Think Like A Monk Novel Free Novels & Stories

For six years of marriage, Cyran Valehart and I lived with measured respect, as if we were partners holding the same scale in perfect balance. For the sake of my equestrian career, I refused to have children. He shouldered the gossip, endured the judgment, and stood beside me without hesitation. But when I rode into what should have been my final international competition, he went back home with his first love—her hand resting protectively over her swollen belly. "All these years, you chose the horses over me," he spat. "That damned competition meant more to you than our family ever did." His voice shook with righteous anger, but his next words cut far deeper. "Six years ago, I abandoned Celia once. Now she carries my child. I won't betray her again." In that instant, my marriage became nothing but a title. I was reduced to a wife in name only, a figurehead in his home, a shadow he no longer cared to see. During the very competition meant to crown my life's work, Cyran laced a sharp needle beneath my saddle, each stride of my horse a fresh stab of pain meant to break us both. I lost the match. My horse collapsed with a shattered leg. And in that fall, my dream and my marriage were crushed together—ruined by the very man who once swore to protect them. Later, he paid with everything he had, desperate to make amends. But no matter what he sacrificed, Cyran Valehart was already behind me, nothing more than a ghost I would never turn to face again.

When Ayden Baldwin ignored me, who was stuck in an elevator, freaking out from claustrophobia, just so he could deliver cold medicine to his assistant, I filed for divorce. Ayden signed his name without hesitation and smiled at his friend. "She's just throwing a tantrum. Her parents are gone. I'm all that she's left. She won't leave me. "Besides, isn't there a thirty-day cooling-off period? If she regrets it, I'll be the bigger person and take her back." The next day, he posted a lovey-dovey pic with his assistant, captioned: "Capturing every shy moment of yours." Counting the days, I packed up my belongings and made a phone call. "Uncle, please book me a ticket to Burville."

Her name was Cathedra. Leave her last name blank, if you will. Where normal people would read, "And they lived happily ever after," at the end of every fairy tale story, she could see something else. Three different things. Three words: Lies, lies, lies. A picture that moves. And a plea: Please tell them the truth. All her life she dedicated herself to becoming a writer and telling the world what was being shown in that moving picture. To expose the lies in the fairy tales everyone in the world has come to know. No one believed her. No one ever did. She was branded as a liar, a freak with too much imagination, and an orphan who only told tall tales to get attention. She was shunned away by society. Loveless. Friendless. As she wrote "The End" to her novels that contained all she knew about the truth inside the fairy tale novels she wrote, she also decided to end her pathetic life and be free from all the burdens she had to bear alone. Instead of dying, she found herself blessed with a second life inside the fairy tale novels she wrote, and living the life she wished she had with the characters she considered as the only friends she had in the world she left behind. Cathedra was happy until she realized that an ominous presence lurks within her stories. One that wanted to kill her to silence the only one who knew the truth.

Soon after I came back to the country, someone slapped me right across the face in broad daylight, yelling that I was a mistress. A crowd of reporters closed in, pelting me with questions about whether Chandler Armstrong, CEO of Armstrong Industries, was keeping me as his mistress. I was stunned speechless for a moment, but then I pulled out my wedding photo with Chandler from seven years ago and held it up. "What are you talking about? I'm his wife!" The crowd went silent, and the woman who'd slapped me turned white as a sheet. Only then did I finally get it: while I'd been overseas, Chandler had been openly involved with an actress, and everyone in his social circle had already decided she was the future Mrs. Armstrong. Today, they all came expecting to confront a mistress—only to find out that I was actually his wife. Later, Chandler tried to justify it. "Alina, you've been out of the country for years. I'm a man, and I have needs. She's just a B-list actress; it's not like she threatens your position. Why should you be upset? Just let it go," he said. "Don't make a scene." I handed him the divorce papers. "You make me sick."

Enemies to lovers story. Lyra and Aerin are two ends of a magnetic pole that should never meet. It is said that opposites attract, but not in their case. Lyra hates Aerin's supercilious personality, and in turn, Aerin hates Lyra's intrusion into his life and her stubborn, outspoken nature. Underneath the blanket of raging hatred that hangs over these two fiery personalities lies a burning flame of desire, threatening to consume them and pull them toward each other.

Valeria is a hotel receptionist, who struggles to keep up with the medical bills of her sister Vanessa, who has leukemia. Vanessa's health deteriorates, and she needs surgery to survive. Valeria is unable to pay for the surgery and is heartbroken. One day, Adam, the hotel owners, notices her crying and offers to help. However, he proposes an arranged marriage for a year as a condition for his assistance.

For both Hayley and Kenji's freedom and the things at risk, they had to tie the holy knot. Although they are now married, they still hate each other and there is one rule they made for themselves and that's to mind your own damn business. But could they mind their own businesses when they are living together and are partners of a heavenly crime called fake love.

After having dinner on the holiday eve, I'm about to distribute the gift cards to the younger generation of the family when my daughter, Lisa Mercer, speaks up. "Mom, we're not going to celebrate the holidays at home. You should pack up and go back to your own home too." Shock flashes across my face. "It's nighttime, and yet you want me to leave right now?" Lisa replies calmly, "I'm doing this for your own good. If you stay in my house on your own, you won't be able to defend yourself if anything in this house goes missing." I no longer question Lisa. Instead, I pack my own belongings and go back to my childhood home. One week later, when Lisa and the rest of the family comes back from their vacation, they are stunned, to say the least. After all, the house that they've lived in for the past eight years now has a new owner.

In my past life, my mother kept matchmaking me with a man with violence issues. After being subject to domestic violence, I tearfully called my mother and asked for help. However, she didn't do anything. Ultimately, I died from his violence while pregnant with his child. After I was reborn, my mother ended up being the one to marry him. This delighted me. She had no idea that he had AIDS!

Valentine's Day. I was stuck on ER duty at Brighton City Hospital. Theodore Madoff, who was supposed to be working late, strolled in carrying his student—Cecilia Kuntzer. She had red marks everywhere and that smug little smirk. "Relax, Mrs. Madoff. Just stomach pain. Lucky me, Prof. Madoff rushed me here." Theo pushed me to treat her. Turns out? She was pregnant. From rough intercourse. And the dad? Theo. My husband. The same guy who'd sworn off kids with me for ten years. Felt like a punch to the gut. But I still saved her baby. Next day, she uploaded a video—ID in hand, cheesy PowerPoint, accusing me of malpractice. Claimed I killed her kid. Then Theo asked for a divorce. Priscilla—his mom—stormed the hospital, shrieking about her dead grandbaby. She brought a mob. All these "righteous" strangers who stabbed me to death. Right there in the ER. I died with my eyes wide open. Then—bam—I woke up. Valentine's Day. Again.