Novel & Cerita Vow Notebook

I nodded. "In that case, I'll stay with you forever. I'll only ever sleep with you," she added. … Third-person POV On the day of Naia's birthday, Ryan had his secretary back in Azureland buy an expensive watch and send it over. Truth was, it wasn't his idea to gift the watch. Delilah had been the one to help him pick it out and asked a friend back home to purchase it. She told him, "This brand's pretty famous and hard to get. Luckily, I have friends back in Azureland."

Kira Quezada faked her own death to escape a family legacy that wanted to sell her off like a signature on a contract. Three years later, disguised as a cleaner, she's finally safe, until her new boss looks at her twice and realizes exactly who she is. Luciano Rodriguez doesn't expose her. He makes her an offer instead: marry him, save his dying grandmother's peace of mind, and help him bait the uncle circling his empire like a wolf. It's supposed to be a contract. Nothing more. But the man she was promised to as a girl and the man hunting Luciano's throne are the same person, and he's not done with either of them. As old secrets surface and new ones are made in the dark, Kira has to decide

Simple objects carrying extraordinary weight. Her attention settles on a worn leather notebook positioned near the center. The cover is cracked with age. Its pages have yellowed considerably. Yet the writing remains legible. "Whose was it?" she asks. Corven checks the attached record. "A field coordinator from the original synchronization initiative." He hesitates. "Would you like to read part of it?" Vaelith nods. Corven carefully opens the journal. The handwriting flows across the page with quiet confidence. Not scientific observations. Personal reflections.

His palm presses briefly against a hidden panel beside the frame, the lock clicks open. The room beyond looks less like an office and more like the private library of a man hiding state secrets. Floor-to-ceiling shelves disappear into shadow above us, packed with leather-bound ledgers, archival boxes, stacks of yellowing documents and old photographs sealed carefully inside protective cases. The air smells like cedarwood, ink and dust. “We keep records here,” Leon says calmly, stepping inside. “Financial,. territory agreements, family history, shipments, names, births, deaths. Every deal the Marcellos have made for the last hundred years.”

On the night of their fourth wedding anniversary, Raymond Whitmore stood on a Boston stage and unveiled a perfume called Eternal Claire, dedicating it to the woman he swore he would love until his last breath. The world called it the most romantic gesture of the year. Claire called it a cage with a golden lid. Because thirty minutes later, a stranger sent her a video of that same perfume being poured over another woman's naked chest, in a suite two floors below the ballroom, by her husband's very hands. For four years, Claire had traded her PhD, her name, and her silence for a marriage the tabloids envied. In return, she got a mother-in-law who called her barren, a husband who called h

It would’ve been rare if I didn’t find something I liked. This time, it was a thick spiral A5 notebook. The hard cover was an abstract motif in blues, with a discreet white crescent in the upper right corner and a little white star by it. The pages had the lines in navy blue, and the crescent and the star outlined in light blue in every upper right corner. It was love at first sight. It was calling my name like a siren, and I refused to ignore it.

She used to make me a hangover remedy to comfort me. I thought we'd always be happy together. … At the bar, I was surrounded by colleagues. Jane flitted around, easily mingling with everyone. The vice president of my company, Oscar Wright, raised his glass to toast me. "Cheers to your freedom from misery! I told you long ago Rhiannon wasn't right for you. She was always biased toward that pretty boy, but you wouldn't listen. We tried to warn you," Oscar said. "Let's not bring her up anymore," I said.

Her voice was polite, but there was something about the way she asked that made Sarah’s stomach twist slightly. “I attended Westbridge University. I studied management consulting,” Sarah answered, keeping her voice steady. “Interesting,” Vivian said, swirling her wine glass. “And your family?” Sarah hesitated for only a fraction of a second. “I grew up in an orphanage.” Vivian’s expression remained composed, but the slight upward tilt of her chin gave her away. “Oh.” She said it with such finality that it sent a wave of discomfort through Sarah. Sarah’s grip on her fork tightened slightly. She knew that ‘Oh’ carried a wealth of meaning, judgment, doubt, perhaps even disapproval.

Stores. Times I usually went. What I usually ordered. Information about Jasper too. His schedule. His preferences. His family members. Names. Addresses. Phone numbers. "She knows everything about us," I said. Every detail of our lives. Catalogued. Studied. Weaponized. I picked up a notebook from the desk. Worn. Well-used. Pages dog-eared. Opened it carefully. A journal. Vivienne's handwriting. Distinctive. Neat. The first entry was dated two years ago.

" He put the notebook down. He went back to Captain Fossil. I looked at the vow notebook. At the eight lines. At the first one. At the staying coming first. At the deciding coming after. At all of it being true. January second. Ten days. The correct amount.