees and apologize to Thalia, and I'll forget this. Don't make me say this twice." I stared defiantly at him. "I won't." The next moment, Zach kicked me so hard across my shins that my knees buckled beneath me. I fell to the ground, and a searing pain shot through my knees. Years ago, Zach and I were involved in a car accident. I lunged in front of Zach to protect him, and as a result, I sustained a fracture in my left leg. The fracture healed, but left me with serious complications.