Novel & Cerita Skeleton Hand Holding Something

Zaire Gibson spent years hating Sebastian Burkhart - the arrogant, charming captain of Milton Academy's football team. Their rivalry has always been explosive, from locker-room brawls to public fights that nearly got them suspended. But beneath Zaire's fury lies something he refuses to name... something that scares him more than losing a game. Sebastian, on the other hand, knows exactly what he feels, and it's killing him. He's been in love with Zaire for years, forced to hide it behind smirks, taunts, and bruised knuckles. Every fight, every insult, every stolen glance only pulls him deeper into the boy who will never love him back. But when one charged night tears the line between enemies and something else entirely, both boys are forced to face the truth: maybe what's between them was never hate at all.

At our seventh wedding anniversary party, Caleb Thorne shares a drink with his childhood sweetheart. My face darkens, and he publicly snaps at me in front of everyone. "It's just playful fun between friends—why are you so uptight? If I really had something going on with Emma, do you think you'd ever have become my wife?" He storms off in anger. That same night, his childhood sweetheart updates her social media banner to a photo of her holding hands with Caleb. In the past, I would've rushed to her house without a second thought, dragged Caleb out, and demanded to know if he ever truly loved me. But this time, I don't care anymore.

Nora Ainsley didn’t sign up to play hero. As a rogue-born tracker for hire, she works solo, stays broke, and minds her business. But when a missing pendant leads her into the heart of a conspiracy tied to the murder of the Silver Ash Pack’s Luna, she gets dragged into something way bigger than she ever wanted. Now she’s a suspect, a target, and holding a magical artifact every side wants to kill for. Worse, the only person offering help is Roman Vale—a masked stranger who’s got his own twisted ties to the very pack that wants Nora dead. She didn’t ask for this war, but if she doesn’t fight back, she won’t survive it.

In the middle of a lively night, can you guess what's about to come? In the middle of the busy street, do you realize there is something in the dump? Shane Hoseinzade was peacefully sleeping on the floor when three conservative, loud knocks echoed inside. Would he open the door? On the other side, someone wearing a black cloak and holding a giant scythe is standing on the doorstep. With head bowed down, a pair of mismatched eyes glowed while staring at the door. Patiently waiting for the target to open the door. If you hear three violent knocks on your door at exactly midnight, would you dare to open the door? But what if those violent knocks are the knocks of the person you promised to marry in the future? Death? A grim reaper? A demon? Whoever it is, are you ready to face your fears?

The family was holding a celebration for my newborn daughter. For some reason, my husband, Jonathan Shamrock, brought his secretary along. At the dinner table, his secretary dropped an unpeeled shrimp onto his plate and said matter-of-factly, "I just had my nails done, and I'm still wearing the diamond watch you bought me. Peel this for me." The Shamrocks' friends and family stared at Jonathan in shock, but he peeled the shrimp without missing a beat and popped it right into his secretary's mouth. Something inside me shattered. I stared at my old and very outdated clothes. Then I looked at my hands, rough and callused from years of being neglected. Then, Jonathan spat out something cold. "A man's wife shows the world how life has been treating him, and you look no better than a worn-out servant. You don't work. You don't even bother looking presentable. You contribute nothing to this family. "Starting tomorrow, we'll split every household expense evenly. I'd rather put my money into something that actually gives me a return." "Sure," I said quietly, and added nothing more. Then I called my brother. "Pull your investment out of Jonathan's company. I'm getting a divorce."

On our third wedding anniversary, Kent gave me a gift. A black metal wristband. Cold. Sleek. He called it a new product from his company—a pain-sharing system. The other user was Violet. His "girl bro." The person he was closer to than his own sister. Kent brushed a hand over my cheek, his gaze soft. "Clara, you're too coddled. You should learn from Violet. She's tough." Then he snapped the wristband onto my wrist. So while Violet got a full-back tattoo and an entire sleeve, I felt every single needle. When Violet went wingsuit flying, I collapsed at home. Every bone in my body felt shattered. I threw up blood. While she soaked up attention online as the "extreme sports queen," I was drowning in nonstop pain. Kent sat beside me, holding my hand as he cared. "Just hang in there. Violet's just being herself. As my wife, you should be more understanding." To finally push me over the edge, Violet decided to livestream herself jumping into the ocean to make me die in her place. Their friends couldn't wait to watch. Later, I watched calmly from a hospital room as the system slowly drained the life out of her. Kent looked deranged as he demanded to know why I wasn't dead. Because I had already reversed the system. All her vitality had become the nourishment that sustained me.

