Skeleton Hand Holding

I was bleeding out in a corner after a hit from a rival family. My husband, Dante—the Torrino family’s underboss—was in his car, holding his best friend's little sister. He gave me one cold look and said, "Leave her. She's a nobody." Later, after someone else saved me, I walked home, soaked in my own blood. I found Dante cradling Seraphina, fussing over her. All she had was a scraped knee. The blood covering my clothes? He didn't even see it. I just watched. Said nothing. Then I pulled out my phone and called my mother. "Mom, I need to come home."

My CEO wife, Cassandra Solis, has high hopes for me. In fact, she has drafted an elite training program for me. I have to work over 20 hours a day, finish every meal within 3 minutes, and spend no more than a minute in the restroom. "Honey, elites must achieve what normal people can't. Only when you become a true elite can I entrust the company to you." I can feel the major responsibility weighing down on my shoulders. Every day, I devote everything I have to work. Five years later, I've successfully taken the company public. I've also completed Cassandra's hardcore training program. But at the end-of-the-year gala, Cassandra hands over the position of the Executive Vice President—the same one that she's promised to me—to her newly-recruited assistant. Upon noticing my displeasure, Cassandra explains to me smilingly while holding a bouquet of flowers, "Oh, silly you! Having a completely useless boss is the final trial I've set up for you! Once you've completed this trial, I can finally hand the company to you!" But lines of text suddenly flash across my vision. "Oh, poor Harvey! He still has no idea that Cassandra has been training him just so he can earn more money in order to clear off Xavier's debt! Not only that, but she also steals the position Harvey has been longing for and gives it to Xavier! Cassandra really has crossed a line this time!" "You're being too dramatic. Cassandra is just paying Xavier back for his benevolence. She feels guilty for what she's done to Harvey, you know. Once she's done paying back her debt to Xavier, she'll pay attention to Harvey once again and live happily ever after with him." I'm stunned by what I see. Is this the actual purpose behind the elite training program? I'm about to pull out the terminal cancer diagnosis report, but I quickly stuff it back into my pocket. It's a shame that I'm about to die. I suppose that I can't live long enough to see that day.

My father died of esophageal cancer. For the final two years of his life, he could barely swallow anything. By the time he passed, he was nothing but skin and bones. The first New Year after his death, he came to my mother in a dream. "I'm starving," he said. "I just want to taste the thick-cut steak you used to make." My mother believed it without question. That very day, she pan-seared a large platter of steak and carried it to his grave. The next morning, she suffered a sudden heart attack and died on the spot. Devastated, I handled my mother's funeral together with my husband. That same night, my husband dreamed of my father as well. "Chester," he said, "I haven't eaten in so long. I want your pâté, served with some strong liquor." When my husband woke up, he bought the finest liver pâté, opened a bottle of single-malt whiskey, and went straight to the grave. However, not long after returning home, he collapsed from acute liver failure. He was rushed to the ICU and died three days later. I was on the brink of collapse myself. I left my daughter in the care of a close friend while I tried to handle the endless wave of tragedy. That evening, my daughter never came home from school. I searched everywhere, and finally, on the road to the cemetery, I found her. She was clutching a bowl of spicy stew, several grilled sausages floating in the broth. "Mom," she said, "Grandpa and I used to eat this all the time. I dreamed he said he was hungry." I finally lost it. I knocked the bowl from her hands and carried her home. That night, my father appeared in my dream once more. "I suffered so much while alive," he said. "Have some pity on me. "New Year's is coming. I want to come home for a meal. Make sure you cook fish." I woke in terror. Holding my daughter, I sat before the three framed portraits for two full days without eating or drinking. On New Year's morning, I realized she was no longer breathing. Clutched tightly in her hand was a packet of spicy dried salmon. I could not believe it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother, her eyes red with worry, said she was going out to buy steak.

“Where’s the ring?” "Huh?" She pulled her hand back. “I asked, Where’s the ring?” Chris repeated the question, staring at his fiancée with displeasure. “It’s at the office. Since I have to wash coffee cups often, I took it off and put it away. I was afraid it might get worn out.” Her answer made Chris feel slightly relieved. "If you take off that ring again, I’ll take it as you ending our engagement. No games." "I’m not breaking off the engagement. I just took off the ring to keep it safe." “Then put it on. Right now.” Chris’s glare was unwavering, his words almost a command. "Alright, alright," she muttered in protest, reached into her bag, took out her ring, and put it on. Then she turned her hand to show him.

Professor Alexis Wolfe knows better than to want his student, but Dorian Vega, the handsome rebel dark haired student. One stolen kiss turns into a reckless obsession and he can’t deny the pull between them. But when his wife Julien catches him in a lie, he realizes that sin is sweet, and secrets are even deadlier. What began as a forbidden attraction soon unravels into a game of power, deceit, and dangerous seduction. Soon, anonymous emails begin flooding Alexis’s inbox—each signed only with an “L.” They mention private memories he’s never shared, the scent of his cologne, the words he once whispered to someone long gone. At first, he thinks it’s blackmail. But the tone is too intimate, too knowing. Then one message arrives with a photo: a hand on his shoulder in a mirror, a hand that isn’t there when he turns around.

