What A Way To Go Dress Front

What was it like to have a twisted older brother? Oprah Johnny's father abandoned her and her mother, who then remarried a man from the Harrison family. That was how Oprah gained a stepbrother, Burgess Harrison. Everyone seemed to believe Burgess disliked her, and even she herself thought so. But little did they know that Burgess had fallen in love with her at first sight. As Oprah grew more and more attractive, he found himself losing control... *** This novel is written by Six Cats. The novel is copyrighted by Ideaink Six Cats.

I've been pregnant for six months, but my Alpha mate, William, has delayed our mating ceremony 29 times. He's waiting for his adopted sister, Rita, to find a mate so they can have a "two-couple mating ceremony." The 30th time I altered the waist of my beloved mating ceremony dress, the bridal shop assistant looked embarrassed, "Miss, this dress really can't be widened anymore. How about you choose another one?" Disappointment rose in my throat like bile. I called William, asking when the ceremony would finally happen. But William said: "I will give you an unforgettable mating ceremony, but Rita's mate hasn't been matched yet. Darling, can you wait a little longer? We shouldn't ruin her whole life over such a small thing, right? I know you'll understand. You're always so kind." My heart clenched suddenly. So, my dream mating ceremony is just a small thing. Rita's sweet, high-pitched voice chimed in: "Brother, my mating ceremony dress matches yours so perfectly!" That was the moment I realized I was never the one being chosen. I looked down at my round pregnant belly, tears slipping quietly from the corners of my eyes. Then, with a trembling hand, I dialed the number that had always been waiting for me. "I'm ready to leave." After the call ended, the clerk cautiously asked: "Would you like to choose another one?" "No. Just cancel it, please." I took one last glance at the dress that would never belong to me. If this ceremony was never for me, then I won't stay for it.

Just as the Silverwolf Pack was about to fall into ruin, Blaise Larkin approached me and asked me to be his mate. I'd had a crush on Blaise for as long as I could remember. Now that my wildest dreams were about to come true, I was happy to form a mate bond with him. As I was the sole daughter of the Eastern Pack's Alpha, I was able to provide him with a mountain of resources by becoming Blaise's mate. One month after our bonding ceremony, I was expecting a pup. I was ecstatic, but before I could share the news with Blaise, I overheard something soul-shattering. "I wonder who fathered the pup of our pregnant Luna." "She probably got involved with some filthy Rogue. There's no way Alpha Blaise will let her give birth to that mutt, right?" If it weren't for those werewolves, I wouldn't know that Blaise was pretending we never mated. When I demanded answers in a deranged manner, he threw me into the underground prison and forced me to atone for the death of his first love. "If you didn't insist on becoming my mate, Susie wouldn't have left the pack—she also wouldn't have gotten slaughtered by Rogues!" Eight months later, I lost my pup in the cell I was imprisoned in and died, soaking in my own blood. When I opened my eyes once again, I found myself back on the day Blaise asked me to be his mate.

When my husband accompanies his childhood sweetheart to the vet to treat her pet fish, my son accidentally spills his drink on her. My husband watches as his childhood sweetheart's eyes redden. Then, he slaps my son hard and throws a stack of cash at him. "This is your chance to make up for your mistakes. Buy Wendy a dress—make sure it's white!" My son dries his tears while holding onto the money. He roams the streets, searching for a white dress in the middle of the night. When he finally finds one, he ends up getting beaten to death by some drunk hooligans. Even in death, he clutches the bloodied skirt tightly. I burst into tears of despair as I hold onto his body and call my husband over a dozen times. However, he's too busy with his childhood sweetheart's fish. He blocks my number. When he finally calls me back, he sounds icy and angry. "Wendy is still waiting for that dress! Where has the little brat gone to? Can't he even handle such a simple task?"

My husband sends me a photo of our obedient daughter holding a plate of food. He writes, "Thanks to my patient guidance, our sweetheart has finally made her first dish! We're waiting for you to come home and taste it!" The exhaustion I feel from work is swept away when I see that. No one expects that I'll reach home half an hour later and kill him.

The story follows a young man whose life was turned upside down when his father makes a stupid, irrational mistake and loses all of his money. The perfect life is gone and he has to face failures, losses, betrayals, but also love and true friendship.

I had poured my heart into planning the perfect wedding—for my female client. Then I turned a corner and saw her kissing my boyfriend at the stairwell. He chuckled softly. "No wonder you're my wife. You're stunning." She let out a soft laugh. "Your little secret girlfriend still does not know you're marrying me. She actually wished me happiness—can you believe it? So… when are you planning to tell her?" He tilted her chin and said, "Didn't we agree? Once we're married, we each live our own lives. Teresa is the love of my life. I hope you'll keep your mouth shut." She gave a snort of laughter and yanked playfully on his tie. "Relax, babe. As long as you keep treating me right, I won't stir up trouble." I felt like I had plunged into an ice bath. Face pale, hands trembling, I picked up my phone and texted my mentor: [I'm ready to take the transfer to Luminous City.] The reply came not long after: [Three days from now. We'll go together.]

"You promised me your virginity and your body. I was foolish to pass on the first, but like a debt collector, I am here to take the latter which belongs to me. Your body is mine, Rosianna." . . A loved one who became a stranger and a heart filled with secrets... . . “Oh, Rosy,” Santos whispered, his voice sending shivers down her heated body. “Do you remember?” “What?” she asked, even though she feared that she already knew what he was asking. He leaned closer to her ear. “That night six years ago? Right here, in this house, in this room...you begged me to take your body” Her eyes closed at the pain of the memory. “Let me go, Santos. I don’t want you anymore.” she lied. Pressing his body against hers, his hand slid underneath the towel and caressed her there. She leaned into him and throatily. He nibbled at her ear, and whispered, “That’s not what your body is saying, darling.”

I was raised to be invisible. In the kingdom of Avelaine, a maid’s life is meant to pass quietly—unnoticed and unchanged. I knew my place in the halls of Hawthorne Palace, until Prince Roman Davenport looked at me as though I was something more than a shadow. He belonged to the crown. I belonged to silence. What grew between us was never spoken aloud. It lived in careful glances, restrained words, and moments stolen where no one was meant to see. Loving him was dangerous—not because of scandal, but because it asked for something I was never meant to have. In a world ruled by duty and inheritance, some desires are not forbidden by law… but by reality itself.

In the VIP lounge of an underground casino, Maeve, the Falcone family's princess, had been plied with too much hard liquor. Fueled by alcohol, someone goaded her into revealing the most shameless thing she'd ever done to win over the Don. She swirled her glass, pointed at me dealing cards behind the table, and threw her head back with a laugh. "Seven years ago, when Declan was in a coma after a shootout, I took his private phone. And I deleted the distress message that bitch sent him. Every last trace of it. Then I replied in his name: You're a burden. Go die." "You'll never guess what happened next. That idiot stood outside the safe house all night in a downpour, like a stray dog. I almost died laughing…" The room erupted in crude laughter. Only the man enthroned at the head of the table remained silent. The crystal whiskey glass in his hand shattered with a sharp crack. Blood mixed with the amber liquor, trickling over the veins on the back of his hand before dripping onto the carpet. His murderous, bloodshot eyes were locked on me. I calmly dealt the last hole card in front of him and offered a clean, white silk handkerchief. "Don Declan, you should wipe your hand. Blood on the felt is bad luck." After all, some stains never wash out.