Untouchable Serie Mga Nobela at Kwento

Ethan: You made a mistake choosing him. Her blood ran cold. Almost immediately, another message appeared. Dante: Did he contact you? She stared at the screen. So he really was watching. Celeste: Yes. Seconds later, her door chimed. Dante stood there, jacket gone, sleeves rolled up, eyes dark with something dangerous. “He doesn’t get to reach you anymore,” he said quietly. She hugged her arms around herself. “Then why does it feel like I just stepped into something worse?” He stepped closer not touching, but close enough that she felt his presence like heat.

Alejandro’s POV The air outside her studio was thick with salt and silence, broken only by the steady thud of my shoes against the stone path. I should’ve stayed away. I knew I should have. But ever since Luna undressed before me—slowly, defiantly, like she wanted me to suffer—I hadn’t been able to think of anything else. She was a fucking vision.

"And why should I trust you?" He smirked. "Watch." Noah turned to the man. "What’s your name?" "Gerry George." My brow twitched. Noah's right, the serum worked. "Who do you work for?" I asked. "We’ve never seen his face. Not even the head scientist has. He always wears a mask. We just call him Boss." I folded my arms, pacing around Gerry like a predator. "Those beasts that attacked the school... what are they?" "The Ultimate Weapon. Transformed rogue wolves. The early versions failed, but recently, we’ve been getting success."

"Whoever Madame Tarot chooses doesn't get to say no." I frowned. This wasn't the script I'd been expecting. Wasn't The Real VIP the one under pressure? Why the sudden detour to Luna Dora? Across the room, The Real VIP stood frozen, one hand clenched so tight her knuckles had gone white. She looked seconds away from collapse--except now she was watching with stunned relief, like the executioner had misread the name on the list. Madame Tarot loomed over Luna Dora. Still no cards. No crystal ball. No props.

"Hazel, wait. Let me explain." "Don't touch me!" she shrieked, flinching back. Her glassy, drunken eyes scanned me, her pupils dilated with a mix of intoxication and absolute horror. "Don't you dare touch me! Go back... why... why do you look like this?" I knew how I looked, and it wasn't the man she knew. I had stripped off my suit jacket and waistcoat earlier. My white dress shirt was unbuttoned almost to my navel, exposing my chest. The sleeves were rolled tightly up to my elbows, showing the dark, heavy ink of the tattoos wrapping around my forearms. My hair was a messy, wild ruin from where I’d run my hands through it in frustration. I looked raw, dangerous, and completely unrecognizabl

"Who could possibly guess what that man's thinking? Now that his status is untouchable, don't you think it's natural he'd get protective every now and then?" "But he shouldn't disrespect you like this." "Do you even know which family name rules Jouleston now?" "Of course. It's still Sterling," Victor said carelessly. Eloise's tone dropped. "Not just Sterling. It's Julian Sterling." She wanted to see how long he could keep playing the untouchable ruler. She glared at Victor warningly. "Don't do anything stupid because of that girl. If you bring Julian's wrath down on yourself, he has more than enough ways to ruin you."

"I told him to call back when he could give me his complete attention -- I needed your contact information and all that, you know, dear? -- and so, he stopped in the middle of the street to answer my questions. I could hear car horns blaring. I've dealt with my fair share of worried spouses, but I don't think I've ever been so happy to lose an argument. That husband of yours could charm the skirt off a nun." "Yes...I suppose so," Chrissie replied, and hurriedly thanked the woman for her help. She hung up the phone, wondering if she'd ever get to see this skirt-baring, charming side of Race. So far, he'd been sweet or assertive or cantankerous, but not charming. At least, not her definition o

The new captions framed it to look like I had, out of nowhere, assaulted a poor, helpless Lyla. And Edward, the actual male lead in this little soap opera. He was completely cut out of the footage. The video painted me as the villain, the angry, unhinged woman slapping a defenseless sweetheart. But here was the twist. The Internet wasn't coming for me. They were coming for Lyla. Somehow, someone had connected the dots and figured out who she was. Her name, her background, even old photos of her. It was all out there. And the comments were brutal, apparently. The slap was already a meme, and the top comments were things like Homewrecker caught in 4k

Out here, I’m the one in charge. The song shifts, the bass line deepening, and I drop low, my palms brushing the floor before I push back up, rolling my hips to the beat. My thighs burn, but I don’t let it show. You can’t show strain. You can’t show anything that makes them think you’re not untouchable. Untouchable. That’s a joke. Under the makeup and sequins, I’m just a girl who once slept in her car for a week because rent was late. Who’s made mistakes. Who still doesn’t know how to stop making them.

"Penelope has never needed a single motive when two would cause more damage simultaneously. Hurting Hazel and destabilizing our alliance serve her purposes equally well." I looked around at everyone gathered on that empty stage, the theater's high windows finally letting in enough gray morning light to soften the shadows that had felt so threatening only hours before. Julian's steady presence beside me, Ivy still trembling from the truth we had just uncovered together, her tears finally slowing into something quieter and more resolved, Desmond and Eleanor standing guard like the family I had chosen even when blood had failed to explain itself honestly across all these years of careful, painf