The Summer I Turned Pretty Book Novels & Stories

Lucille Summers was beautiful. She carried with her an elegance that gave her an ethereal charm. At present, she sat across from me in a white dress. She had no makeup on, and her eyes were rimmed red. "Penelope, I know that I have wronged you. But the baby is innocent…" she said as she gently caressed her baby bump. She looked ever so pitiful with her reddened eyes.

I brushed Charlotte's hand off and looked at her condescendingly before answering, "I told you. If you want to get paid, you'll have to earn it. Did you think you'd just get free money?" As soon as I finished talking, the air around us grew icy. The shift in my demeanor took Charlotte by surprise. She stared at me, her eyes vacant. Suddenly, a hand emerged from behind her and dragged her back toward the workstation. "What is this? What are you doing? Let me go!" I reached out and plucked the pendant from her neck, turning it over in my hand. It was carved into the shape of a smiling Bhramuth, and the warmth of her skin lingered on it.

"Yes, the little kid here looks like Summer!" "I read this book last night. The kid in the story is also named Summer," the bespectacled boy nodded. "Guys, look at the author's name! Summer Hills! Hey, Summer, did you write this book?" Summer chuckled. One of her hands rose, scratching her temple. She felt flattered by the excited reactions of her new friends.

Summer immediately saw some strange things. She glanced at the man, who was watching her eagerly, and opened the album. The moment she opened the album, Summer tossed the phone away in horror.

I only knew who they were by scent because I didn’t bother to look in their direction. That doesn’t stop me either though as I put my claws at his stomach and slowly dig in, “Maybe you’re the one who should watch the way you talk to a Turned wolf,” my claws slip deeper and deeper but he doesn’t so much as flex his abs. “Especially when you have no information on them,” he still doesn’t move an inch the whole time as I retract my claws and scape upwards a bit. I didn’t go too deep, he’ll heal in seconds from what I’ve learned from Star.

"You're still recovering. Don't push yourself with textbooks right now. Read this instead. It'll be good for you." Talia sat up against the headboard and took the book. She glanced down at the cover and realized that it was a romance novel. A young adult campus romance, no less. She raised an eyebrow. Quentin caught the look and laughed. "If you don't like it, just scroll through your phone for a while. The textbooks can wait." She nodded. "Okay." Before he left, Quentin pulled her into a long hug, holding on like he was trying to store up enough of her to last the rest of the day.

Dear Reader, When I first dreamed of I Was More Than Pretty, I didn’t intend to write about revenge. I intended to write about returning. Returning to yourself. Because so many of us — myself included — have spent years bending and breaking to be loved. We’ve changed our faces, our voices, our truths. We’ve smiled through pain. We’ve stayed in rooms that drained us. We’ve called betrayal “love” because the silence of loneliness felt worse. And then one day, something shifts.

Now, I was no longer that ugly duckling. I walked to the full-length mirror on the wall and stared back at the lady looking at me. She had no trace of fat, no glasses on, and obviously wasn't one who could easily be bullied again. I ran a pale hand through my straightened hair. Ashton might be playing a game, trying to wriggle his way into my life, but I was no longer that girl from seven years ago. That girl was buried long ago. This was Kara Reed, not Sophia Johnson anymore.

Didn’t call him out. But the words lodged themselves in her mind and stayed there like a splinter she couldn’t dig out. You always smell like vanilla and rain. The rest of the day felt… off. She wasn’t wearing perfume. She never wore perfume. The only thing that could be mistaken for a “rain” scent was her shampoo — a brand she’d been using since she was twelve because it reminded her of summer storms on her grandmother’s porch. It wasn’t something she ever mentioned. Not to friends. Not to Colton. Certainly not to Micah.

My voice was rough, but there was a small hint of amusement in it. She didn’t deny it. She just smiled again. “Is it working then?” she asked quietly. I shook my head slightly, even though I knew she could already see the answer in my eyes. “You’re impossible,” I muttered. Before she could reply— A small voice filled the room. “Mommy, I’m ready!” We both turned at the same time. Summer stood at the doorway, dressed and excited, her eyes bright as she looked at us. Carian’s expression softened instantly.