[Rebirth, writing, slag abuse, one-on-one, no abuse!] She was the king of mercenaries who made the world's big men talk, holding a piece of ancient jade in her hand, repairing the truth, medical skills... all proficient. Unexpectedly reborn, she turned into an upper - class joke, school people see the evil school slag girl? The king of talented mercenaries, who used to deter the entire mercenary community, said, "Don't make trouble. Waste incompetence? How do you feel about being twisted off by a piece of waste? The last? Come on, let your sister tell you how to write the word "genius!" She doesn't have the talent to do business, financial, managerial half - sister? Well, do you know that the present king of commerce cried and begged her to accept him? Father unknown? As soon as her father's name comes out, the world will shake! A magical ancient doctor, she is the god of heaven in the eyes of countless patients. Sweeping the army, she is no one on the road dare provoke. Beauty coexists with acting. She is the goddess of the circle. A rebirth, a new life, she is still alive, accidentally become a national citizen who no one dares to provoke! Life and death on one hand and fate on the other. The misogynist should play face-to-face, play the rich, play the entertainment circle, and conquer someone by the way. * * * [Little Theater] Old man: It's almost midnight. Are you still busy? Man: No. Then you go out so late? Man: The family is strict. The Lord

I glared when his hand reached again to my neck. Our faces only an inch apart. His big hand was almost wrapping it whole. His thumb massaging my throat like a feather. "And when I thrust inside of you, I want to hear you scream my name. Every name of mine." "Dante. Adriano. Sol. Di. Angelo." His thumb stroking the center of my neck while uttering every name he owned. His eyes hooded in heat, lust clouding the windows of his soul. "And when you cum, it'll be Dante you moan." --- Hailynn Fleury is a talented painter. Growing up as an orphan, she and her best friend Ethan, always wanted to get back to the people that helped and cared for them. When one of her friends convinced her to auction her paintings at one of her charity events, it didn't take much persuasion knowing the money would go to the orphanage. On the night of the auction, her future took another turn when she saw a handsome man holding a gun. Later finding out that he was a mafia boss with an intention of keeping her from thereon. Witnessing him pulling a trigger to someone would have been the mafia boss' wisest decision to never let her go. Except that he couldn't touch the girl knowing the promise he had with his cousin. Dreams of bedding the girl is no longer an option. But how will he treat his ragazza, really? Find out how both of their lives took a turn- with the aspiring artist and the Italian mafia boss.

Prince Rafe leans over me, holding himself up on one elbow as he gazes at my face. I feel his eyes wandering over every surface from my brow to my eyes, down my nose, to my lips and chin, and then returning to hold my gaze for a second. The small smile at the corner of his mouth makes me think he likes what he sees. His hand is cool when it brushes a loose curl from my cheek, but I don’t jerk away from him. I have no idea what’s going on. I don’t understand why I’m here. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. It seems like a lot of powerful people want me—dead or alive. And yet, all I can think about right now is how badly I want this vampire’s hands on my body. *** I live in a desolate village on the edge of the Vampire King’s lands. This used to be wolf shifter territory, but now, we are just trying to survive. When I mess up and find myself in a culling, I know I’m dead. No wolf shifters ever survive these events. And after the stunt I pulled in the middle of the village, Prince Rafe probably wants me dead. Is it a good thing or a bad thing when a vampire looks at you like you’re a snack? Something tells me, once I reach the castle, I’ll be missing my miserable existence in the village. But then—it turns out I have no freaking idea who I even am, and when the royals start referring to me as Princess Ainslee, I realize my life is about to take a turn—for better or worse. From the author of The Alpha King’s Breeder

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.