Pokemon Immaculate Grid Mga Nobela at Kwento

In the third year of Lyra Hawthorne's engagement to Ryder Calloway, he found himself a beautiful grid girl named Nova Voss abroad. The day before Valentine's Day, he deliberately brought Nova to see Lyra and demanded to break off the engagement. "Nova and I share the same interests. A simp like you will never understand the thrill of racing." Lyra refused to accept it and asked, "Does it have to be today?" He laughed. "Do you need to check the calendar to call off an engagement?" She nodded and didn't argue any further. A month later, she entered the same race he did. What he didn't know was that she had understood the thrill of racing long before he ever did. Later, she got married on his birthday. With reddened eyes, he asked, "Does it have to be today?" She smiled as well. "Of course. You do need to pick an auspicious day for a wedding."

Cocky, arrogant, and dropped dead gorgeous: That described my boss, Mr. Craft, to a T. His thick hair, cold blue eyes and strong jaw held power in a conference meeting, causing women to melt in his presence. I’ve wanted to confront him on his stubborn attitude and critical demands for employees. I’d bitten my tongue in many scenarios and held in my true feelings over a dozen times. Keeping the peace was necessary until I had enough experience under my belt to move onto bigger and better things. The only problem was; Craft Marketing was the bigger and better, and the longer I stuck it out with him, meant more opportunities would arise. I’d been the only female intern to land a job directly under him, and was also the only one who hadn’t slept with him. I knew he was promiscuous with the tall and leggy blondes that breezed into his office looking immaculate, then scurried back out with mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and unbuttoned blouses. I'd ignore the magnetic pull of chemistry and curiosity between us. Unless it came to my advantage.

Atlas is a man who has the world at his fingertips. A man of power. He's above the law and could buy anything or anyone he wants. He sits on his throne, untouchable and invincible. But he is about to meet his downfall. What he thought was a brief night of passion would mark the beginning of the end of his reign. A woman whose name he never bothered to remember is coming for his throne. In the form of a cunning and gorgeous woman, Cassandra had a taste of power, and she would do everything to have it again. Even if it means getting her well manicured hands dirty and her Chanel heels bloody. As the Spectre family's eldest and only son, he inherited Spectre Enterprises as soon as his father died. Ever since then, no one could touch him. Until Cassandra came walking through the door of his board meeting, looking immaculate and holy in a red dress. She gave him a sly smile, reminding him of the passionate night they shared. And then, with a grin, she announced that she'd be taking the position in his company. And Cassandra will come for his throne next. A game of power and lust. What will it take for Cassandra to make Atlas kneel in front of her? Or will Atlas win over her soul and body?

Julian Ashford, the golden boy of the city's elite, had his left leg broken by his father with a golf club -- all because of me, a scholarship student. He was stripped of his billion-dollar inheritance and cast out of the family. For three years, he dragged that ruined leg around an auto repair shop, doing backbreaking labor just to scrape together enough for my college tuition. Everyone said I was the luckiest girl alive -- that I'd brought the untouchable heir of a financial empire to his knees, made him willing to live on scraps in the worst part of town. Today was our three-year anniversary. I was carrying the freshly signed Holloway Group inheritance confirmation documents, ready to finally tell him my real identity and pull him out of this misery. I walked down the corridor of The Grand Pavilion, holding a box of vanilla shortbread -- his favorite. Through the half-open door of a private suite, Julian Ashford stood tall on two perfectly healthy legs, dressed in an immaculate tailored suit, sliding a rare pink diamond ring onto the finger of Victoria Sterling -- the city's most celebrated socialite. "Victoria, I used that scholarship girl as a shield to survive three years of my old man's relentless arranged marriage schemes. My body's completely untouched. You've always been the one I was going to marry." I looked down at my own hands, cracked and raw from the cold, and tore the inheritance documents to shreds.

On the day of my engagement party, my mother and I were sitting in the car waiting for the driver when my fiance's secretary suddenly sent me a video. In it, she had a middle-aged she-wolf by the hair, slapping her across the face again and again. "Selena, you gold-digging trash! Did you really think pretending to be some high-society socialite and getting engaged to Alpha Declan meant your mother could sneak into his house and steal?" Another slap landed. The woman's face was already grotesquely swollen. "Typical backwoods behavior. Always grabbing at things that don't belong to you. As Declan's secretary, I'm handling this filthy thief on his behalf." I slowly lowered my phone. Beside me, my mother was adjusting her necklace in her compact mirror. When she noticed me looking at her, she smiled and patted my hand. "Thorncrown Pack may be an absolute disaster when it comes to business, darling, but Declan is very handsome. Once the alliance is official, your father and I can help straighten things out." Frowning, I replayed the video. The sharp cheekbones. The immaculate chignon. And the mole on her ear. Oh my God. That was my future mother-in-law! I immediately called back. "Vanessa, do you have any idea what a complete idiot you are? That's Declan's mother!" She let out a vicious laugh. "Oh, please. Declan already told me all about you. Some nobody his father forced him to marry. " "He doesn't even care about you, so why would he give a damn about your relatives?"

