The Price Is Your Everything Novel Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Thank you. Jesus, thank you, man. I owe you—” “But,” Cole cut him off, voice like a blade. His eyes flicked to me. I’d been standing in the doorway the whole time, listening, heart pounding. I couldn’t help it. “There is a price.” Dad frowned. “What price?” Cole’s gaze stayed locked on me. Blue eyes stripping me bare even though I was fully dressed. “One night with Ava.” The room went dead silent. Dad’s glass hit the coffee table hard. Whiskey sloshed. “What the fuck did you just say?”

This — this hollow emptiness, this silence that screamed, this ache that sat in his bones, this was what he had earned. Not punishment from God. Not some cruel twist of fate. But the natural, inevitable consequence of treating something priceless like it was replaceable. He had traded gold for glitter. And when the shine faded… there was nothing left but dust. Christian sat back down at the edge of the windowpane, staring out as the clouds cracked open and a golden light poured through the storm. It was almost poetic — the universe saying: “You still have breath, but you must carry the weight of what you’ve done.”

“What colour do you want to start with?” “At least let me get dressed for this.” Seeing he’s pretending to not hear a word I say, I sigh. “White.” He hands me the white bag. It’s heavier than expected. When I peek inside, something catches in my throat. No way. I reach in and slowly pull out a hardcover novel — the limited edition. Bonus chapters. Character art. Gilded edges. The kind of cover you touch like it’s holy. It only released last month and costs more than my dignity. I’ve had it bookmarked in every browser tab like a prayer.

“A future. One that pays better than anything your mother ever offered you.” So he really did his homework. I look down, tracing my finger along the rim of the cup. This is everything Carrie would want for me. Everything I should want. But my instincts whisper something else. That it’s too easy. Too perfect. That the men who offer the world always want something in return. I lift my gaze, studying him. “I heard nothing goes for nothing,” I murmur. “What’s your price?” He tilts his head, a lazy smirk ghosting across his face. “Price?”

"Celine did the right thing. Didn't she start out so defiant? Now look at her. She has completely given in!" "Exactly. Someone like her deserves to be beaten to death. Who does she think she is, stealing someone else's man?" "And she said she was Shawn's mom? As if!" Celine gazed at me like she was admiring a piece of art she had crafted. Then, she pulled out her phone and began recording a video. She focused the camera on my face, which was now covered in swollen red rashes from my allergic reaction. I had been raised in comfort and luxury—I had never once endured hardship. Yet here I was, beaten to a bloody mess and humiliated on video.

It was total, reverent respect. "You didn't even blink," he said. "Why would I blink?" I asked, walking back to the bookshelf where my old, ruined sketchbook lay. "Julian Vance thinks every person on earth has a price tag attached to their ribs. He bought me from my father for three million dollars to save a failing textile mill, and he thought he could buy his way into heaven for two."

“The price is the future. Every generation that comes after you belongs to the source.” And right then, as if the room itself were alive, the heavy iron-bound book on the pedestal snapped open by itself with a thunderous crack. The yellowed pages began flipping wildly, the paper hissing like a snake, as if invisible hands were searching for the exact line where our names would be written in blood to seal the debt forever.

He glanced at the dense blisters and scars on the back of my hand from making medicine, his face full of disdain. "Don't show off those disgusting hands to play pitiful. Who's that bitter little act for? It makes me nauseous." Calmly, I bent down, picked up the old medical book, and patted the dust off it. "Since you're all this confident, I wish Old Mrs. Whitmore a long life." After that, I walked out the front door without looking back. Tyler stood by the doorway with his arms crossed and sneered at my back. "Stop pretending you're noble. Without the Whitmore family, you won't even be able to afford food.

After ten years studying interior design overseas, I came back to my hometown to do work that mattered to the people who raised me. I offered the full package, from site survey to soft furnishings. The materials were chosen by hand. The price was fair to the bone. The town had just gone through a redevelopment. Everyone was getting new units. With the new family policy, every family wanted a third bedroom too. My business was good. Customers from the next county were driving in. Then a girl just back from a city college kicked open my studio with her phone on a livestream and her neighbors at her shoulder. "This is the dishonest one. Look at her. She has been ripping the village off." "

He took a step closer, his glare cutting through her. In the past life, Vanessa had profited handsomely by selling project papers to shady buyers, funding her endless cosmetic enhancements. But this time? Every cent she swallowed would be regurgitated tenfold. And prison awaited her.