My husband had lost interest in me for many years. My son's classmate taught me how to flirt with my husband. However, when he was doing so, he placed a hand on my butt and said, "Open up, Mrs. Jackson!"

The chimes of the Full Moon Festival echoed through the night air. I fought down the nervous flutter in my chest and shot a text to Beta Lucas. "When are we telling the pack, Beta Lucas? When do we finally mark each other?" "I was still holding my breath when my brother, Alpha Ryan, suddenly raised his hand." He pointed at the Sacred Oak in the middle of the plaza, his voice laced with surprise. "Hey, Elena. Isn't that Lucas?" "He's holding a girl's hand. Looks like the pack's in for a celebration." I followed Ryan's gaze on instinct. In that split second, my wolf went completely cold. Lucas was kissing the girl in his arms, deep and passionate. I recognized her right away. It was Sarah, the rogue wolf Lucas had brought back from the forest border the week before. Word was she'd saved Lucas's life. I must've been staring too hard, because Lucas suddenly looked up and locked eyes with us. His pupils shrank the second he saw me. A few seconds later, he slowly let go of the girl in his arms. "Ryan, Elena. Let me formally introduce you two." "This is Sarah, my chosen mate." When he got to me, Lucas's eyes darted away. He glanced quickly at my pale face, then turned to the Sarah beside him. "This is Elena, Alpha Ryan's sister. She's like a little sister to me, too." We'd shared a bed countless nights. And all I got in the end was the label of sister. Fine, then. If your little sister marries another Alpha, you'll surely bless me, won't you?

"So you're the famous journalist who goes around snooping out for information from celebrities, huh?" "Y..yes," I managed to utter. Apart from being the man I am going to be interviewing, no one knew he's the reason I've been getting wet dreams almost every night for the past five years. "Who do we have here, brother?" I quickly turned my gaze to the direction of the person who had just spoken, only to be met by three other guys, who looked exactly like the man in front of me. Rumour has it that he lived many lives, and that is exactly what I came to find out, but seeing these three other men looking like another him, I became confused to the point my knee suddenly gave up, instantly. "Hey, hold it in, pretty boy, we won't bite." One of them said, wrapping his arm around my waist just when I was about to fall to the ground. "E.. excuse me, w..who are you?" I asked while staring at all four of them. "You mean, I, or the four of us?" Turstin asked in a deep husky voice. "I think he's confused!" The one holding me said allowed. "Well, we are the Barclay brothers, pretty boy, and my name is Thale," the one holding me said. "Since you want to interview Turstin, we can make you the most famous journalist for free, by letting you interview the four of us," the one standing beside Turstin said. "But that comes with a price, Pretty boy." I took a quick glance at the last one who seemed like he was the youngest of all four. Gael has a secret, and so does the Barclay brothers. What will happen when these secrets find their way out in the open?

He wasn’t supposed to notice her. She wasn’t supposed to want him. And her daughter definitely wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him first. “He’s not just dangerous,” she whispers to herself . “He’s the kind of man who ruins your life slowly… and makes you thank him for it.” He rides loud. He loves hard. And once he wants something, he doesn’t let go. “You don’t get to look at me like that,” she tells him. His smile is slow. Predatory. Certain. “I already did,” he says. “And now you’re mine.” She’s a single mother barely holding it together. He’s a biker king with blood on his hands and loyalty carved into his bones. Their worlds should never touch. But they collide anyway. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing to me?” he growls. Her back hits the wall. His body cages her in. “You think I’d touch you if I didn’t plan to keep you?” This isn’t a sweet romance. It’s raw. Possessive. Unforgiving. The kind of love that marks you. “Mummy,” her daughter says softly, holding his hand. “Can he stay forever?” He shouldn’t want them. But the idea of leaving them hurts worse than any knife. “I don’t share,” he tells her in the dark. “Not my bike. Not my club. And definitely not my woman.” One kiss turns into hunger. One night turns into obsession. And one choice could burn everything down. “If you climb on my bike,” he warns, voice low and lethal, “you don’t get off unchanged.”

My wife was gone for 6 months on a business trip. The day she returned, however, she was not alone. Hand in hand, my wife showed up with her lover—my client. This was not even the worst part—she was also 3 months' pregnant. My client, in all his beer-bellied arrogance, hurled the contract at my feet, smirking. "Mr. Carter, your wife has gone to so much trouble for this partnership. Truth be told, I would never, not even in a million years, have agreed to partner with you if it wasn't for her!" My wife caressed her pregnant belly and said smugly, "I was the one who successfully got Mr. Lewis' business! I'll let you have it, though, as long as you agree to get a divorce!" I tore the contract into shreds and roared, "You want a divorce? Fine! I'll give it to you, but I'll never sign this!"