Quotes For God's Guidance Novels & Stories

During the holiday break, my wife, Jayda Glover—the hospital's star surgeon and Chief of Cardiac Surgery—suddenly "had to work overtime." Our third-anniversary hot springs trip? Canceled. That night, I was scrolling social media when a post from her intern, Dillon Tripp, popped up. My ice-queen wife always said her "golden hands" were only for patients. Apparently, they cook now too. She was in a cartoon apron, calmly chopping vegetables. The caption read: [Thank you, Dr. Glover, for personally cooking to comfort me after I was bullied by a patient's family!] I tapped like and left a comment. [White coat to apron. Very domestic.] Ten minutes later, the whole hospital knew Cardiac Surgery's untouchable beauty had broken her rule—just to cook for a younger guy. Jayda called. Dishes clattered in the background. "You really had to embarrass me in public? He got hot water thrown on him by a patient's family today. I was just doing my duty as his mentor! "A pampered professor's kid like you wouldn't know the first thing about how hard broke med students have it. "Apologize to Dillon right now. Otherwise, no matter how much you beg later, I'm not going on that trip with you!" Beg her? I looked at the divorce papers that had just arrived on the coffee table and let out a quiet laugh. I wasn't begging anymore. From this moment on, we were strangers.

In a world with machines and angels, the main character has to become the strongest to avoid getting killed and discarded.

At dinner, Tiffany White grabs my fiance's phone and spends 100 thousand dollars on a designer bag. She even sticks her tongue at me. "Come on, Meredith. You're loaded. You won't mind such a small amount, right? Shawn and I share everything. His money is my money," she says. Everyone at the table waits for me to lose my temper or smile and let it slide like a saint. Instead, I calmly take out a voice recorder and my laptop from my bag and adjust my gold-rimmed glasses. "100 thousand meets the threshold for criminal filing. Since you said you two share everything, I have to ask—is this embezzlement or an illegal transfer tied to an improper personal relationship? "Oh, and what you just said about 'his money is my money'? I recorded that. According to the supplemental clauses in our prenup and the company bylaws, I'm officially initiating an asset-freezing order against Shawn Harrison." I turn to Tiffany. "Enjoy your free meals in prison, Ms. White." Shawn is livid. "It was just a joke, Meredith. Is it really necessary to ruin me over this?" I hit the "enter" key. "Sorry. In my book, there are no jokes—only bad debt."

As soon as I get off the surgical table after my miscarriage, my husband, Presley Quinn, sends me a text message. "You were ten cents short when you paid your share of the power bill this month. Transfer the money to me immediately." I can only sit on the cold bench in the hospital on my own. The anesthesia has yet to wear out, but my belly is already hurting so much that I can practically feel it constricting on itself. The next thing I know, a new post appears on my social media homepage. It's a post made by Vivienne Ashford, the intern Presley is in charge of tutoring. In the photo, Vivienne can be seen holding a bouquet of flowers folded from money bills. A bright and radiant smile blooms on her face. The four-leaf clover necklace adorning her neck is the same necklace I've seen in Presley's purchase history two days ago. The caption of the photo writes, "I don't want a lot of money. I want a ton of love instead." Only then do I remember that today is Valentine's Day as well as my fifth-year anniversary with Presley. Over the past five years, Presley and I have been splitting every single bill, down to two decimal places. If I take a shower for more than 20 minutes, Presley demands that I pay extra for the water heater's power bill. When I cook myself some supper in the middle of the night, Presley wants me to split the gas bill generated by the stove. Even when my mom is hospitalized due to kidney failure and is waiting for her surgical bills to be settled, Presley refuses to lend me a single cent. Instead, he sends me a few links leading to web loans. As I stare at the social media feed, I chuckle all of a sudden. It turns out that Presley does know how to spend money. It's just that he doesn't have the heart to spend it on me. I smile once again as I leave a like on the post. Then, I transfer the ten cents to Presley. From now on, I don't owe him any single penny.

I ran into my boss when I was complaining to my best friend about how he actively made the workplace hostile for me. He fired off a barrage of questions, "Where's the annual report? Where's the script for the speech? I can't believe you have the gall to enjoy a meal when you have a mountain of work to do!" That was it. I slammed the table. "It's due tomorrow! What's the rush? Are you going to hold a funeral for yourself tomorrow?" My boss stormed off in a huff. I asked for the bill, but the waiter came with two. My table came up to 60 dollars, but the other ran up to 3,750. "Your boyfriend said you're paying for both. Cash or credit, miss?" Shawn Goodall put that impossible bill on my tab and called himself my boyfriend? Unbelievable! I called him, utterly incensed. Yet, he had the gall to say, "Get the receipt and claim it from finance." Then, he hung up. The waiter was going to call the cops if I didn't pay up, so I had no choice but to accept this bitter defeat. I was trying to claim the money the next day, but the cops arrested me instead. "Shawn Goodall died at midnight and was found in his house. You're his girlfriend and the last person he met. You're coming with us."

