Novel & Cerita The Scars That Made Me Book

Marco sneered, lunging at me and tearing at my clothes. I fought back with everything I had, trying to buy myself time. Thanks to all the chores Bianca used to make me do, I was stronger than I looked. For a moment, Marco couldn't overpower me. He cursed, his movements becoming rougher. Just as my strength was about to give out— BOOM! With a massive crash, the solid hotel room door was kicked off its hinges, wood splinters flying everywhere. Caspian appeared in the doorway like a god of vengeance, radiating a fury that promised hell.

My daughter, Amelia Rossum, comes home with her palm pierced all the way through by a pencil. I drop my mop in a panic, hastily change out of my loungewear, and rush her to the ER. At the hospital entrance, my husband, Benedict Rossum, jumps out of his car and immediately lashes out at me. "How could you let this happen to her?" Our neighbor, Lorelei Bates, trails behind him, holding her daughter's hand. She addresses him gently, "Benedict, don't be so hard on Clarissa. Everyone makes mistakes." He scoffs. "Other mothers can keep their kids safe perfectly fine. What's her excuse? I bet she did this on purpose to guilt me into coming home early!" Amelia recoils and hides behind me. Seei

Ryan raised the chair in his hands, and with a swift motion, brought it down on me, his eyes cold as they met mine. I was paralyzed by the fear in my eyes, unable to move. "Ah!" The pain shot through me like a jolt of electricity, and I couldn't contain the blood-curdling scream that escaped my lips. My fingers were crushed instantly, mangled and bleeding, as I stared at them in disbelief. The physical pain, sharp and intense, barely compared to the crushing weight in my chest.

“You told me once you were addicted to my face. Said it was your drug. Well… it’s gone now. Just scars. So please—go find someone whole.” “I’m so sorry, Jake…” Ariana choked out. “Sorry?” I laughed bitterly, my head shaking. “I wish sorry could fix it.” And then—something warm touched me. A hand. Small. Soft. Real. It was Liz. I knew how her hands felt. “Jake…” Her voice was soft, trembling. Her eyes were dripping with tears, but she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t disgusted. She was just… there. She touched my scars like they were nothing, tracing them without being disgusted.

She turned around and now lay with her back to me, trying to hug herself. Once again, I felt something shocking—something that truly made me lose my voice when I saw the scars on her back. Cassandra’s pale white skin made the scars stand out clearly. A long line ran from her shoulder to her waist, and I saw several other scars there that, unfortunately… were just like the ones I have on my own back. I got those scars years ago from a kidnapping I experienced when I was 14, and I still carry them to this day. How… how could Cassandra have the same scars?

She remembered being told that it wasn’t her fault. She remembered seeing a tall guy standing beside Jace’s grave, his back towards her. He was probably his younger brother whom she never had a chance to meet. She remembered everything. She looked down at the scar on her forearm, there were a few scars on her body that left marks. They reminded her of that horrible night. The one on her forehead was nearly invisible now, but the rest were the same. They didn’t hurt but the memories did, the nightmares did. Her older sister had been her support in all of this, her sister, her parents, Faith, and all her friends.

Oh, they were still the same incredible color, somewhere between onyx and gold, still flecked with those heart-dizzying little specks of lighter color and still surrounded by those unfairly long, thick dark lashes. ‘Get a hold on yourself, girl!’ Veronica thought when she felt his gaze on her. Yes, all that was still familiar to her, but the lazily sensual way they were studying her, the subtle but very male message she could read in them as Sasha’s gaze flicked over her T-shirt-covered breasts and her slim waist in the plain blue jeans... That was most certainly not familiar to her, at least not from Sasha Neville-Talbot, the man who scared her soul for life. The man that crushed her heart

The silence that fell was heavy, filled with unspoken words and emotions too raw to articulate. I lowered myself further, my lips gently touching more of her scars, one by one, inch by inch. I kissed them as if they were not symbols of a tragic past, but instead, keys to a new beginning. Each kiss was a silent vow, a promise of acceptance and unwavering support. To the unbroken skin between the scars, I bestowed gentle kisses, as if to pay homage to the strength that had enabled her to survive. To the scars themselves, my lips delivered a tender message of acceptance, acknowledging the pain they represented while also honoring the resilience they embodied.

"Sorry, did I scare you? I promise, you'll never see scum like that around here again." To thank him, I accepted his invitation to an art exhibition at his private estate that weekend. On Saturday night, Dorian had a gift box delivered. Inside was a deep purple velvet gown. It was exquisitely tailored, with a high neck and long sleeves that perfectly concealed the old, fading scars on my body, while still accentuating my waist. I stroked the soft fabric, my eyes welling up. Gavin had traced my scars with sadness, but he was never this thoughtful. I never dared tell him how much they bothered me. It was a weakness the Godfather’s wife wasn't allowed to have.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”