Perfectionist Book Mga Nobela at Kwento

It's the ball in my neck, and I want nothing more than it to shrink and leave me alone. I am Emma Rhodes, the model at Model Perfect. Models must be perfect and show off a glamorous life that doesn't really exist. In an imperfect world, that strives for the perfect. The world tells us who we are and what we know. And what I know is this lump, is my doom. It could lift me up or tear me down depending on my test results. I sit in a small chair at the back of the doctor's office. The ticking of the clock is agony, and every strike of the clock makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The door opens and a nurse calls my name.

My head dips and I whisper against her temple, “You possess the drive and the talent to reach whatever goal you or I set. What you can’t do is allow yourself to get mired in a perceived shortcoming.” “But I want to be perfect,” she softly says. I groan. “That’s a label I’ve used too many times with you. What I mean by it, is that you have the ability to be flawless and graceful in the things you say and do. The way you present yourself. That’s imperative to this position. Also… You’re savvy. Those are extraordinary attributes. Think in those terms, rather than having to be a perfectionist. Because here’s a little secret, Nik. No one is perfect. Not in that all-encompassing sense.”

Honestly, I know this is not the best work out there and this is definitely not my best work. I will not ramble about how I started writing this book only for fun and how it became a paid story. No. I just wanted to stop by and let you all know that this book is actually a part of a series called PERFECT FOR YOU. Vincent and Joyce’s book is actually book 2 in the series. Richard, Misoo and Beau have their own book and so do Jordan and Aubrey, as well as Olivia Stanton.

“Then you're basically admitting that you know you’re basic, just like the rest of us. And you know it. I wonder where this superiority complex came from. Probably from always being praised and treated higher than everyone else. But deep down you know you are not that special. But you’ll do everything to try and get rid of those thoughts, which is why you were so desperate for my approval. Because if there’s one person that isn’t going along with what everyone says and praising you for absolutely nothing. Then your world fucking shatters. And what’s revealed, is incompetency.” END OF FIRST ARC

"I'm so sorry, honey... I didn't catch it properly and spilled the water. Honey, did you burn your hand? That water looked really hot." Her soft expression overlapped with the memory of her madness in my mind. The last time I had simply poured her a glass of water that was not exactly the 55 degrees she demanded, she had gone insane and tried to hack me with a kitchen knife. I stood there, frozen. Meanwhile, the live comments were flying across the screen. [Isn't this abuse? That water was hot enough to cook a steak!] [Even if Claire can't feel her legs, you can't just do that to her.]

she continued, voice barely above the rain, “the only thing I was afraid of was never getting the chance to choose you again.” His chest tightened. “Lisa…!!” She reached for him then, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, not pulling him close….just anchoring herself. “I don’t want perfect,” she said. “I want honest. I want this—whatever this is—messy and real.” Grey rested his forehead against hers, breath mingling, rain blurring the space between them. “You have me,” he said. “No filters. No omissions. Even the parts I hate.”

Freya wondered. “So, she’s like that female lead in romance novels who leaves behind her privileged life to work for the man she loves,” Geneva remarked. "Classic." Freya turned to her assistant, eyes narrowing. “Geneva. This isn’t a story of a girl who gave up everything for her one-sided love.” With conviction, Freya added, “This is a story of a perfectionist woman who searched the ends of the world to find love, only to find it right under her nose!”

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

“For some reason, my mom would always recite it to me when I was younger… I held on to it even when I didn’t feel wonderful. They say the Bible is the truth. I don’t really care about God’s book, but that scripture became my truth…” “Why don’t you care?” I mumble. Nothing sits right. “I just don’t. I only care about what worked. I might not see eye to eye with Him, but I know He never creates mistakes or ugly people. He’s a perfectionist, you know. That’s why He made you so perfect.” “I’m not…” “You are. That Man up there, surprisingly, He knows what He’s doing… and I’m gonna say that scripture back to you…” I hold his gaze.

SKYLA My conversation with Tanya played vividly like a rolled tape in my mind, my whole body tingling with exhaustion as I tried to keep my breathing steady. The events of these past few weeks weighing heavily on my slender shoulders, as I tried to make sense of what my life had become. Hot frustrated tears spilled down my face as I stared at the gift Tanya dropped over. The cover of my book that had now become hers glared at me. The pink covers mocking me, taunting. I hurled the books across the room, hitting Ed Square on the head as he made his way in