Widow Of The South Book Novels & Stories

Under the night sky and the billion twinkling stars, her soon-to-be ex-husband was kissing her. For the lack of better judgment, she was letting him. Same characters, same plot, and most probably, same bitter ending. Why write a book that has already been written? “Give us a chance, Isobelle. You, me, Liam. Let’s be a family.”

Voice shaking but deliberate. "My name is Thomas Cross. My uncle Julian Cross built The Covenant. My mother Catherine Cross dedicated her life to it. And today, because of one woman, my entire family is gone. Julian dead in prison. My mother dead in prison. My grandfather Thomas Senior in the ground. Everything they built destroyed." He stopped walking. Looked directly into the camera. "Aria Winters destroyed my family. She took everything. My uncle. My mother. My inheritance. My legacy. My identity." His voice hardened. "So I'm going to destroy hers."

> "I'm the cold, detached wife. I'm the emotionally unavailable physician who spent more time in the trauma bays than in her own home. I was entirely too focused on my own career advancement to notice a lonely, neglected husband." Thelma looked utterly crushed. The absolute silence that followed was all the confirmation I required. I nodded slowly, the pieces of the puzzle locking into perfect alignment. The script practically wrote itself. The highly successful, unyielding female doctor; the busy, neglectful mother; the tragic, cast-aside husband who simply fell into the arms of a warm, supportive young woman. You could almost hear the whispers spreading through the manicured lawns of River

I sank to the floor of the closet, the journal clutched to my chest, and finally let myself break. Not quiet tears or controlled grief, but ugly sobs that tore through my chest like claws. Because I'd had a wife who'd married me with hope. Who'd tried to love me despite everything. Who'd pressed a flower in a journal to mark what could have been the beginning of what she'd believed could be a real partnership. And I'd killed her slowly over four years of dismissal and neglect and choosing someone else again and again. I'd killed her hope first. Then I'd killed her.

“That’s why I’m calling now.” The Priestess from Seoul, Eun-Ji, a quiet woman with eyes like broken glass, tilted her head. “You want us to assist with a resurrection reversal? Or a soul split repair?” “Neither,” Olivia said. “I want to bind the Widow permanently.” Several priestesses inhaled sharply. Zara’s expression didn’t move. She was the only one who had seen the Widow rise before. She was the only one who survived that night. Zara stepped closer, her gold lined cloak dragging on the stone.

she said with a small smile, “that one.” I followed her eyes. The title was etched in gold against the faded green cover: The Perfect Wife: Grace in the Eyes of Society. Clara sighed. “It was written by the second wife of Mr. Kingston’s great-great-grandfather.” My brows lifted. “Second wife?” She nodded, looking at the distance. “Yes. The first wife… she was said to be very different. Full of life. Independent. People say she died from a disease, but…” Clara trailed off, as if remembering she wasn’t supposed to say more.

II With the plane ticket in her hand, Anne checked her luggage, which was light, and found a seat in the open room to wait for her flight to board. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Anne had recognized the surety of this course from the moment she made that decision in the middle of her own husband’s funeral. She only now admitted it to herself. She was bound for Peru with nothing but her own determination, her husband’s writings and sketchings, his copies of documents and photographs, and his camera.

So now, with him refusing to bend to her will even slightly, she found him unbearably tiresome. Hearing all this from Vivian, Andy finally lost his composure completely. After Vivian's older sister passed away, he'd become the most invisible widower in Northbridge. Everyone kept their distance from him, whether they meant to or not, whispering that he'd brought bad luck on his own wife at such a young age. Lisa had only been kind to him out of guilt over her late daughter. Later, when he'd realized Vivian wanted to be with him, he'd been overjoyed—it meant he wouldn't be some helpless widower with nowhere to turn anymore.

Iris said as I burst into laughter. “I wanted that as much as you did but if he died just like that without suffering, of what use would my second chance be??? I want him to feel every pain I felt and that can only be possible if we end up getting married…he was a widower in my previous life but this time around, I would be the widow.” "That's my girl!!!! Look, I was planning on traveling back soon but because of you, I won't do that anymore…I am with you all the way in this plan of yours.” Iris said as I smiled.

As the Donna of the Moretti Family, I paid out of my own pocket to build a high-security school for the children of our fallen members. But the widows repaid me by dragging my name through the media. Worse, they leaked the locations of three safe houses, dealing the Family a devastating blow. They claimed the school was never a benefit at all, but a “hostage camp” where I kept their children to force them to remain loyal to the Family. While Don Lorenzo Moretti was away, they even filed an impeachment motion with the Family Council, demanding that I shut down the school and hand its operating funds directly to them. Fine. I signed the closure order that very day. But the moment the notice