Romans & histoires Pride And Prejudice

Sarah said looking ugly at Patrick, but he just ignored her question and sitting in her bed he placed a book on her tummy. Back then he brought her a lot of books and chocolate and presents and when she found the truth everything was burned. “I know that you love to read, so I brought you a book. Is one of my favorite” he whispered and showed her the cover. “Pride and Prejudice?” and Sarah started to laugh.

She continuously shifts it around, nervous as Max's gaze is now on her. "Max, have you ever read the book?" Jessica glances at him momentarily, scrutinizing his visage. "Of course he hasn't. He—" Max cuts Maryanne off abruptly, "Actually, I have. I find Lizzie's prejudice against Darcy interesting. She treats him harshly because of his wealth and seemingly obvious pride, but she does not realize that he is not as spoiled and rude as he may first appear. It's a lesson we can all use in our lives," he said with a pointed glance towards Maryanne."

Her eyes were like that of a predator, her gentle strides held confidence and grace. "I. Don't. need. to be a princess to be a queen, I don't follow customs, and I never will, Just so you know, am wealthier than the duke himself, so don't categorize me as your equal, am an heiress, so I qualify to sit beside him, you can't do anything about it Mrs. Estelle Lockwood." After finishing her long speech she smirked. Sometimes you need to scratch with your claws to pass your point. "Such disrespect!, this can't be condoned in here!!" Estelle was gritting her teeth, her face turned green.

I deserve this. I took one last glance at my last client. He was still sleeping, so peacefully that I couldn’t help but feel sad about my situation again. I pity myself. In fact, all I feel about myself is pity and anger. There’s no way I could be that successful. Maybe in another life, which I don’t believe exists. When I headed out of the penthouse building, the cold air of the midnight wrapped my whole body. I was just wearing lingerie under my old denim jacket. My jeans were also too thin to fully fight the harsh coldness of the night breeze.

"I want to sell all of them, Hawk. You can buy them if you want. I have no need for them and I don't have anyone I trust to handle them." "I can do that. What about the money?" Miracle smiled and rubbed her belly. "I want to make an account for our baby and the money will be her savings." I gave her a disappointed and an offended look. "Are you questioning my wealth, Mrs. Pride?" Miracle giggled and patted my face. "Of course I don't. You have proved to me plenty of times just how wealthy you are, Mr. Billionaire, but let this money come from me, hmm?"

Her heart thudded in her chest as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside was a book. A rare first edition of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, its leather-bound cover delicate yet immaculate. She gasped, her fingers brushing over the gilt lettering. Nestled beside it was a small, cream-colored card. She picked it up, her breath catching as she read the elegant script: “For a literature enthusiast. —N.B.”

The marriage had been her idea from the beginning. She had seen him that day on the farm and fallen head over heels in love. Of course, he had only accepted because of her wealth—nothing more. Just like Leah in the Bible, she had been rejected for Rachel. Her sacrifices had meant nothing to him… or to any of them. "But why, Alfred? Was I never enough?" she asked, handing him the folder, a weak smile of defeat plastered on her face. "You were never enough… at least not for someone like me, All you’ve ever been is a spare part for us all—nothing more," he said.

"How could Charlotte possibly manage him? She's a woman with no prestigious family background and is a successful homewrecker to boot. Jonathan would never listen to her." "Then, she really ended up with nothing. She planned everything out so meticulously for such a long time, but she still didn't manage to win the man's heart in the end. What a pity." "What's so pitiful about her? She has money to use, unlike corporate slaves like us. She's perfectly happy!" "That's true. After all, you need to have a certain kind of mindset that is beyond that of ordinary people if one is a homewrecker." "It's true that people lead exciting lives if they give up on their pride. It's a good thing that I nee

Then, with a low chuckle, he said, "Or… do you want me to stay and finish what we started?" My breath hitched yet again in this exact position. For a second, I did not move because part of me—maybe more than just part—wanted him to. Realising what he meant, I stepped away from the doorframe, breaking the tension and making space for him to leave. As I walked toward my bed and he headed for the door, he chuckled. "Pride and Prejudice? "It's nothing more than a well-written case study in vanity and self-deception." His voice was laced with that usual mix of arrogance and amusement.

The remote luxury lodge in the Scottish Highlands was completely cut off by a raging blizzard. Freezing rain and snow hammered the tall windows like bullets, thunder cracked violently overhead, and icy wind howled through the ancient stone walls. Inside, the massive stone fireplace roared and crackled, filling the room with the sharp, woody scent of burning pine, but the cold stone floor remained icy beneath the thick fur rug. Freya MacLeod, a 26-year-old Scottish heiress with pale skin and fiery red hair, stood by the window in a silk robe when the door burst open.