Never Go Full Retard Novels & Stories

To make amends, Dad retired early and handed full control of Harlow Corporation over to me. Six months later, my wedding to Drake took place as scheduled. It was the wedding of the century, talked about across the entire city. There was no dramatic objection, no vicious antagonists—only endless blessings and flowers. We spent our wedding night at a private beachside villa. Drake wrapped his arm around me, his fingers gently playing with my hair. He spoke in a lazy voice. "Honey, do you think those pop-up messages will ever come back?" I took his hand and kissed it gently.

Completely. Utterly. Irrevocably. And I don’t want to come back. ******

"Next time, don’t agree to what you don’t fully understand." My jaw clenched so hard I thought my teeth might shatter. Motherfucker.

Never mind! --

You'll regret it when you're 80," he kept telling me. -Wasn't it at 50? -I questioned. -You'll regret it at 20, at 30, at 40, at 50 and you'll regret it all your life, Camila Clear. Just watch what I say. I got sad. I knew I would regret it. Just then a text message arrived on my cell phone, I checked it half-heartedly and stood stunned in the same place. It was a message from a number I didn't know: Unknown:

I said nothing, only stared at the angry red burn across my leg. Sean knew I cared about my looks and was afraid of pain. Even a single pimple could throw me off for days. Now I had a burn big enough to make me give up wearing short skirts forever, yet he wanted me to be understanding? The warmth that had just barely returned to my heart froze over again. Then came the final blow. “Honestly, your burn isn’t that bad. Let’s just drop it. If word gets out that Mrs. Roth bullied a young girl, imagine how bad that would look!”

Henry shouted, "No! Yelena, I will never divorce you! And the child—why did you never tell me about it?" His voice trembled as he spoke. He was probably regretting it, but what was the use of regret? We could never go back. No matter how hard he tried, it was over. "I will never agree to a divorce!" Henry insisted. "Don't joke with me. This isn't funny at all." So, he thought I was joking.

“She’s pregnant.” “I know.” “You told me she’d be gone.” “I was going to—” “You keep saying that,” Grace interrupted. “But somehow, everything you 'were going to' never happened.” Ethan stepped around the table, his voice low. “Grace. It wasn’t love.” “It wasn’t respect either.” He paused. “I made a terrible mistake.” “You made a choice.” “For what it’s worth,” he whispered, “I regret it.” She looked at him long and hard. “Regret doesn’t bring back trust. Or time. Or—”