Shinbi House Dewasa Novelas e Histórias

🔔🔔 Fair warning: this book contains steamy scenes, forbidden desires, stepdad and daughter taboos and languages strictly 18+ When desire crosses the line, hearts are bound to burn. Isabella has always lived in the shadow of control until one night shatters every boundary she thought she could keep. Drawn to a man she can’t have, she’s caught between guilt and a passion that refuses to die. But when betrayal seeps into their secret world, love turns to obsession. A woman scorned, a man torn between two dangerous desires and a house that hides more than one sin beneath its roof.

After getting the betrayal from 6 years of loyal relationship, Jenny Gomez, 25 decided to seduce her boss to take revenge. She was bold and stubborn, even got successful leading her boss to the . But suddenly, a strange yet stunning man showed up in her house and claimed to be the person whom she had spent the night with. Who knew, fate always likes to joke around with her. He was the man of his words. He was cold as ice and had a strong physics. To add some salt in her injury, he smiled cruelly and asked, "Jenny, how's the feeling last night?"

"Sign it." Rachel picked it up and glanced at it. It was a divorce paper. It stated that she had to vacate the house without any belongings and return everything she had taken from the Brown family. This included shares, businesses, properties gifted by the Brown family, and any cash received from them. Rachel's face drained of color. "Why?" She asked, her voice shaking. Lucas replied indifferently, "If you don’t sign, in five days, I’ll make your family wish they were never born. You have these five days for your family to move out." Her body shook with fear. Is he really serious?

Everywhere in the house smelled like him. There were some things she couldn’t forget, like the way he touched her, the way he kissed, and each time they made love… Fuck. Even the thought of it made her panties go wet. “…I want you to fuck me like you mean it, Ocean.” She whispered in his ear, her legs straddling his waist. As long as it was Eris, he would keep coming to her. He was everything she wanted to run away from, and she was everything that he wanted. But Ocean knew from the very moment he saw her, their relationship as step-siblings would be ill-fated.

In the middle of the night, my husband started talking in his sleep. "My little treasure, Daddy's taking you and Mommy to the new house tomorrow." But we were using protection. Where the hell did a kid come from? So I opened his phone. I saw the money transfers to another woman—spent on all kinds of luxury shit and a house. The photo album had pictures of her in a skimpy stripper outfit, a little bump in her belly. The last one was an ultrasound. Four months along, it looked like. I didn't make a sound. Just saved the evidence. They were about to learn the price of betraying a mafia princess.

I woke in the middle of the night to my Don husband murmuring in his sleep. “Juno, be good. Tomorrow I’ll buy you and Mamma a new house.” My eyes flew open. Juno? That was the name I’d always planned for a purebred Ceylon cat I dreamed of owning, but I’d never gotten one because of my pet fur allergy. And a new house? Could this just be a coincidence? I shook him lightly. “What did you just say?” He frowned and mumbled coarsely, “Had a nightmare. Dreamt of a shootout.” I didn’t press further. In the darkness, I reached for his phone and silently opened his messages.

After the real son, Asher Vale, was brought back, everything in our house became tied to drawing lots. The chef of the day, who would have to cook a particular person's preferred dishes, had to be decided by drawing lots. Even our parents' kisses and hugs were chosen the same way. I always drew the short stick. The long stick, by default, belonged to Asher. He never had to do anything to receive our parents' love. Whenever I felt it was unfair and wanted to cry, Mom would scold me sharply, "I bought the lot-drawing box because I was afraid you'd feel hurt. I wanted to be fair to both of you. If you want something, decide it yourselves. Your father and I won't interfere. If you can't draw the long stick, you can only blame your bad luck." So I began practicing every day, shaking the box diligently, over and over, in hopes that one day, it would help me earn my parents' love. Unfortunately, for ten years, I never once drew the long stick. Until my birthday. Asher wanted to go to the amusement park, and Mom once again told us to decide by drawing lots. I secretly glued the two short sticks together and handed them to Mom, hoping to keep her with me. She slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was cheating and disobedient. Then she stormed out of the house with Asher. When I fell to the ground, the short stick stabbed deep into my neck. 'I'm sorry, Mom. Next time, I'll work harder. Next time, I'll definitely draw the long stick.'

