Novel & Cerita Odd Titles

However, the announcement of the exam results would prove to be a tipping point for Rithanya. **Title: Breaking Point: Rithanya's Struggle Unveiled** Rithanya's life had been shrouded in a gloomy cloud for weeks. Her classmates noticed the change. Once a vibrant, cheerful girl, she had become withdrawn and distant. But when the regular school sessions resumed after the exams, Rithanya seemed almost back to her old self. She was smiling, engaging more with her roommates, and even greeted the warden and other teachers she ran into during her daily routine.

"Anna, is there no line you won't cross because of your pettiness? You've cursed our son again and again. Don't you think that's bad luck?" My fury was so intense that it swallowed my voice. Chloe yanked the phone from my hands and snapped, "No mother jokes about their baby! The funeral is at 182 Oak Road. If you and Michael have even a shred of doubt, come and see for yourself!"

My plan for Alex Oliver was to make him as simple as the next man beside us. Alex wasn't hot—he was cute. Alex didn't have any flashy cars—he had a bicycle. He wasn't the CEO of any billionaire company, just a normal twenty seven year old doing his normal stuff.

BRANDON We had been traveling for days, but we had yet to get the results we were looking for. After thoroughly searching the North, we finally stumbled upon a scene of dead werewolves with arrows embedded in their bodies. I instantly recognized them as Zara's because each pack had a different head color and a different way its arrows were designed. Now I knew we were headed in the right direction.

Authority pressed against us like a storm front. I could hear them before I saw them. Boots pacing. Wolves scenting the air. Every step a challenge. The lounge door opened and there they were. Four of them, dressed in obsidian black. Sharp suits. Sharper postures. Their weapons were hidden, but not really. Wolves didn't need blades to kill. They were weapons in flesh. And in the center, seated in my chair like a throne, was Beta Osuof. He was older, but not worn. Time had made him sharper, not weaker. His salt-and-iron hair was cropped close, his jaw hard, his eyes bottomless black. Like staring into judgment.

Second of all, I didn’t have the time or the energy to be distracted by a hot body and a handsome face, especially not one that would only be in my life for such a short time. Focus, Robyn, focus. I sighed and flopped down on the bed. It was extremely springy and bouncy, like it had never been slept in before. It was hard to settle down and fall asleep in a strange bed in a strange room. The house made weird noises. I could hear the hum of the central air, I could hear Phoenix moving around through the wall that separated our rooms. I could hear the muted sounds of traffic and a dog barking somewhere down the street. On top of that, the bedding smelled weird, like some kind of strong, flower

Elias left the office with his awareness humming low and steady, the system rearranging itself around him in subtle ways. He understood now that fracture did not always announce itself as chaos. Sometimes, it arrived as order, claimed by the wrong hands.

WRONG NUMBER “Shit!” Arielle Lawson cursed under her breath as her bag slipped off the bar counter, spilling its entire contents across the floor for the uninterested crowd of Midnight Halo Lounge, Manhattan to see. She stared at the mess absentmindedly through her increasingly blurry vision, wondering how she was supposed to gather whatever remained of her dignity. A part of her knew that if she stood up too quickly, she’d land face-first on the cold, filthy tiled floor. Her legs were already betraying her, softened by whisky and regret.

It slows right in front of me, and for a second, I think it’s going to stop. Maybe hitchhiking is a better idea than waiting for a cab. I step toward the street—and then it accelerates. The tire sinks into a puddle, and a mix of water and mud explodes straight at me, ruining my immaculate skirt. “Damn idiot! Are you blind or what?” I shout, furious, trying to see the jerk hiding behind the tinted window. The window rolls down slowly. Shamelessly. A long arm appears first. The sleeve of a black suit fits it perfectly, revealing a small but impossible-to-ignore tattoo on his wrist: a Roman numeral five.

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