Walt Whitman Poems

When Elara Hayes stepped into the Valcourt Foundation gala in a borrowed red gown, she expected to serve drinks and disappear into the background. She did not expect Adrian Valcourt, the cold and untouchable billionaire heir, to cross the room and ask her to waltz. One dance. One moment. One mistake she can’t take back. Because Adrian didn’t choose her by chance. After the gala, he pulls her into his world with an offer she can’t afford to refuse. But the closer Elara gets to him, the more she feels it the tension he’s trying to ignore, the secrets he refuses to speak, and the danger circling them both. Someone wants her gone. Someone knows what Adrian is hiding. And someone is willing to hurt her to keep the past buried. He should stay away from her. She should fear him. But betrayal hides behind the walls he commands, and the closer she gets to the truth, the deeper she falls into a forbidden love that could destroy them both. When the real enemy steps out of the shadows… Will he protect her, or sacrifice her to save the Valcourt legacy?

The news that Angelo Rizzo was becoming the new Don of Brucklin District had spread throughout the entire family. Everyone knew except me, Lila Bennett, his fiancee. He had always thought I was childish, like an irritating tail he couldn't shake off, sticking to him wherever he went. "I've only managed to bag Brucklin District all thanks to Cyrus." The study door was ajar as the scent of cigar smoke drifted out along with his voice. "Lila? Why bring her up? She's annoying. Like a piece of gum stuck to your hair." I crouched on the hallway carpet, lost in thought. Before, it was always Angelo leaving first and me realizing it too late. This time, I wanted to surprise him by going to Brucklin ahead of him. When he saw me there first, he'd realize that I was smart. But the next day, at the bus station, when the driver asked where I was going, I mixed Brucklin and Mannattan up. The driver grew impatient. Afraid he'd call me an idiot like Angelo would, I hurriedly shove the money at him. "To Mannattan! I'm going to Mannattan District!"

"I begged you not to kill my babies, they were our babies. But you were so blind in rage that you didn't even think for once and killed them. You are no less than a monster," Camellia, said with anger and rage. while the surgical knife was on his neck. She hated him to the extent that she had forgotten that she was a doctor who was meant to save life for people but here she was killing him. " I am sorry, Camellia. What I did was wrong and I will happily die in your arms if my sin would be forgiven then please go ahead," his words pierced in her heart. Her hands were shivering, and after hearing his words, she wiped her tears from one hand and pushed him away from her. She couldn't kill him, not today nor in the future. " Mama, Please don't kill, Daddy?" she felt like a criminal in front of her child and stared blankly at her.

Tunnels deconstructs the individual’s Romantic fascination with ‘love’ or the grammaticality of beauty. Ideally, the ‘tunnels’ in the collection are subterranean love poems from the suburban imaginary. These seemingly syntactic tunnels travel through one’s literary imagination or heterotopic dreamscapes, and while αγάπη (Greek for ‘love’) inspires these rhizomic tunnels to navigate the abysmal ‘meta-spectacle’ of gesture, language or moment of poemness, the mind like the many-colored jeepneys of Manila, where driving past roast goose restaurants in Shek Kip Mei or spotting stilt houses in Kampong Kleang, attempt to explore the transgeneric textualities of the everyday, alongside the unstructurality of time and space, the littoral and the liminal.

During the Thanksgiving holiday week, my husband, Caleb Whitman, keeps working overtime. I feel sorry for how hard he's working, so I take over all the household chores. While doing the laundry, I pull a food delivery receipt from the pocket of his coat. Everything on the order appears to be intended for a pregnant woman. It has bone broth, baked salmon, and fresh seasonal vegetables. It's obvious that everything was chosen with care. There's even a note that says, "For an expectant mother. Keep it low in oil and salt. Make sure the utensils are sterilized." The delivery was sent to a luxury apartment above Caleb's office building. I crumple the receipt, let out a cold laugh, and deliberately call him during lunch. "So, when's the baby shower for your kid? Don't forget to send me an invite."

Derek Dawson's playboy ways is about to cost him his inheritance. His father is fed up with Derek's exploits being exposed in the society pages. It embarrasses the whole family. Therefore, Derek's father has added a codicil to his will stating if Derek doesn't settle down and get married within a year he will be disinherited. Derek doesn't appreciate being forced into matrimony but what could he do? When Walt Dawson got an idea in his head that was that. So, Derek goes on the hunt to find the perfect society wife. Chelsea Van Dyke has been in love with Derek Dawson since she was a kid. However, she had never been able to get his attention – until now. Derek's sister tells Chelsea about her father's ultimatum to her brother. After years of yearning for him, Chelsea finally has an opening. Her plan is simple. Marry Derek and then get him to fall in love with her. The problem is the plan isn't as simple as Chelsea thinks because her intended doesn't want to give up being a playboy bachelor.

On our wedding night, my fiancé's best friend barged into our room for the third time, claiming a wedding prank. Having had enough, I warned Sam Whitman that if we didn't consummate our marriage that night, it was as good as over. He glanced at my half-unbuttoned dress and dismissed my words as a tantrum. Then Candace Lombard stormed in for the ninth time, ripped off the covers, and livestreamed our intimate moments. Sam merely pushed me aside and told me to be understanding. She climbed into our bed, smirking as she claimed the spot between us. "Wedding night prank? I get it," I grinned, leaning into her livestream camera. "Alright, everyone, fire up those donations! I'm about to let my husband take a mistress live. Let's make it a show!"

Sophia Whitman, a skilled but humble nurse, was previously separated from Maxwell Sterling, a recognized millionaire CEO and renowned doctor, due to a hidden romance that resulted in an unexpected pregnancy. Fearing the collapse of her career and life, she ran New York, hiding from Maxwell her child's identity. Three years later, however, their paths cross once more. Maxwell, now a strong presence in both the medical and corporate spheres, comes to her door with the kid she had abandoned. He wants explanations; his relentless love for her drives him to reclaim what he lost. Maxwell's resolve drives him to reveal not only her secrets but also his own concealed background despite her attempts to keep him at distant. Will their second chance be a painful reminder of what could have been or can they recover from the wounds of treachery?

Sharon McKinzie's husband's first love was dying. He often said to Sharon, "Sharon, Kelly doesn't have much time left. Don't be petty and hold things against her." To make up for the regrets of his past, he traveled with Kelly—through mountains and rivers, beneath starlit skies and over distant seas. He even handed over the wedding they had planned—his and Sharon's—to Kelly Walt, without shame or hesitation. Even their five-year-old son clung to Kelly. "Mommy isn't even half as pretty as Kelly," he said. "Kelly's pretty. Why can't Kelly be my mommy?" Sharon decided to grant them their wish. She left behind the divorce papers and walked away without a word. Later, her ex-husband and son knelt before her—her ex-husband full of regret, her son's cheeks streaked with tears. "Honey… please come back to us." "Mommy… do you really not want us anymore?" Just then, a handsome man wrapped his arm around Sharon's waist. "There you are, honey," he said gently. "Our son's still at home, waiting for you to feed him."

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."