Sylvia Day Bared To You Novels & Stories

"You scheme vixen! You arranged all of this, didn't you? Trying to win me back by stooping this low!" As I struggled to breathe, I kicked him hard in the stomach, forcing him to release me. "Lionel, you idiot! How dare you try to pin this on me!" "Didn't you call me here just to destroy Fiona's image in my eyes?" I laughed coldly. "You're just too scared to face the fact that you're nothing but Fiona's pawn. You're pathetic! And that man with her isn't just anyone—it's Fred Haywood, her ex-husband. Though perhaps their divorce was just for show..."

"You're going to hide the truth and let them insult me how they want?" Zoey paused for a moment, and she turned her head away. "Bart is my husband. I will not betray him. If you leave right now, nothing will happen." Bartholomew looked smug, like he'd won. "I know you started this because you hate what's going on. Now you ruined your reputation and got nothing in return. If this were any other day, Zoey wouldn't have minded your extortion, but not on her wedding day. Yet she did not fire you even after you slandered her. She's done enough. Don't you have a conscience?"

I feel like a rose that has lost its thorn. I can no longer see Celeste who is always frowning. Always angry and unable to paint the face because I have never seen a smile. That what is always on the mind is revenge. I will also never forget the day I sang her. This is the day I found out that my eyes turned red. I sang to her because she was tired and didn't know what to do in this chaotic world. Because of that, I started to sing on their grave. 'Calling you late at night.'

She replied with a trembling voice, "Gilbert, what are you saying? You said I was the only one you loved. That's the reason why I accepted your proposal. Don't tell me none of it was sincere." Tears welled up in her eyes as her expression soured. Finally, she got so angry that she raised her hand to slap him. However, Gilbert caught her wrist coldly. He looked at her with contempt and said icily, "Save it. Don't bother putting on an act. It's useless." Cheryl's hand froze mid-air. Tears finally spilled down her cheeks as pain and despair overwhelmed her. She clenched her teeth and glared at him with hatred, choking out, "Gilbert, you're a damn bastard!"

She glared at me, her voice dropping to a threatening whisper, “Don’t lie to me. Tell me all the details.” When she threatened to cut off my mother's medical treatment, I had no choice but to spill the truth. [Flashback] The memory of that day remained crystal clear. The rainy season always was pervaded by a lingering and inescapable scent of rust. I sat by the floor-to-ceiling window, unconsciously twirling a scalpel in my hand. Outside, the neon lights blurred into colorful patches in the curtain of rain, reminiscing about the peach blossoms shattered upon the river's surface in New Valetta that year.

I shrugged. "Christ, you're a devil!" Billy cursed. "Do not come with drinks tomorrow else you guys' sinful practices will be known to all..." I warned without hearing what he had to say before hanging up and breathing out. My friends sure know how to bring me alive. I lay on the bed, tossing to the other side of the bed and staring at the picture hung on the wall, the picture of my late mother...

both parents and was bedridden from illness, I was not even as significant as one of her dreams. That afternoon, I pulled out the IV needle, changed my clothes, and prepared to go to my small art restoration studio. Some old paintings were waiting for me there. They were the only things that could help me forget the pain, even for a little while. Yet just as I walked downstairs, I saw a pink sports car parked outside. Isabelle stepped out, followed by several wealthy young women from her circle. When she saw me, her face filled with surprise and concern. "Aimee," she called gently, "why do you look so pale?"

I couldn't help but wonder whether, while they were living in a hillside villa and looking at their luxury cars, they had ever—even for a split second—thought about their abandoned daughter, who was enduring endless suffering in some obscure corner. In the wintertime, the Great Barren North could even hit low temperatures of -40 degrees Fahrenheit. I had been branded as someone who had stolen assets belonging to the country—a parasite—so everyone treated me like an outcast. I had no choice but to live in that drafty stockpen, where the north wind howled past and brought a deep, piercing cold. I cautiously clung to the cow inside the stockpen in order to survive, desperate to capture a morsel

I had slept on the daybed in the cutting room with the lamp still on, which I did when a collection was in its final days and I wasn't ready to leave it entirely. "Maya," Sarah said, appearing in the doorway. Her socks didn't match. Her eyes were wide. "I need you to put on coffee. A full pot." She held the screen toward me. Forty-three thousand shares. The photograph Elias had uploaded at midnight. Five models on the Palais steps, the city behind them, the coats holding the cold air with a composure that made the rest of the frame feel slightly secondary. One headline read: WHO IS VOSS? Below it, in smaller type: The armour that silenced the Gala.

“Dock two. I'll see you soon.” I hung up the phone and did a happy dance across the room. I had the rest of the day to play with my new favorite person. I quickly changed into a cute, red two-piece with polka dots, a pair of board shorts, and a light t-shirt. Sunscreen and a towel went in a bag and with a pair of sandals on my feet, I was out the door in no time.