The Spoilers Mga Nobela at Kwento

Certainly not. "My son, Theoden, is a year older. He sustained an injury when he was a kid which resulted in him staying back at home for an entire year. But it was for the best because he joined his sister the next year. He loves science and sports and over the years, he has won so many trophies. But don't worry, you'll love him"

she said coldly and bothered. "Yes Miss Grey" she replied. I walked out and the other's were looking disappointed when they heard the news. I walked slowly behind them and rode the elevator together. I can't believe I'm just going be a damn PA to that woman. By the looks and attitude of her, I could tell she's rude, moody and cocky. Well at least I'll be busy working no time to think and cried about Alex or reminder of that night with that stranger. I think I'm going to be sick just by remembering sleeping with a stranger. What if he has STDs or anything? Yuck!!!!

Tell me, who is it now? "It's Lily!" Brendon said a name. "Hahaha, it's her turn? She wasn't even a B-list celebrity, but she was instead? Isn't this slapping me in the face? Was he trying to tell everyone that I am inferior to a Female Celebrity who isn't even a B-list? This is too much, too hateful, I really want to kill them all, these bastards. " Tia bitterly swept all the things on the table to the side to the ground, looking like he was about to explode.

“Check out the latest on Craig news, man. You need to see this.” I didn’t wait for him to say more. My hands were shaking as I tapped on my phone, typing in the blog’s name. My hands trembled as I clicked on the link, bringing the screen closer to my face. The headline screamed at me in bold, unforgiving letters: "Adrian Blackwood: Heir to the Blackwood Fortune Faces Scandal. Inheritance at Risk After Four Years of Deception!" I could barely breathe as I scrolled down, the article unfolding like a nightmare:

He held his phone and watched the video all night long. The next morning, when he looked in the mirror, he saw a man who looked like a vagrant—unshaven, haggard, and lifeless. He stared at his own reflection and muttered bitterly, "You deserve this." … On the day of my wedding, all my college classmates showed up, including Tristan. At first, I was worried he would cause trouble again. I didn't want to be disturbed by him anymore. Even with my good temper, I couldn't stand being constantly tangled up in his drama.

"Let go! This is the future of thirty-nine students!" "I don't need your charity! I'll prove that pink works just fi—" Ms. Ashby yanked hard, and her foot slipped, her skirt tangling around her ankles. Everyone only had time to watch her pitch backward. A shriek rang out, and she toppled into the decorative fountain behind her, the entire stack of admission tickets clutched to her chest. By the time they pulled her out, every last ticket in her arms had been reduced to a soggy, disintegrating mess.

Then, I pointed at the TV on the screen. "Here's the proof. You can check—the show playing on the TV is exactly what was broadcast at this time last night. "The footage clearly shows me discussing the show with my parents. Do you really think I can clone myself? That I could be at home with my parents and in the hotel with seven men at the same time?" The crowd was astonished. "If both videos are real, then what actually happened? Could someone really have impersonated her?" "Did Zachary and his mistress really team up to destroy her? But there's nothing like that on his phone either."

People she once called friends were reposting the scandal with captions like ‘Never expected this from her. Her hand shook as she turned the phone off completely. She wanted to disappear. Across the city, in a glass-walled penthouse overlooking the Thames, Roy Sinclair nursed a cup of black coffee, scrolling through his phone with a grim expression. “Mate, you’re trending everywhere,” his friend Aaron said from the couch, smirking. “Not the kind of PR you like, huh? ‘Mystery Billionaire Spends Night with Bride-to-Be.’ Classic.” Roy shot him a sharp glare. “It’s not funny.”

comes a man’s voice from the door. “I am, don’t scare me like that,” I shout. I carefully walk through the maze of glass, but it's difficult. Very difficult. With every step, I wobble, and teeter, side to side, because the wooden floors are angry with me. The carpet doesn’t want to be my friend, and I fell to the floor, getting glass into my arm, and I cried out. Everything goes dark and I know why it was some bad sugar. It was spiked.