The Grind Never Stops Novels & Stories

Wilson was the only son of the Quill family, one of Jeriton's four most prestigious families. He constantly wore a rosary made of sandalwood around his wrist, and he was naturally aloof and averse to women. That was why people in the upper crust playfully dubbed him "the monk". The only man in the world who was his equal was Simon Fuller, based in Weston. They were around the same age and had similar family backgrounds. They were also ruthless kings in the business world.

"Happiness isn't about how much money you have." "That's just an excuse poor people make," Charles sneered. "With me, Sophia gets to wear fancy Chanel dresses, sparkling Bulgari jewelry, and carry stylish Hermès bags. We spend our summers on sunny Zyrene beaches and our winters skiing in the Aldren Peaks. What can you offer her? Scratchy clothes and tough steaks?" The words stung, and I glanced at Brandon, worried he might crumble. However, he just smiled and asked, "If Sophia's so wonderful, why did you hurt her before?"

Gryaz was now gone. And Red_Two had to keep on walking. So he kept on walking. Red_Two kept on walking. Red_Two kept on walking. Red_Two kept on walking. And walking. And walking. Gryaz was now gone. Gryaz was now gone. Gryaz was now gone. Gryaz was gone. It was the madness. It was the exhaustion. It was days upon days of doing the same thing, over and over again. It was night-time now, words and words transmitted into my skull.

"Daddy, can you come home earlier next time? I missed you so much." "Daddy, when I grow up, I'll buy you a huge house." "Daddy... will I even grow up?" "Don't cry, Daddy. I love you." Now she lay there, silent. No more voice. No more warmth in her hand. It felt like my heart had been ripped out slow, piece by piece. Regret and despair crushed my chest until I could barely breathe. In the end, only one thing was left. "Stella, I love you too."

Be brave, this is your golden ticket to breaking into a higher social class tonight! She replied: 【I don't have such grand ambitions, but I really do need to stay and look after him. I even have to wipe his body down for him.】 Below it was a uniform wall of encouragement and people camping out for updates. I couldn't help but let out a soft, mocking laugh. Luca glanced at me from the side, a faint smile touching his lips, though he remained silent. After overcoming my jet lag, I was out in the courtyard playing with the dogs. Luca, who was busy with something in the living room, called out to me: "Elena, your phone keeps vibrating. It's a US number, unregistered."

My heart was killing me at the moment, I couldn't breathe. Albert opened his eyes, smiled at me then heaved a sigh before planting a kiss on my forehead. "One. Nine-eleven attacks." My forehead furrowed. What did he mean by one? He kissed the tip of my nose, "Two. Mozilla Firefox," I gasped. I let my brain backtrack from what he was saying. He kissed my cheeks. "Three. Ousting SH. Four, F******k."

The year Chelsea Shelton, a Hawthorne Bay heiress, hated me more than ever, she brought home one guy after another. And after she was done with them, she made me pay them off. I'd cursed, fought, even landed in the hospital after throwing hands with escorts. Eventually, I stopped caring and signed one million-dollar check after another. All so she'd keep paying Dad's medical bills. Then Dad went into cardiac arrest again. He was critical. Hands shaking, I called Chelsea. She told the hospital to kick him out of the ICU. "Rowyn Reynaud, that's not how you beg. I don't like it." I tore home through the rain and begged her to let him stay. She made me stand outside all night and liste

I grunt but don’t fall. Another. Another. It’s relentless, fists slamming into my stomach, my ribs, my jaw. I take it all, my body screaming in protest, my vision blurring at the edges. But I don’t go down. I won’t fucking go down. I let my head roll back, my breath shaky as I chuckle, my teeth stained red. “Is that all you’ve got?” I rasp. He exhales hard, wiping the sweat from his brow. “You don’t stop, do you?”

Silas grinds his molars so hard, I hear one crack. Music to my fucking ears. But it's not enough. Every last second of his pathetic life needs to be carved out in pain.

THE GRIND {Playlist Suggestion: "Work Song" by Hozier / "Gasoline" by Halsey} ~CHELSEA POV~ My feet were bleeding. Okay, maybe not actually bleeding, but it definitely felt like my toes had been put through a meat grinder. I had been in these stupid, mandatory black heels for eight hours straight, walking the concrete floors of The Mirage, dodging grabby hands, checking empty glasses, and fake-smiling until the muscles in my face twitched.