Romans & histoires The Whole Truth Book

He staggered backward, clutching his stomach as he screamed hysterically. "No way! That's impossible! I saw him get encased in the concrete with my own eyes. He had already lost all his limbs. "How could he have hidden a recorder pen? You're lying! Gabriella, you're lying to me!" As soon as he spoke, he froze on the spot. Gabriella calmly rose from the couch. "It's true. I lied about the recorder pen, but I know everything—you colluded with Oliver and leaked classified narcotics intelligence, causing the death of hundreds of our comrades. You even killed Daniel to silence him and fabricated evidence to frame Victor."

The last color of our rainbows, the missing piece of our songs, the one who'll complete our untold stories. This is not just the right time... "Mr. Timothy Kim, what can you say about this issue that you're drinking alcohol that night?" the conference hall went silent and they just waited Timothy's answer, like they're craving for it. "No, I'm not. Those are just rumors. I went to that convenience store to buy some of my favorite drinks. I just want to make it clear everything. Not all you see is the truth, and not all the words you hear about me, about the Metamorphosis are real. To all our fans out there... please, believe in us." He said in front of the media and reporters.

he said. "Because you're in it," she agreed. "And because the chapter is about something you did — choosing the complete truth when the partial one was still available. I needed you to know I wrote about that. That it's in the book now." He was quiet for a moment. "Is it honest?" he asked. "Everything in the book is honest," she said. "Is it fair?" She thought about this seriously. "It is as fair as honesty about difficult things can be," she said. "Which means it names what was done and what it cost. And it also names what was chosen when the alternative was available. Both things are in there. The full picture."

Gordon said, "Sophie is a gift, but Emma is my first daughter." Emma giggled on his shoulder, her eyes full of trust. One morning, I saw the news about George. After losing everything to fraud, George spiraled into ruin, living homeless for five years. He didn't survive the last cold winter, found frozen in a bridge underpass. His body was curled up, stiff, but a faint smile lingered on his face. The tears were frozen in his eyes. In his arms was a faded photo. It was our family of three at Emma's one-month celebration.

Mom's proud voice rang in my ears, over and over. She had not been tricked into buying that jacket. In her eyes, I just deserved 'junk'. For the first time in my life, I realized something major. However, I did not give up. I kept looking for proof that Mom treated Edmund and me the same. I opened up their chat logs. It was clean, just filled with everyday talk. I could not see a single money transfer. The cleaner it was, the stranger it seemed.

The carpet drank up the blood, spreading the red stain wider and wider. When he was done, he doused the house with gasoline, over the furniture, the walls, Jessica’s mutilated body, and himself. Then the lighter flicked to life, and he hurled it into the colorless liquid. The flames roared skyward, devouring everything in their path like a raging storm. My soul drifted through the searing waves of heat, watching as the past was consumed, leaving nothing behind. Then there was silence. For a long time, the fire kept burning. Then, through the flickering blaze, a single figure emerged.

The fights are verbal if physical l do not think l had a chance. I end up sleeping and for the very first time, l had a very peaceful sleep. No nightmares haunting me down. When you are exhausted your body rest to the fullest. Speaking of exhaustion. We had walked some streets Tanaka told me of those times when he was still in his teens. I feel bad for invading every tiny bit of him without disclosing anything of mine. What story could l tell? That l used to be rich and now l am enslaved at a strange place with assassins who the hell would believe in that? Who would be sane to buy it?

Not decorated. Almost ordinary. That was what surprised her. She had expected something powerful. Something ancient. Instead, it looked like a personal journal. On the cover were three words: The First Truth. Elara opened it carefully. The first page contained a message. Not from a king. Not from a warrior. From someone who had lived through the war. “If you are reading this, then the world has repeated the same mistake we made centuries ago.” Elara’s breath caught. She continued. “We believed our enemies were born different from us. We believed their blood made them dangerous. We were wrong.”

"And what if truth destroys everything? What if I find the man I loved, the man I trusted, doing something so wrong that I can never again see him as I have? I took a deep breath and said to her, "And you will have the truth, Jane. And the truth is always on which you build your future. It will most likely break illusions, but it sets you free too. You will not get well if you stay in the world of half-truths and lies. I'll be with you every inch of the way, to help you through whatever that will be."

Fuck. She looked like fire and elegance wrapped in gold. Her dress caught the light with every movement, fluid and commanding. Her hair was pulled back, but a few strands had broken free, curling around her face like they had minds of their own. Her heels clicked against the polished floor, unapologetic and sure. The room went quiet. And then she began. “I didn’t write this book to tell a love story,” she said, voice steady, sure. “Not the kind that ends in roses and rainbows. I wrote it to tell the truth—about trauma, about betrayal, about choosing someone even after the damage.”