Photo Negative Mickey

On my daughter, Arlene Bale's tenth birthday, I miscarried in a horrific car accident. Before I can even tell my husband, Camden Bale, about my pregnancy, my unborn child has already left me. Devastated, I attempt to call Camden. But after spamming more than a dozen calls, none of them get answered. When I open a social media app, the first thing I see is Camden's first love, Ruth Carroll, celebrating her safe delivery online. The accompanying photo features Camden's tender-looking side profile as he cradles the newborn in his arms. Camden's mother, Patricia Stone, even leaves a long comment there to celebrate the birth of Ruth's baby. "Oh, Ruth! You really are a hero to the Bales! To think that your firstborn is a son who can inherit our family's legacy! That woman who has married into our family for ten years only gave birth to one inferior spawn! "I swear, I will kick that useless woman out sooner or later! Once that happens, you can marry into the Bale family proudly!" With trembling fingers, I click the phone shut. After that, I forcibly get discharged from the hospital and rush home so that I can demand for answers. But that's when my nightmare has just begun. I receive the news of Arlene's unfortunate death. It turns out Camden has left Arlene at home all by herself, which leads to her accidental death. The entire Bale family is too busy celebrating the birth of Ruth's son. No one bothers shedding a tear for Arlene's passing. With hatred brimming in my heart, I fly to another country. Camden Bale, you're the one hurting me from the start till the end. I will make you and your family pay the heavy price.

Après avoir été traitée comme une banque de sang par le premier amour de mon mari, je suis morte de maladie dans le logement loué que mon mari milliardaire m'a concédé par charité. Aujourd'hui, cela a fait trois jours depuis ma mort, et mon fils de six ans a enfin compris que quelque chose n'allait pas. Il a joué avec ses jouets et s'est coupé le doigt, et je ne l'ai pas consolé. Il a ouvert un paquet de biscuits et a porté la nourriture à ma bouche, et je ne l'ai pas arrêté. Il s'est blotti contre moi, a agrippé mes vêtements et a murmuré « maman », et je n'ai pas répondu. Désemparé, il a trouvé mon téléphone et a appelé son père, mon mari milliardaire. « Papa, pourquoi maman dort encore ? » L'homme a aussitôt envoyé une photo de lui en train de dîner pour la veille de Noël avec son premier amour, puis a dit d'une voix froide : « Elle dort, elle n'est pas morte. Aujourd'hui, c'est la veille de Noël, je suis très occupé. » « Dis à ta mère capricieuse que le jour où elle acceptera de reconnaître son erreur, elle pourra revenir me voir. » L'appel s'est terminé. Mon fils est resté figé longtemps. Il a ramassé dans la poubelle le dernier biscuit de la maison, l'a cassé en deux et a porté un morceau à ma bouche. « Maman, mangeons aussi. »

Years after graduation, someone suddenly tags me in the class group chat. "Mr. Warren is gravely ill, Mira. Aren't you going to do anything? You really are heartless!" I only realize what's going on when I click on the fundraising link in the chat. Our high school homeroom teacher, Joseph Warren, has late-stage cancer. Thus, Lyra Fairfield, the class belle, is leading a fundraiser and patient-donor matching process. "I'll donate ten thousand dollars. My husband is the director of Waverly General Hospital, and I've already asked him to arrange a VIP ward for Mr. Warren." Right after I send that message, the group pounces on me. "Mira, you contracted an STD back then and tried to pin it on Lyra. She didn't even hold it against you, and now you're trying to steal her thunder? You're unbelievable!" "I can't believe you're still lying through your teeth during such a serious situation. You never change, do you?" Lyra immediately defuses the tension. "Mira, I don't blame you for what happened in the past, but you really shouldn't impersonate the director's wife. I've already arranged the ward and surgery, and I'm donating another 100 thousand dollars to Mr. Warren!" I'm this close to laughing out of sheer anger. She's the one who scratched her name off the diagnosis report and framed me for having an STD all those years ago. I never even confronted her about it, and now she's playing the victim? Lyra soon posts a photo in the group chat, showing off her husband's car. Yet, when I see the man in the passenger seat, I guffaw. Isn't that my husband's driver? When did he start running a hospital?