My father raised me on one principle: fair exchange. If I wanted anything, I had to earn it myself. Fifty cents for washing the dishes. A dollar for mopping the floor. Five dollars for a perfect score on a test. To buy the pair of white sneakers I had been dreaming of, I spent three months collecting recyclables. In that house, I lived like a pieceworker, paid by the task. It was not until my senior year of high school that everything began to crack. I collapsed during morning study, my body worn down by years of malnutrition. The doctor said I needed better nutrition. My father stood by my hospital bed and started doing the math. "Three hundred for the hospital stay. Two hundred for medication. Chester, this all goes on your tab for the future." I turned my head and saw a boy in a school uniform in the next bed. His father was feeding him spoonfuls of chicken soup, his eyes red with worry. In that moment, the world I had known for 18 years fell apart. It turned out not every child had to earn their parents' love. After I was discharged, I went home and saw the pair of designer sneakers on my brother's feet; it was worth thousands. That was when I finally woke up. I tore up the family photo and, without hesitation, applied to the college farthest from home. Ten years later, my father called me in tears. My brother had taken all his retirement savings, sold the house, and run off with his girlfriend. He was left with nothing. No home. No one. I smiled and tossed him a rag. "Want a place to stay? Sure. It's 50 cents per window. Earn your own rent."

My son just had surgery. I'm sitting by his bedside in the hospital when I come across a post online. "What's the worst thing you've ever done?" One anonymous comment stands out. "I used the upperclassman who funded me as a stepping stone. My sponsor was rich but clueless. After she paid for my entire college, I slept with her husband and got pregnant. "The craziest part? My son and her son were born on the same day, but my husband swapped the babies. Now, she treats my son like he's her whole world, working day and night to give him a better life. "But her own son lives with me, wearing hand-me-downs and eating leftovers. Today, my son had surgery. I was worried sick, so I slapped her son hard a few times. "Oh, and her family just got a three-million-dollar payout for relocation. My husband is going to the hospital later. He's going to use the excuse of buying a house near the schools to get the money. "Once we have the money, I'm buying a villa. Then I'll get my son back and kick her out!" The post includes a blurry photo of a boy begging on his knees. My breath catches because the charm on his wrist is the same lucky charm I gave my son the day he was born. Just then, my husband pushes open the door to the ward and walks in. "Honey, Sean's starting elementary school soon. Let's use that relocation money your mom received to buy a house near the schools."

There was a time when the famous young actor Andrew Cortez dominated the movie screens, commercials and model runways in the Philippines. He was in his peak of career, enjoying the free life and fooling around uptown girls. When all he thought he'll be playing around rich girls then he met Pia Drew Barcenilla, an heiress like the ones Andrew dated. However, Pia Drew, unlike all the other rich girls who were demure and soft-spoken, was blunt and emotionless. Pia Drew's cold treatment towards Andrew landed her the job she definitely hated. As they finally got along, Andrew and Pia Drew fell in love but their romance did not sail even with power and money. After Pia Drew's short exposure to the limelight, they both went back to their own separate lives. Years later, fate brought them back together. Pia Drew sketched Andrew's dream house and soon they started building it together. They were in love and living in the moment when they met an accident. Pia Drew laid in coma and Andrew has to live his life alone, unsure of tomorrow. Five years later, Pia Drew woke up and remembered nothing. It was then that Andrew realized money and power don't stop anyone from suffering. Now, Andrew stood in front of his unfinished house he had been building for the last five years. He found it hard to decide on how he would continue building it when the one he had built it for and with for years couldn't even remember they were building it together after all. Andrew has to spend his lifetime understanding the fact that Pia Drew's memory is never coming back.