Novel & Cerita Son Of The Slob

I argued "I was not talking about their daughter, I was talking about their son" my father said "Son? What son?" I asked him "Paul Smith has a son called Noah, his first wife, Aria and him had a son but when she died and he got married to Vivian, the son was not seen by the outside world" my father said "And how did you know about the son?" I asked "I have my ways and Paul Smith owes me money so he sold his son in exchange " my father said .

ASHTON "Yours is because you're a son of a bitch," Apolo tells him. "It was unintentional," Ian excuses himself. "Yeah, unintentionally you screwed another girl. You're screwed." And he points the bottle of beer at me. "And you're just an idiot. You're here drinking, trying to forget that your kid's mother drives you crazy just because you think you'd rather screw twenty chicks in one night."

"Where's Yule? Bring him out, and let's go home." That's when Tracey stepped out of a car parked nearby, wearing her usual fake, doe-eyed expression. "Peter, let it go," she said softly. "I don't blame Yule for what happened." Peter whipped around, pointing a finger at me. "If Yule did something wrong, he needs to take responsibility! I won't let my son grow up as undisciplined as his mother!" Before I could react, Shaun stormed forward. He grabbed Peter by the collar and slammed a fist into his face. Blood trickled from Peter's mouth as he staggered back.

My name was Logan Prescott, and I was a 25-year-old married man. Lately, I had been troubled. My petite, delicate wife simply couldn't handle my thick, extremely well-endowed rod. On top of that, my stamina was relentless. If I went a single day without release, my whole body felt on edge. Every time we were together, it ended up feeling almost like an assault, with my wife's eyes rolling back in pleasure just so I could gain the slightest bit of satisfaction.

There was almost no useful information. That was understandable. The super-rich were usually quite private. “My son, do you know what your dad looks like? Is he handsome?” [I don’t know. I would think so. Haven’t you slept with him? Shouldn’t you know better?] I scratched my head, feeling a little embarrassed. “I was drunk at the time. When I wake up, I realize I’m fully naked, and there’s a man next to me. I’m scared out of my wits. I couldn’t care less what he looks like, but he has a nice bod, teehee.”

“Well that reminds me, congratulations son. I am very proud of you. Can’t believe you’re going to be the proud partner of Sviatoslavich Co. I am proud to tell our people how my sons will be a great and new addition for our family. I’m very proud, my son. This goes for you two as well.” Adam stared at the rest of his sons to acknowledge their contribution and support for their brother as well as the company itself. Abram grinned. Nothing could describe how proud Adam was looking down at his son that practically looked like him with his dark brown hair and golden brown eyes. Even their physique was almost the same except Adam who was way bigger than his sons by a few inches. The ancient wolf b

I could practically hear him grinding his teeth. Something warm and unfamiliar flickered in my chest. This kid had inherited every stubborn gene from his late father and then some. Watching him stumble over his words was almost refreshing. “Spit it out,” I said. “I’m your mother, not the enemy. If it’s a mess, we’ll clean it up.” A long pause. Then, so quiet I almost missed it: “Mom… am I just not that attractive?” I blinked. “… Come again?” That was my son? The same man women practically tripped over themselves for?

- I looked straight into his eyes. - Dad, surely this woman stole your wallet. - I can't believe you're accusing me. What are you wanting? Put me in jail again? - What do you mean “put her in jail again”? Allan looked at his son and then at me. - Remember the crazy woman I said scratched my car? It was her. - Did you explain what you said earlier to me? – I looked at the father Casanova. – Your son is a snob, stuck-up, perverted, naughty, miserable and despicable.

Am I so disgusting and undeserving that even my father hates me? In mid of these dreary thoughts, his rage burst with a dreadful roar: "She is not my daughter, you trollop!!!” he snarled in one breath. “She is a misbegotten spawn. Who knows who fathered her, given that her mother is a slattern frolicker willing to spread the legs to everyone!!!” he roared with disgust written all over his face.

The year my daughter was born, I buried my identity as the queen of the Italian Mafia, stepped into the legitimate business world, and gave Emily the safe, ordinary childhood I had never been able to have. Along the way, I took in four boys who had nowhere else to go. I raised Jack, Alex, Daniel, and Ryan as my own sons. I gave them my home, my name, my connections, and eventually enough authority to become the four most powerful men inside Carter Group. Senior executives praised them constantly, calling them the future of the company. Even I thought their growing confidence was a good thing. After all, I had planned to give them far more than Carter Group someday. Then my daughter called me