She was sold to save an empire—until she fell for the man meant to destroy it. Aurora Borealis never had a choice and she was never meant to choose love. As the second daughter of a failing billionaire, she is promised to Christian Brian Wood—a charming business ally whose polished cruelty hides control, intimidation, and silent abuse. To the world, she’s a perfect fiancée. In private, she survives. At a high-profile rooftop party, Aurora meets Damon Grey—a stranger who feels like rebellion itself. Magnetic, dangerous, impossible to forget… and the son of the man who nearly ruined her family. Their attraction is instant, reckless, forbidden. When Aurora escapes her engagement, fate delivers a cruel twist: Damon is the very man her father plans to marry her off to next. But Damon refuses to claim her as property. He offers a contract marriage—one that promises protection, choice… and ignites a war between two billionaire empires. As desire turns into something neither planned, hidden pasts, jealous rivals, and deadly power games close in. Aurora must decide: risk everything for love—or lose it all...

"The sex was good though." Davina said, rudely pulling me out of my thoughts. "Just the sex?" "Yes." She repeated unapologetically. "Just the sex." I turned, her words piercing me in a way I didn't expect. "Ouch." Davina chuckled, as if she had not just spat out the coldest line ever. "What did you expect? That I will fall back into your arms and profess love to you?" "I didn't ask for that." "Good." She murmured. "Because I have given you my heart before and you gave it back to me in pieces." °°°°°°°°°° One moment, Davina was walking down the aisle with a wide smile on her face. The next, she was picking up the pieces of what was left of her heart with bleeding hands. The only family she had left had been cruelly taken from her by the man she was supposed to marry, the man that had shown her nothing but love and had treated her like she was the most precious thing in the world. He changed— taking her as a captive and punishing her for a crime she had no idea about. But Davina swore to revenge, to take back all he had taken from her and make him pay for his sins, even if it's the last thing she does.

“But I have lifted my voice in pain to pray to you too. Am I irrelevant? I have done that since I was born. Do I not matter? Do the gods segregate as well?” “Feisty…” he replied, but before he could continue, I glanced at the edge of the cliff for a second, then turned back to him and smiled. “I refuse to be useful to these people you love so much. Even in my death,” I said as I jumped off the cliff. It was the beginning of my complicated fate with the gods and the end of my suffering with werewolves.

(Warning this is a dark Gods Novel. It will have violence, sex, suicide and dark scenes in it. Read at your own discretion.) Ariella is a powerless Goddess who has been locked away from exploring the royal realm since she was born. For years she begged her father to allow her to go to the royal academy but he never seemed to budge. His belief was that it was to dangerous for someone like her. That belief stays strong until she finally turned of age. After what seemed like an eternity her dream finally became reality. She was enrolled in the most sought out school for Gods and Goddesses. She would finally be set free of her chains. As long as she kept her grades up and stayed out of trouble, she would live in the dormitory. The life she wanted was in her grasp. All dreams were possible, the fear of not fitting in was squashed instantly and everything seemed perfect. Everything was perfect but what happens when word goes around that the Goddess who teaches royal laws is being replaced by none other than the high king himself? Ariella rolls her eyes and keeps walking, that's what happens. That is until she's proven wrong the moment she walks right into the most addicting and magnificent God she had ever laid eyes on. The high king to be specific. All the promises she made, all the rules she followed were pushed aside as soon as she realized that her crush was more than a simple crush. The high king consumed her mind and every other part of her. A simple obsession you say? Well she's in for a rude awakening when the simple life she had, turns into a neverending roller coaster.

I am the long-lost true heir of the Kensington family. In just the second month after reconciling with the Kensington family, I solved a technical problem that the Kensington Corp's Military Research Institute had failed to crack for five whole years. Yet, my adoptive brother, Sean Kensington, the fake heir, exchanged my patent bonus worth millions for a 20-percent-off coupon for a cup of latte. I went to my older sister, Sonya, the CEO, but she simply waved her hand dismissively, completely unconcerned. "Enough, Wesley. Sean just did it for your own good. If you're holding onto that much money, what if some organization set their eyes on you? This way, your safety is protected. "Besides, you've only come to the city not long ago. I doubt you've ever had something like a latte before. Take it as a chance to experience it. I'll even give you another ten dollars. You can buy yourself another cup." I looked at the condescension in her eyes, planning to send the recording to our parents. Yet, I saw on their social media that they had just bought a seaside mansion and a luxury car as a celebration gift for Sean's achievements. Then, I glanced at the coupon they had just sent me. [You did help Sean after all. Your father and I bought you a cake as a reward. Go pick it up yourself.] I checked the price. After discount, it was a mere 13 bucks. They had to be kidding me. I directly dialed the number of Kensington Corp's rival company, Jet Group. "I think the exclusive patent for this new missile should be yours. From now on, all my research results will only be shared with Jet Group."