The Summer I Turned Pretty Wallpaper Jeremiah Mga Nobela at Kwento

And why is Jeremiah so calm? 🖤🎀🖤

When I did not move, Elliot came over and grabbed my wrist, saying, "I know you're upset about the ring, but I promised to get you a new one, didn't I? You're carrying my child. Don't be mad, or people will laugh at us!" I looked over at Joseph, who was approaching, and shook off Elliot's hand with an icy laugh. "People? Who are you talking about?" "Wendy, stop faking it! You're making me so mad! No matter how much you beg, I'm never going to marry you!" Elliot scrunched his forehead in frustration. He was about to say more, but he stopped short when he saw Joseph's name plaque on the seat. "Why? Why did Dad make a special name plaque just for him?" He looked totally shocked. He tried to pic

He turned to leave. “Wait.” Jeremiah’s voice stopped him again. Riley paused, glancing back. Jeremiah was already reaching into his side, drawing something out slowly, a folded piece of material bound with a thin leather strip, worn at the edges but intact, handled enough to show use rather than age. He held it out without ceremony. “For the way you handled that,” he said. Riley stepped closer, taking it carefully, the weight light but the intent behind it clear, and the moment it settled in his hand, the system responded.

"Jemi will be fine Emma" the call ended, Emma tucked her in neatly and walked into Jemis room, the blood stains on the floor were still there, she moved close to the wardrobe where canvasses lay, one after the other she looked into them trying to read a story into the symbols and paintings of Greek goddesses, it wasn't making much sense. she picked another piece, this one was labelled forgotten, she had seen it before, she traced the fading feminine figure, hard to point out due to the highly interesting surroundings on the paper.

’ Jeremiah’s torso strangely became warm and everything suddenly turned white. ***

Salome’s POV "Are you going to tell me why I’m actually here, or should I prepare myself for a round of rabies shots?" I held my breath, waiting for the reaction. Jeremiah stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass of his office, his back to the room. The morning light caught the sharp line of his shoulders beneath his white dress shirt. He had ditched his suit jacket, and the sight of those broad, tense muscles made my pulse kick against my ribs.

The heavy glass door of his bathroom clicked shut. Leaning my head back against the cool leather, my eyes drifted over the details of his sanctuary. A stack of thick, heavily dog-eared sports psychology books rested on the sleek glass coffee table. A framed photograph of him and his mother sat quietly on a side shelf. No trophies. No arrogant displays of Ashford wealth. Just quiet, disciplined focus. Water shut off down the hall. Jeremiah stepped out wearing soft gray sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt. The cotton clung damply to his broad shoulders. The harsh smell of the arena was entirely gone, replaced by the clean, sharp scent of spearmint body wash.