Pretty Woman Book Novels & Stories

If you only wanted her, then why did you even bother giving birth to me? Mom stood stunned, speechless. "When did we ever mistreat you? Both your dad and I treated both of you equally. And after we misunderstood Zora, we doted on you even more! What more could you possibly want?" "Why should I be satisfied?" Laila retorted. "So what if I had your love? She still had Simon. Why did she deserve an amazing man like him? Even without you two, she still had someone who loved her!" Tugging at her hair, she screamed hysterically, "She should've died! Everything she had should've been mine! Simon should've been mine!

They spoke in such hushed voices, perhaps not wanting me to overhear. "I heard Jessie gave birth to the child, but the child's staying with her now. Ryan's mom was so furious after he got the divorce, and she passed away with regrets." "Aren't things going well for Madison? Her career is taking off. She owns a house, she's rich, and she's pretty. She can get any man she sets her sights on. She would never go back to that disgusting man for sure." "Yeah. His repentance means nothing." I turned off the tap and opened the bathroom door nonchalantly. The two girls immediately looked awkward.

I was sitting close to the window while reading a new book, this time making sure to browse through the book and making sure I hadn’t taken one like the last. Though I doubt that was possible because Sin made sure to remove any books of that nature from the library shelf. I giggled, flipping the pages of the book I was reading, when the door of my room pulled open and a woman walked in. She was dressed in a sophisticated and elegant way. Her brown hair was tied up in a tight bun with little to no makeup on her face.

So I finally look up and see an eight-year-old girl annihilate my front display like she’s reenacting Fast & Furious: Bookstore Drift. Books everywhere. Glorious chaos. Behind her is a woman. A beautiful woman. A diner-uniform, exhausted beyond salvation, mascara-smudged, hair-falling-out-of-the-bun-but-still-somehow-sexy beautiful woman. She stops dead when the books hit the floor. “Oh my God—no, no, no—I’m so sorry—she’s just—today has been—I—please don’t kick us out—” The panic in her voice is pure, distilled chaos.

Public opinion did a 180 less than five minutes after I updated my feed. After all, the footage did show Dominic's shameless opportunism and Chloe's pathetic attempt to frame me in crystal-clear detail. The internet went into an uproar. "Holy crap. This guy is unbelievable! The university president paid for his education, and he repaid her by having security attack her just because of some rich girl?" "I'm dying. Control freak? She's the president of Kingsfield University. What exactly would she want from you? Your refusal to shower?" "Chloe literally ripped up the form herself and tried to frame someone else for it. She's the poster child of the guilty accusing the innocent."

“You didn’t flinch too hard. That’s good. Fear is normal—but panic? That gets women like you eaten alive.” I stared at her, stunned, my pulse thundering in my ears. Sylvia slipped the hairpin back into her updo with an elegance that was different from the threat she had just delivered just a second ago. Her fingers were stable—too stable like she’d done this many times before. Like testing a new bride with a sharp object near her eye was just another tradition passed down with heirloom jewelry. She reached into her clutch and pulled out a small, leather-bound book—cream-colored, the title embossed in soft gold script—The Perfect Wife: Grace in the Eyes of Society.

My hatred of The nonsense Concept-of-Women's-Happiness-bullshit sister Elise taught me once, two years ago. I remember she said, "--at the end, a woman's ultimate happiness was to fulfill her destiny. To do so, thou shalt be modest but charming, full of smiles, calm in her nature, smooth in her speech, forgiving, loyal and devoted to thy husband, never rejects the will of thy husband and thy attitude towards his wives has no prejudice; sincere and full of understanding--,"

With each stroke of mascara and smooth swipe of lipstick, my alter ego emerges, ready to face Im Yuna. As I step into Bookstore Pearl Media, nostalgia envelops me, reviving memories of countless hours spent among shelves stacked with literary treasures. The soft glow of floor lamps and plush armchairs creates a warm ambiance, making me feel instantly at home. Seated in the elegant lounge area, surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, I await Im Yuna, fidgeting with the documents in my hand. Suddenly, the door swings open, and a striking young woman walks in. Her raven-black hair cascades down her back, framing a heart-shaped face and piercing brown eyes. Im Yuna's poised demeanor and effo

Sherman smiled, nodded, and told Kingsley to drive carefully. In fact, Sherman was very lively and beautiful... After Sherman hanging up the phone, Grace said, "I read some beautiful words from a book. No woman can win a man's respect only by her beauty. No woman can win a man's admiration without adornment. No woman can be young and beautiful forever. A smart woman always knows how to take care of herself and improve herself. There is no natural beauty in a woman, but only efforts work on her. To possess beauty is not to please others. It is to respect yourself, because you are more important than you think..."