Something Borrowed Novel Novels & Stories

However, this time, I was prepared for it. Wesley slowly lifted his head, his voice stuttering as he said, "Th…then I must have remembered it wrongly." I pressed my lips together, then said quietly, "Of course, you remembered it wrongly. "Because the one who can't have children…is Lily. "That's the real reason you stole the baby." My words hit like a hammer. Both of them froze. Lily had lived recklessly when she was younger. She loved nightlife and clubbing. She had gone through multiple abortions. Yet, she was skilled at manipulating men.

I still wasn’t used to that nickname. “I’ll get straight to the point. Can I borrow some money?” “I haven’t been paid yet,” he said. “But I know someone who can lend you.” Relief washed over me. “Really? Can I talk to them?” “I’ll call them now. Just meet them at a coffee shop near you. How much do you need?” I hesitated. Borrowing from a stranger felt humiliating… but I had no choice. “I need five thousand.” There was a pause.

“Don’t say it. Don’t you dare say what I think you’re about to say.” “I have to,” he whispered. “If it’s this much money, maybe it’s time to stop pretending. I don’t want you selling your soul for me.” “Stop.” She sat on the edge of the bed, voice dropping low. “You’re my little brother. The only family I’ve got left. I’m not letting you slip away because I can’t scrape together some stupid number. I’ll find it. I’ll work double shifts, sell everything I own, whatever it takes.”

I picked up the signed papers and walked toward the door without a backward glance. Behind me, I could hear Carmen's desperate sobs as she came to, mixed with Vincent's broken whimpers. It had nothing to do with me anymore. The moment I stepped out of that room, I felt free. Sunlight streamed through the estate's massive windows, warm and bright. The man who betrayed me paid his price. And I, Isabella Marconi, was free again. This is the price for betraying a Marconi.

But I stood there and refused to yield even an inch. Max finally loosened his grip. He understood that I didn't love him anymore. That day at the airport, Max stood alone amid the scattered scraps of paper. People passed by, stole glances at him, and whispered among themselves. Max had never experienced something like this before, yet none of it made him move. He gathered the shredded paper together and kept it by his side, as if guarding it meant I would come back. But I was already on a plane bound for the other end of the country.

I poured all my love for Eliza into every stitch. From time to time, I would hear updates about Jeremy through friends. He was fired from his job. He started drinking heavily, drifting through life in a daze. One day, after getting drunk, he fell down the stairs and broke his leg, but no one bothered to help him. After the judgment became final, Chloe sold the apartment, returned the money to me, and then left the city with Lily, disappearing without a trace. Before she left, she transferred the 3,000 dollars for the sweater compensation into my account.

"It has been a long time. I think I may have been forgotten." "Who are you?" I said. It came out as a croak. "I am the first one." Something cold and enormous settled over my heart. I looked at the Ledger's page, lying open on the floor, and I remembered what the chorus of voices had said at the hearth. Eleven were borrowed against. Eleven are owed. Not ten freed. Not one hidden. Eleven borrowed against. And a twelfth, before them all, whom no one had ever written down. "The lender is not a man," I whispered. "It is not a lender."

"You either kill her or she will kill you because of what you have taken from her… believe me, Charlotte hasn't forgiven you for stealing her book and sending her to a mental facility. She won't forgive you for taking the father of her child either." “You should end this once and for all,” he went on while I tried to shush him. Because standing feet away from me, in a crisp black shirt with sleeves rolled up to his forearms revealing a crescent moon tattoo, shirt tucked into tactical pants tailored to his fit, hands dipped in his pockets like a man at breaking point, was Marshall BronzeBank. His gaze was fixed. His jaw was clenched. Watching and waiting.

The hallway fell silent for a few seconds, but then the pounding started again, and it was even more violent than before. "Carson! Open this door! You selfish bastard! Do you think some fake report is enough to fool me?! I'm telling you, Elliot's condition can't wait! You're donating that kidney today whether you want to or not!" I sat down in my office chair and took a sip of the cold water on my desk. Five hundred thousand dollars in wedding savings and a canceled wedding banquet. I stared at the bank notification on my phone. For the sake of her first love who was dying from advanced AIDS, she had drained my money dry. Now, she wanted to take my kidney too.

Ayleen bit her lip and only then realized there were several books on the table where she had been resting her head. She picked up one titled “A View from the Bridge,” a play by Arthur Miller, a very popular American writer. It was clearly a book she had borrowed many times, as it had been one of the sources for her thesis when she was an English literature major. Her eyes widened in shock as she turned to the last page of the book. On the back was a slip of paper listing the borrowers’ names, and hers wasn’t there. Her head immediately started spinning. Still completely confused, Ayleen quickly grabbed the other books on the table and began examining them.