Romans & histoires Visual Novel Text Box

Everyone in Harbor City knows that the city's prince, Brandon Schmidt, is a devoted husband. Countless homewrecker wannabes are dealt with before they can even reach me. But one day, I see Brandon's text conversation with one of his mistresses. "You're going to open up for me tonight." "It's so embarrassing to be doing this on your wife's bed." Meanwhile, my arm is shattered from dealing with one of his competitors. The conversation makes my stomach turn. So be it, then. No one's getting off easy now.

As soon as I receive my year-end bonus, I transfer 100 thousand dollars to my wife, Zoe Steele, so that she can prepare the holiday gifts for both families right away. I even tell her to buy the best quality gifts for our parents, especially the box of premium liquor meant for my dad. On New Year's Eve, I rush home to have dinner with my parents. But weirdly enough, Dad, who's an avid drinker, starts having tea instead of liquor at the dining table. This leaves me perplexed. "Dad, why aren't you cracking open a bottle of liquor for yourself during the holidays?" With a smile on my face, I get up to my feet so that I can carry the box of liquor over. "Zoe had someone buy the liquor for you, you know. I hear that the taste is exceptional." "Stop!" Dad slams his pipe against the table loudly, his face a starking shade of crimson. "Edgar, don't ever send such gifts home. I know that life is difficult for you in the city and that making money is hard. We Kennedys may be poor, but we are people with pride! "Now, everyone in the village is gossiping about us behind our backs! They claim that I've been boasting about your wealth!" Dad's words confuse me to no end. After I unscrew a bottle of liquor, I sip from it, only to feel thunderstruck. This isn't premium liquor at all! This is just mineral water packaged as liquor!

My wife's family ran on the old logic: sons mattered, daughters were a tax. They called my five-year-old daughter "the cash drain" to her face. On New Year's Day, my wife told me my daughter was donating a kidney to her cousin. I was about to lose it on every adult in that room when something appeared in the air in front of me, a column of text only I could see: [Is this woman seriously the mother? She says it's a kidney transplant, but she actually wants the kid's heart.] [If I had a mom like that I'd have cut her off years ago.]

My peace shattered when my daughter found a used condom in our family car. I knew my husband, Derek, never loved me, but I never thought he was the kind of man to leave the disgusting evidence of his betrayal for his daughter to find. I thought this was the worst part, but life was always harsher than you could imagine. When I followed an anonymous text to Derek’s office, I saw him, my husband, kissing a woman in front of the windows. It was Savannah—my sister, Derek’s first love, who had died seven years ago.

The seventh time I planned to register for marriage with Piero Conrad, he didn't show up again. I was about to text him and ask when he would arrive when I stumbled upon his childhood friend's post. [Celebrating the 999th day since marrying my dear, from the past to the future, it's always been you.] The video showed a marriage certificate, with Piero's name listed as the husband. The registration date was May 20, three years ago. I realized that was why he never showed up those seven times. He was already married to someone else.

After the real son, Asher Vale, was brought back, everything in our house became tied to drawing lots. The chef of the day, who would have to cook a particular person's preferred dishes, had to be decided by drawing lots. Even our parents' kisses and hugs were chosen the same way. I always drew the short stick. The long stick, by default, belonged to Asher. He never had to do anything to receive our parents' love. Whenever I felt it was unfair and wanted to cry, Mom would scold me sharply, "I bought the lot-drawing box because I was afraid you'd feel hurt. I wanted to be fair to both of you. If you want something, decide it yourselves. Your father and I won't interfere. If you can't draw the long stick, you can only blame your bad luck." So I began practicing every day, shaking the box diligently, over and over, in hopes that one day, it would help me earn my parents' love. Unfortunately, for ten years, I never once drew the long stick. Until my birthday. Asher wanted to go to the amusement park, and Mom once again told us to decide by drawing lots. I secretly glued the two short sticks together and handed them to Mom, hoping to keep her with me. She slapped me hard across the face, screaming that I was cheating and disobedient. Then she stormed out of the house with Asher. When I fell to the ground, the short stick stabbed deep into my neck. 'I'm sorry, Mom. Next time, I'll work harder. Next time, I'll definitely draw the long stick.'

For five years, I played the ghost in my own marriage. I pressed Julian Daniel’s pristine suits, matched his cufflinks, and sat by the window like a loyal dog, waiting for the "Ice King" CEO to look at me with something resembling desire. Instead, I received clinical kindness and a box containing a gold watch. Every anniversary, the exact same script. It was his way of checking a box - a tax he paid for a life he felt obligated to support. I sacrificed my career as a prima ballerina, shattering my legs to push him out of the path of a speeding car. He didn't marry a wife; he locked away a debt. The anniversary script burned to ash on our fifth year. Standing outside the bathroom door, I heard the raw, unbridled passion Julian had denied me for half a decade. He wasn't breathing my name into the steam. He was choking out the name of his high school heartbreak: Penelope. The betrayal didn't end in our bedroom. It followed me to a high-end restaurant where Julian hosted a private lunch. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, I didn't find a husband willing to defend his wife. I found his childhood friend dragging his foot in a cruel, mocking circle, mimicking my limp to a room erupting in roars of laughter. Penelope doubled over in delight. And Julian? He sat at the head of the table, watching my humiliation with a look of pure, unbothered boredom. “I owe her,” his voice cut through the fading laughter, calm and tired. “I am just trying to pay back a debt.”

After many years of being abused by her father, Maia is brought to an orphanage. A landscaper adopts her and she meets the people he works for. Falling for their servant, she also notices feelings for another man. As she’s trying to figure out who she truly loves, another man appears and shakes her even more. Which will she choose?

What if someone is watching you? What if your friends mysteriously die? What if one day you wake up and you are inside the box? Know the perfect example of Stockholm syndrome and how it connects to the lens of the camera. Get thrilled, suspense and fall-in-love with Lady and how did she survive the pain of being heartbroken that her long term boyfriend caused her. How did she survive from all the threats that her captor caused her and who will she go to choose at the end? Her long term boyfriend who cheated on her or her captor who makes her life a living hell? find out and get thrilled, braced yourself to fall-in-love in the story of LENS

The King of the West, Lord of the Shadow Sect, and God of War—Howard Lincoln! Five years ago, Howard's adoptive father and his entire family were killed. Narrowly escaping from death, Harold was saved by Tania Jenkins. After that, he was taken away by a mysterious man and entered the military camp by chance. Five years later, a text message brought the God of War from the blood-soaked battlefield to the mundane world, and only then did Howard realize he had a daughter. Since then, the skillful warrior turned into a doting father, protecting his family, fighting other influential families, battling fiercely, and paying back both the good and the harm.