Quotes About Poetic Justice Novels & Stories

Jenny had big dreams. She wanted to be a publisher and was thrilled to land a part time job at Labyrinth Publishing House's Ground Floor Cafe- The Maze. Seeing this as her foot in the door she's determined to get herself noticed and sets out to get to know Senior CEO Max Sanders. However, what happens when Mr Sanders steps down from being the CEO and gives it to his notorious son Cole? Jenny can't deny the sexual tension between her and Cole. But he's determined to get under her skin. Will their love-hate relationship bloom into something more after spending the night together? Or will Jenny have to rethink her dreams now that there are concequences?

Jeyah Abby Arguello lost her first love in the province, the reason why she moved to Manila to forget the painful past. She became aloof to everybody else until she met the heartthrob of UP Diliman, Darren Laurel, who has physical similarities with her past love. Jealousy and misunderstanding occurred between them, causing them to deny their feelings. When Darren found out she was the mysterious singer he used to admire on a live-streaming platform, he became more determined to win her heart. As soon as Jeyah is ready to commit herself to him, her great rival who was known to be a world-class bitch, Bridgette Castillon gets in her way and is more than willing to crush her down. Would she be able to fight for her love when Darren had already given up on her? Would there be a chance to rekindle everything after she was lost and broken?

Sceptical Lou Riley desires love, however what will she do once she gets an opportunity to own her fairytale romance? Will she freak out and push him away, afraid he is getting to break her heart or go along with it and hope it is the real thing?

Kristina will accidentally and unexpectedly give her cherished Dignity and Cleanliness as a woman to the young man she meets in just one night. In short, Kristina got a one-night stand with Troy Madrigal for the reason that both of them are drunk and not in the right frame of mind. But despite the accident that happened between them. It would make sense to Kristina, even she once regretted the mistake she had made why she had given herself to a young man she didn't know very well. It seemed like she just had a preference and interest in the young man after the hot event that happened to them that night. Which seemed to lead to the point that she fell in love with the young man in just an instant. Can Kristina continue her feelings for the young man, who after taking advantage will leave her alone just like a hired woman? Will she be able to love the young man when they meet again after disappearing like a bubble?

Emilia Burke is a young and advanced college student with an eye for trouble. Ever since her last year in high school, when the only man she ever loved disappeared without a single glance, she has been an expert at evading heartbreak. And hasn't formed a meaningful connection since. Sure, she's young, funny, pretty, and too smart, but she has kept her love interests at a distance and kept everything simple. Fun. No feelings attached. But now, with as much ease as when he disappeared, Leon Maverick has returned to her life as a successful and sexy business tycoon. He's determined to win back the girl whom once had given her all for him, but there's a problem when she can't even stand the idea of him. If only she would give, but there's just something... Something about Leon. And maybe, he'll break through her barriers one last time.

A flicker of hope, a spark amidst the neon grime of New Shanghai. Anya, a slave to the Volkov Mafia, had long buried her emotions under layers of calloused defiance. Years of servitude had carved a burning desire for vengeance into her soul. Then, a whisper of rebellion arrived – a message smuggled in a package, hinting at a Volkov family secret. Anya's heart, long numbed, stuttered awake. This wasn't just a chance to escape; it was a weapon. A weapon to dismantle the empire that had stolen her life, her family, everything. But the path to freedom was a razor's edge. Fear gnawed at her, a constant companion in the Volkov's watchful gaze, their merciless enforcers lurking in every shadow. Yet, a flicker of something else bloomed – a strange, almost forgotten warmth, a sliver of the person she used to be. Could she trust it? As Anya navigated the labyrinth of lies and high-tech security, a deeper truth unfolded. This Volkov secret wasn't just about her escape; it was a key to exposing a far-reaching conspiracy, one that could reshape the city's criminal web. Suddenly, Anya's burning desire for revenge transformed. It wasn't just about herself anymore. It was about a sliver of justice, a chance to dismantle a system that preyed on the weak. But with this newfound purpose came a terrifying weight of responsibility. Was she strong enough to risk everything, to ignite a war she might not survive? The weight of human emotions – fear, anger, and a desperate yearning for freedom – threatened to suffocate her. The price of vengeance was steep, and Anya had to decide if she had the strength to pay it.

After my daughter was seriously injured in a car accident and suffered heavy bleeding, she was rushed to the hospital for emergency treatment. When it was time to sign the surgical consent form, the nurse suddenly snapped the medical file shut and pressed it down firmly. "Hospital regulations state that only immediate family members can sign the surgical consent form. What proof do you have that you are the child's father?" I was stunned. "She is my biological daughter. Do I still need to prove it to you?" The nurse retorted, "Birth certificates can be forged. How do we know the child wasn't abducted by you? If you cannot prove it, we cannot proceed with the surgery." Seeing the nurse's self-righteous expression, I trembled with anger. "I am signing the surgical consent form for my own biological daughter. Do I need to provide DNA evidence as well?" She curled her lip. "These are hospital regulations. We are being responsible for the patient. If you cannot prove the child is yours, we will report you to the police for child trafficking." After saying that, she actually called security to report it and loudly accused me of being a human trafficker. Report me to the police? I took out my police uniform from my bag and put it on. I'd show her what a split-second response was.

On the day Yara Cullen was released from prison, it was raining. A chilly wind carried the drizzle, striking her as the media swarmed the prison gates. "Ms. Cullen, in the Crestwood Estate sexual assault case, your client lost the lawsuit and took her own life six months ago. Her mother is demanding accountability. Do you have anything to say?” "Ms. Cullen, your attorney's license has been revoked, and your mentor was forced to retire. What are your thoughts on this?" No matter how the reporters pressed, Yara kept her head down and pushed forward, forcing her way through the crowd. A black G-Wagon was parked by the roadside, where Westley Langston leaned against the car, smoking a cigarette. Beside him, Elena Cullen tugged at his arm. He turned, glancing toward the prison gates.

My grandfather is hit by a car, and his skull is shattered. I take the driver to court. That's when I find out my husband, Stuart Creed, who was supposedly abroad on a business trip, is suddenly at the hospital. He looks at me coldly and snaps, "Do you have any idea how important Maddy’s valedictorian announcement is? Her future can't be ruined by some car accident! Drop the case right now, or I'll cut off all your credit cards and have your grandfather kicked out of the VIP ward!" He slams the door and storms out. Before that, he snarls, "Come home when you agree. Until then, forget about calling yourself Mrs. Creed!" While I'm out desperately trying to gather money for my grandfather's surgery, a team of lawyers contacts me. Turns out the patent my grandfather once authorized to Creed Group has expired. And now, I'm the new legal owner.

Campus food deliveries vanished so often that no one even commented anymore. Then it happened to me again and again. I never identified the thief, but by New Year's Eve I was finished with being an easy mark. I set out a bowl of soup as bait and soaked it with water wrung from an old bathroom mop. I meant to make whoever stole it regret touching my food. A week later, the police did not come for the thief. They came for me. The counselor slid a penalty notice across his desk—600 dollars for food costs and medical fees, due next week. The person who ate my food had been hospitalized for "poisoning." The school was already discussing a major demerit, the cancellation of my first-class scholarship, and the loss of my needs-based stipend. That stipend was the money keeping my sick mother alive. They planned to pin everything on me, shield the real culprit, and bury me under paperwork. Unfortunately for them, they chose the wrong target. I was the law department's resident argument addict, and I intended to turn their dirty little mediation into a public collapse.