A marriage bound by a contract, and she obliged to accept it. He was her boss, and she was his secretary. She gave him everything he wanted, but her love was neglected, but when she decided to leave, he offered her a contract marriage to make her stay. But, someone occupied his heart, and he couldn’t offer anything to her except his talent on the bed. After their marriage, she endured the pain, but scheme after scheme destroyed her tolerance. Finally, she was ready to leave him, but suddenly he refused to let her go. Charles seemed to feel her sorrow, hugged her suddenly, and whispered, “Sarah, you can trust me. I won’t ever be with her. You are different from all those other women. I really want to be with you. If I didn’t, then I wouldn’t have cut off relationships with all other women. Don’t you believe me now?” Sarah sobbed gently, “If you have accepted that it’s over with her, why do you still keep her photo in your wallet? Why do you still miss her? Don’t you see how it’s hurting me?” Charles stared at her, “She’s just another woman from my past!” The atmosphere between them became suffocating, and Charles said in a low voice, “Sarah, have I told you that you could leave? Remember, I’m your boss. You are my secretary and my wife!” Angrily, Charles shouted again, “Sarah, I’m your man!” “Uh? My man?” Sarah laughed and stared at him. Tears began to slip down her cheeks, “Are you, my man? Mr. President, I am just a mere possession of yours and never become your wife! Set me free, I’m begging you!”

Lors du tremblement de terre, mon mari, Milo Alarie, capitaine de l'équipe de secours, m'a laissée derrière pour sauver son premier amour, Christine Bassot. Je ne l'ai pas empêché et l'ai laissé partir, car, dans une vie antérieure, face à la même situation, il avait choisi de sauver d'abord moi, enceinte de huit mois. Et Christine, en raison de l'intervention tardive, avait été ensevelie sous les décombres à la suite des répliques, mourant asphyxiée. Plus tard, le jour de mon accouchement, Milo m'avait emmenée devant sa tombe. Il m'avait regardée tomber à terre à cause de la douleur intense, ignorant mes supplications incessantes. « Jennifer, ça fait mal, n'est-ce pas ? Mais, tu sais, ce jour-là, Christine souffrait mille fois plus que toi sous les décombres ! » Je le regardais, incrédule, et il m'avait dit, impitoyable : « Ce jour-là, tu étais dans une zone de sécurité ! Si tu n'avais pas utilisé ta grossesse comme excuse, Christine aurait-elle manqué l'opportunité de secours optimale ? Elle a souffert à cause de toi, et maintenant, je veux que tu ressentes sa douleur ! » Il m'avait forcée à me prosterner devant la photo de Christine, mes douleurs s'intensifiant alors que je saignais abondamment. Finalement, j'étais morte à cause de complications pendant l'accouchement et une hémorragie. Lorsque j'ai rouvert les yeux, j'ai découvert que j'étais retournée à ce jour fatidique ! Cette fois, ni mon enfant, ni moi, ne compterions sur lui !

Three days ago, I almost died. A birthday cake was needed for my sister, Rosa Esposito's birthday, so my dad told me to pick it up. He claimed that this was my way of making it up to Rosa for accidentally spilling coffee onto her new dress. When I was cornered in an alley by the thugs, I was in the middle of sending Rosa an apology text. They covered my mouth and dragged me into a van. That was when I heard them say, "Yup, that's her alright. That's the bitch named Rosa Esposito." I shook my head, trying to explain that I wasn't Rosa at all. But my name didn't matter at all when blows started raining down on me. That was how I spent the next three days in living hell. By the time I wake up in the hospital, my phone harbors a new family photo sent by Rosa. It features my dad, my older brother, Rafael Esposito, as well as my husband, Enzo Vitale. All three of them can be seen surrounding Rosa. When I was in the middle of getting pinned on the ground while feeling blades slashing my skin, these people were celebrating Rosa's birthday happily with her. Later on, Rosa smiles at my face. "Do you have any idea how much I hate that face of yours? I also hate how much better you are than me as well as the fact that everyone likes you more than me! "That's why I've robbed all of their love from you… be it Dad, Rafael, or your husband! You, on the other hand, deserve to be alone till the day you die!" At that moment, I've made three choices. First, I forge a miscarriage report. Next, I place a signed divorce agreement into a giftbox. Finally, I dial the number of my mentor, Sofia Bianchi. There, I agree to participate in a classified project research that will last for ten years without getting in contact with anyone. Since then, I, Valentina Esposito, have never existed in this world.

I'm eight months pregnant when I suddenly faint on the train. My husband panics and cries for help as he kneels beside me. An interning doctor hurries to me. She doesn't bother checking my condition before saying, "The patient needs to undergo a C-section! We have to get the baby out now, or it might die of suffocation!" Then, she slices me open with a fruit knife—she doesn't take any precautionary measures before doing so. She takes my child out. I'm in so much pain that I don't even have the strength to scream. My blood flows everywhere. Yet, a photo of her holding my baby while standing in a pool of blood goes viral. People call her the prettiest doctor alive. My husband and his family are eternally grateful to her. They don't go after her for causing my death; they even make her my child's godmother! Meanwhile, I'm given a simple cremation. No one cares about me. After my death, all my assets go to my husband and his family. Only then do I hear my husband and the doctor talking to each other, sounding smug. "This plan killed two birds with one stone. We got rid of that woman and made ourselves out to be heroes!" That's when I learn the interning doctor is my husband's junior from high school. They got together when he accompanied me to my prenatal checkups! She failed her internship, so my husband came up with this idea—he wanted to use my death to boost her reputation and help her! Even my child eventually died under their "care". When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day we get on the train.

