Tangled Movie Songs List Novels & Stories

Onscreen, the reel paused, flickered And the codenames appeared on screen: Act I: Petal Act II: Persephone Isolde stepped back, as if struck. Vivienne’s voice broke the silence. “They wanted to make you.” Dorian’s jaw clenched. “Who did?” Vivienne stared at the flickering projection. “The Composer.” Isolde leaned against the wall, breath shallow. The reel continued its loop behind her, the ghostly movements of “Persephone” and “Petal” dancing like broken memories.

I reached for the seatbelt, pressing the button to release it only for the damn thing to stay stubbornly locked in place. I pressed it again. Nothing. I yanked at it. Still nothing. Oh, come the hell on. Shouldn’t expensive cars come with seatbelts that work? Logan let out a low sigh. “Hold on. I got it.” He reached across me, his fingers brushing against my stomach as he fumbled with the buckle. “Fuck, I really need to get this fixed.” And then he leaned in closer. That is when it happened. His scent. God help me, his scent.

“We’re playing with fire.” “Are you scared you’ll get burned?” He didn’t answer. I turned toward him, frustration bubbling up in my chest. “You told me the rules. No attachment. No jealousy. No blurred lines.” “Yes.” “You’re breaking them.” “So are you.” We stared at each other—two people too proud to admit we’d already crossed the line weeks ago. “You don’t own me,” I said, voice low. His jaw clenched. “You’re right. I don’t.”

To all of my amazing readers, I want to send out my deepest gratitude for all of your support with “Tangled Secrets – Taming Mr. Vittori” as well as my other books that you have supported. I always enjoy reading your comments, suggestions, and views on these stories. It helps to shape the story, one way or another.

She surged forward, propelled by a mother's instinct to protect her child, but her movements felt sluggish and disjointed, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. Amidst the tumult, another voice joined hers, a familiar male voice that sent a jolt of recognition through Ayana's veins. It was Robby, his tone filled with the same dread and urgency that consumed her. Their voices intertwined in a symphony of anguish as they called out for Lyana, their concerns and fears mingling in the chaotic cacophony of the crowded street.