The S Class That I Raised Mga Nobela at Kwento

“This is called a car, but this is an S class, it’s model name is ‘Maybach,’ there are a lot of cars but different models and the better the model you choose, the higher the price,” Rasmus explained proudly to the nonchalant Edward that was standing in front of a sleek black Maybach. “I got this one for you because I know you would love it.” Edward ran his slender fingers on the car, a little bit of interest revealed in his midnight blue eyes when he opened the door and saw the car interior and he could say he liked it more because of its dark color. “How is the speed?”

"I want you to have some rest before seeing the main and last resort of this land." Did he just read my mind? Well, it's better than showing my exhaustion and not being able to give his prized possessions my full attention. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, so I nodded in agreement. We settled into his luxurious Mercedes S class, the epitome of sophistication and comfort. Its spacious and elegant interior made the ride feel incredibly relaxed. The smooth purr of the engine seemed to lull my tired mind, momentarily easing the weariness from my body.

Of course, I'm keeping proper boundaries because, Jesus, he's hot too—even though he's quite a bit older than me—but I know how to behave and our relationship has always been strictly professional… or so I thought until, by mistake, I came across a very private email… And suddenly, everything changed. How do I even begin to describe my life? If I tried to go into every tiny detail, this would turn into a last will and testament—and that’s not the point. So I’ll keep it brief… As the famous saying goes, something like “born with a silver spoon in my mouth.” Yes, I come from a family with far more than just comfortable means. My father built Chrome Machine from the ground up—a company that’s n

The year my daughter was born, I buried my identity as the queen of the Italian Mafia, stepped into the legitimate business world, and gave Emily the safe, ordinary childhood I had never been able to have. Along the way, I took in four boys who had nowhere else to go. I raised Jack, Alex, Daniel, and Ryan as my own sons. I gave them my home, my name, my connections, and eventually enough authority to become the four most powerful men inside Carter Group. Senior executives praised them constantly, calling them the future of the company. Even I thought their growing confidence was a good thing. After all, I had planned to give them far more than Carter Group someday. Then my daughter called me

"I always love to share knowledge, I don't mind. Especially to those who most certainly can't afford it. Now according to Economy, 'there is the 'poor', there is the 'working class', there is also the 'lower middle class', the 'upper..." "Elite......." There was total silence in whole dinning room, and I wasn't even hearing the clinking of cutleries on plates anymore. "I belong to the Elite class and of course, I did understand that you said. I just felt it was quite materialistic, and that isn't giving." I waved it off literally. I had decided to reply the woman just as she deserves, and not care how Carter would feel. He wasn't willing to stand up to her for me, so maybe I should just do s

The man even looked so excited to finally have a child of his own, why will she want to take that away from him? Well that is in the past now. There is no way I will hope to give up everything just for something I am not sure will ever work out. We are from different classes – a notion dad had on countless occasions made sure to ram into my head, reminding me of the deep hole that stretched between the middle class and the rich that could never be bridged.

Several times a week, I’d get home from school and hear the clopping of her stiletto heels against the floorboards as she announced that she was “heading out.” But just because I abstain from sex and alcohol, unlike my own mother, it doesn’t make me a good mom, or one that deserves respect. They couldn’t pay me a billion dollars to settle down with a self-indulgent asshole like Carter Trescott, or any of the rest of his overpriced-online-course friends. External circumstances aside, Otis is the only good thing I have left in this world. I can’t lose him. An Irishman approached me in an empty parking lot at midnight last night and told me that my dream life is well within reach.

"Good morning ma'am, I am Diego. I will be your personal driver as from now on. I was sent by Mr. Calder Rhys." First he sent me seven hundred thousand dollars and now he sent a personal driver? This is too much. Is this what I get for being my mom's daughter. His stepdaughter? Then I asked who owns the car. It was a Mercedes E-class benz. Why was I even asking? Of course he was wealthy. It was his. "It's yours ma'am. He hired me after he bought this car like thirty minutes ago. He said you don't know how to drive." Wait what.

He was trying to get a reaction out of me, and I wouldn’t fall for it. “I can see you still stink of arrogance,” I said coolly. “Money can never buy class. Even with all your wealth, your rotten character still makes you look like a pauper. No, wait—a pauper still has better character than you. You think and act like a church rat. You don’t fit in here, where men and women of class stand.” Jason let out a low chuckle. “If I don’t have class, then who in this room does? Maybe being in that mental home tampered with your memory.”

I tell him, and everybody in the class chuckles and gasps at my audacity. "I know you're feeling this big because of your status as the son of the richest eccentric billionaire in the city, but trust me, you won't get away too long with this, Damon. Don't think because your heritage is very good and royal it means you are going to get everything easy in your life," Mr. Martins says, and it forces me to stop a few meters away from my seat. I slowly turn around to look at him with a wild smile. "Oh wow, does this mean you're actually jealous of what I have?" I ask, and everyone gasps.