Cancer took away her first love and Regina view on life changed. She wants to fulfil her dead boyfriend wishes as that was his last wish. On her flight to Greek, to attend the wedding of her cousin, she met Alex Pierce a billionaire who was named as a most promising young entrepreneur. In additional to that he was popular, having his article written on magazine with a printed photo of his. An fate decides, Regina met Alex Pierce through an unfortunate event that lead to hate relationship between them. Appointed as the bridesmaid and groom's best men, lead them to a different path. Where does this adventure to fulfil the dead boyfriend lead them? excerpt "How dare you," I raised my hand, but he got hold of it and shoved it down. Frustrated, I punch his chest as hard I can. After few punches, he grabbed both my hand and push me away. Thinking that finally he freed me, I turned my heel away from him. "I'm saying this again, you're delusional if you think you are living your live. It is not. You're living in his dream. His wishes," he seethed. "I love your free spirit, but you are so caught in your past that you don't see your future," he continued as his grip on my hand on body loosened. "I don't know how many wishes left, but I'm ready to fulfill it with you," he roared behind me as I walked away from him. Stunned, I stopped walking. Turning my head, I can see his shadow from the corner of my eyes, "Why? I'm delusional right then why are you joining this delusional woman?" I asked sarcastically. "Because, that's the only way to be with you and maybe I can break your illusion,"

I stare at the email on my screen, unable to move my fingers. Tomorrow is our company's crucial product launch, and I just learn that the patent for the algorithm I spent three years developing is now filed under Matthew Ashford's new assistant, Sophie Bennett. I storm into Matthew's office to confront him. Sophie sits on his desk with her legs crossed, looking completely innocent. She claims that she filled out the form by mistake. "It's just a clerical error. The patent still belongs to the company. What's the big deal?" Matthew stands up from his chair, positioning himself in front of Sophie. I can't believe what I am hearing. "Matthew, this is my research!" "Emma, you're thirty-five. Why are you picking a fight with a twenty-three-year-old intern?" He frowns. Then, he turns to Sophie. "Starting tomorrow, you're the new CTO. Emma needs… some time off." I'm utterly stunned. A decade of marriage and five years dedicated to building a company together have been shattered by a few casual words from him. Thirty minutes later, Sophie posts a photo on social media of herself sitting on Matthew's lap. They are both clinking champagne glasses. "So lucky to have the best boss ever. I'll make sure to be his loyal kitten." Below that, Matthew leaves a comment—three red heart emojis. I shut my laptop and pick up my phone. "Hello. Is this Mr. David Langley from Novara Group of Sundale Valley? This is Emma Whitmore. I've changed my mind. I'm ready to join you." I pause. "And by the way, about that unreleased algorithm upgrade, I have the complete technical blueprint. Make me an offer." Later, I fly to Tallisport with an eight-figure check in hand, while Matthew goes frantic trying to find me.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Past trauma and revenge. Explicit sexual content. NB: Any resemblance to a real person or actual event is purely coincidental. —----------------- “I’ve been jerking to your photo every night for five years,” Tristan's calloused hand guides me along his crotch. “Aren't you happy to see me, Bunny?” “You murdered my father. Broke out of jail. Shot my fiancé at our wedding altar.” My voice flares. “Happy to see you?” “Because you’re the love of my goddamn miserable life,” he seizes my chin, forcing me to meet those frosty, possessive eyes. “The moment you said ‘I do,’ you became mine. You bear my hickeys, my ring, and my name. And it’s our wedding night, Husband.” Who chains their husband naked and dangles him from the top of a skyscraper on their wedding night?! Death isn’t romantic. I’m not a masochist. So why the fuck is my cock hard? Tristan grins, “Still lying to yourself?” I bite down on his lips. He doesn’t flinch even as blood trickles out. “Say that again and lose your tongue.” His grin widens with bloodied teeth. “Right, you're not into men… just me.” —------------- Tristan ‘Mad-Bishop’ Alister got busted by the Feds and locked away for five years. Now, he’s back to claim his obsession: Carlton Dickson. Tristan isn’t just Carlton’s captor. He’s Carlton’s former step-father, and their connection is more taboo than their forbidden affair. As Tristan serves justice to those who destroyed him, using ways that would make the devil shiver, Carlton is trapped between hatred and a dark desire he can’t escape. Can Carlton survive the truth of their relationship to each other? Or will they burn in the flames Tristan’s lit to consume everyone in his path?