Late one night, a thread blew up and hit the front page of a famous forum deep in New York’s underworld. The original poster had dug up an old prompt: “Name three words that sum up your youth.” Then an account that’d been dormant for years popped up in the replies. Its avatar was a backlit silhouette of a girl in a white dress, username: Seraphina. That was Seraphina Rossi. The Rossi family heiress, the undisputed it girl of New York’s underworld. She typed: Vibrant. Passionate. And Rico Valentino. All hell broke loose in the thread. The wild Valentino’s heir and the breathtaking Rossi heiress had once loved each other hard, only for it all to end in bitter regret. Nearly everyone in New York’s underworld had watched that heartbreak play out. Including me. I turned my head, staring at the man sleeping beside me. This was the man next to me: the once reckless kid who’d ruled the streets of Queens with his bare fists, now the Don of the Valention family. Poised. Unshakable. And he didn’t love me. I’d always known Rico still kept in touch with Seraphina. That he’d met her in secret, more than once. That’s why he’d refused to make our marriage public. His excuse was always the same: “Keeping your identity off the grid keeps our enemies from targeting you.” But I knew I was the one standing between Rico and the woman he’d never stopped loving. If all three of us were just going to keep hurting like this? I’d rather walk away. Let them have each other. I’d made up my mind. I was divorcing Rico.

Manhattan was doing that thing again twinkling like it had all the answers, when really it just had expensive lighting. Alexander Knight leaned against the glass wall of his penthouse, seventy-five floors up, watching the city hum below him. Bourbon in one hand (mostly untouched), phone in the other. The merger docs stared back at him from the screen, but the part that actually kept him up at night wasn’t the billions on the line. It was the fine print from the Japanese investors: “Family stability preferred.” Translation: get a wife, look settled, or watch the whole deal slip away. He exhaled, fogging the window for a second before it cleared. His assistant had already sent over a neat little list of “suitable” women—discreet, polished, zero drama. Women who understood arrangements. He hadn’t even opened the attachments. Because something about the whole thing felt… hollow. His gaze drifted down, past the grid of lights, to the tiny café on the corner. Golden glow spilling onto the sidewalk, handwritten sign in the window: Local Artist Pop-Up – One Night Only. A woman stood in front of a canvas, head tilted, paint-smudged shirt slipping off one shoulder. She was talking to someone out of view, laughing softly, then stepped back to study her work like it had personally offended her. She glanced up—straight toward his building, straight at him somehow, even though there was no way she could see him up here. But for a split second, their eyes locked across the impossible distance. But right then, with the whole damn city glittering between them, he had this ridiculous, unshakable thought: She’s the one I’m going to ask. And hell help them both when she says yes.

Staring at the garden doors, waiting for her to walk in after her first shift, the doors swing open and I stuck in place at the sight, her long beautiful blonde curls cascading down the front of another Alpha's chest, her face buried in his neck, her tan legs wrapped around his waist as her body lays against his back. I stumble backwards, I can't breathe, my wolf growls in my head, "MINE!" Looking in the rearview she's waving her arms and jumping up and down in a white t-shirt. I know what she wants, and I'll need to go off grid until I can convince my wolf to take the rejection. I scream, "STOP, COME BACK!" as I watched as the small red taillights disappear into the darkness. A tear rolled down my cheek as I turned and looked at the pack house, my wolf howled in my head, "MATE, GO AFTER HIM NOW!" This isn’t how I imagined my 18th birthday would go. I return to the Alpha Academy in Denver, only to find him gone, I steal his car and now sit at a crossroad, my wolf stirs, "go east." I sarcastically laughed, "really and you know this how?" She giggles, "his wolf will direct him back to the last place he scented you, he's heading back to NY." I arch a brow, " we'll track our Alpha, and hear his explanation." Following the path of bloody bodies, in the dodgiest bars, I know I'm on the right path but finding a young girl with his scent all over her, crying in a car outside of one, not what I was expecting. He did it to her too, captured her heart and walked away, just like he did me. Now I want a rejection not an explanation.