Story About Trustworthiness Novels & Stories

"I'm not asking you to think I'm a good person, Maeve. I'm asking you to see the difference between ruthless and evil. Between doing whatever it takes to fix a problem, and causing the problem in the first place." "How do I know you're not lying?" The question came out desperate. "How do I know any of this is real?" "You don't." His answer was blunt, honest. "That's the nature of trust. It's a risk. You gather information, weigh the evidence, and make a bet on someone's character." He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. The touch was warm, solid, real. "I could have anyone, Maeve. Women with more money, more connections, more polish. But I chose you because when you look at me,

I took care of that. - How? How did you manage to fool a woman like Sarah? She is not an idiot! - Indeed she is not, but she trusts me now more than ever. I always showed to her that I was reliable. Now, for instance, I told her I was going to my sick aunt and she was ok with it. No checking this info, no nothing.

His personal experience had taught him very well that without trust, no matter how strong a foundation was, it remained hollow. His lips formed into a smile which looked little suspicious to Shubham as he spoke with something undeniable in his rough voice “Earning trust is hard but keeping it is precious, once you lose trust you lose everything, the there is no going back, isn’t it MAMA??” He pressed more pressure on ‘MAMA’ word, curling his finger over thighs to stop himself from strangling this piece of garbage even though the hatred, rage and pain growing into his heart was instigating him to thrash him here and there mercilessly till he died but he would not snatch anything more from his

Enough to make even Kraven question his own shadow. I locked my eyes on one of the photographs, the faint smudge of an alleyway caught in the background. It didn’t matter to anyone else, but I noticed. The detail convinced me the forgers had done their job well. Truth didn’t need to be real — it only needed to be believable. “Good,” I murmured. “Men are easier to turn to when they believe betrayal already exists. Trust is fragile. All it takes is one seed of doubt, and the soil grows poison.”

Ascott smilingly relayed at her. "Did she read my mind? But hey, I think she's really a cool woman because she treats her workers really well..." Angel thought to herself again. "It's up to your conscience if you're going to do something bad while you're inside the Ascott Mansion. Let me tell you a quote from my favorite American painter and writer, Mr. Walter Inglis Anderson: "Trust is like a vase, once it’s broken, though you can fix it, the vase will never be same again..." So, try not to break the trust, so that we can have a long, harmonious relationship. I hope I made myself clear?" the old Madam stated.

They were very reasonable people who spent their time trying to make their pack stronger and bigger and wouldn't just take to obliterating any packs they found. Tristan was hard headed about his own beliefs but I didn't know the sides of the people he had seen, I only know the side I have seen and both sides were very different. "I know it'll be hard for you to trust me, hell, I don't even think you can but you have to believe I wouldn't lie about something like this. Why would I call someone a human eater? Am I nuts?" I nodded my head, "you are nuts," I said.

"There was once a shepherd boy who had a mischievous personality. One day, while tending his sheep on the mountain, he got bored and…" Noelle slowed her speech, enunciating every word deliberately. Hendrix didn't interrupt her. He simply sat there, listening as she recounted the entire tale. "The moral of this story is that people who make a habit of lying don't deserve trust. And if they lose everything in the end, they have only themselves to blame," she concluded. Hendrix chuckled. "Is that so? So, you don't trust me. Is that it?"

He had just heard the full history of a family that had been carrying the weight of its own mistakes for three generations. He had placed it precisely alongside everything he already knew. He had asked the only question that mattered. He had received the answer. And now he wanted noodles. I called the Thai place. Later, while we were eating, he said without looking up from his food: “The trust is a symbolic gesture, but it’s also a material one. Those aren’t mutually exclusive.” “No,” I said. “They’re not.” “Mr. Whitmore understood that,” Ethan said.

“Well, robot or not, he’s been way nicer than any boss I have known.” Samira nodded seriously. “He really is one of the good ones. But don’t mistake him for being a pushover. He’s sharp. Like, scary sharp when he wants to be. And loyal. He takes care of the people he trusts.” I thought about that as I sipped my coffee. Trust. It seemed like such a small thing, and yet, so huge. Maybe that’s what had been missing for so long in my life. Someone to believe in me. Someone to really trust me.

“Dead men always say useful things when there’s no one left to prove them.” A few of the older wolves held still then, not wholly with him, not yet. I saw it in Morrow first, then Izaak, then one of Garrick’s long-loyal boys by the office door whose name I had known since childhood. Doubt. Not trust in me exactly, but doubt in the ease of the story Finn wanted handed to them. If I could have got one more minute, perhaps even thirty seconds, I might have widened that doubt into something workable. But Finn saw it too.