Novel & Cerita Zoya

She knew that voice. Out of the crowd appeared Natasha, the female lead of Raid role that was aired nine years ago. Maria clutched was purse tighter, she was about to meet Natasha, The Natasha!

She felt relieved when she closed the doors and went back to her seat. Like any other assassin, she had done her research. She was iconic in the fashion industry and had her own fashion line and was an investor in many popular cloth and shoe brands. She was rich, famous and was head over heels for Levi Wushi. However, even though she had everything she could ever want, she couldn't get any love or affection from Mr. Wushi.

I really appreciate all of you. I have another book on this platform and it is titled "Beneath the Surface". It's one of my best ever and I'd appreciate it if you guys check it out. It's very very cheap and affordable so there is no problem. Here is the Blurb; "Zaria Coker had every reason to be called perfect; Straight As, awesome friends, and a face that can make anyone bend to her will. Joel Bamidele, with only one year left to graduate high school, didn't expect that a rock from space would crash into his carefully planned life in form of a human.

Zoya : walaikum asalam! Me: is everything alright?..... You. SCARED the hell out of me...... Zoya : ummmmm... Actually.... Iiiii Me: yes... What happened (by squezzing her hand) Zoya: (said with nervous expression) in few days I am going to engage...... Me: WHAT.....with WHOM.... WHEN... Where...... You didn't bother to tell me... Hannn... Zoya : hold on girl.... I will tell you everything.... You know about childhood crush on my cousin........

So she remained silent and waited for what she had to say. “Your parents—Hazel and Jonathan—were just newly weds then. Easy and slow, they regularly stroll the outskirts of Dela Paz. To the grass plains and the river, to the bridge that marks the borderline of Dela Paz and Malaban, they would always go there and hang around. One day, from their usual walk, they brought home an infant. It was one of the rare instances that Hazel was extremely happy. She went to me and said she would be the mom of the child.

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I quickly step out to see a woman whose voice sounded awfully familiar, arguing with Delilah, the only model acquaintance I got along with because she was just as bitchy and spoilt as me. “You think I am a loser with no friends. Okay, first of all you couldn’t be more wrong, I have a lot of friends, Elizabeth, Victoria, Danika…..umm...my mother, my grandmother who, fun fact, knitted this sweater for me.” The woman said proudly as she gave Delilah what she thought was a savage reply. Yep, that’s Emily. Delilah just shook her head as she tried to process Emily’s personality, “What’s going on?” I intervene before the fight gets out of hand.

The smoke curled around me, the nicotine helped calm down my nerves. I hated when things spiraled out of my control. How the hell was I supposed to find the bastard behind this? The door creaked open, Zoya stepped in, her clothes stained with Benito’s blood. She clutched a first aid kit, her footsteps light and she barefoot. "Let me take care of your bruises," she muttered. My gaze traveled slowly from her head to her toes. She was still in her pajamas, the soft fabric wrinkled and dusty.

“Take her. Stay with her.” “Raiyan, please—” Raina’s voice broke as they moved her away. She looked back once, her eyes fixed on the Porsche. The car door closed, cutting off her voice. He turned. Zoya had stepped out of the Porsche. She was leaning back against the driver’s side door now, her arms loose and crossed over her chest. She was watching him with that calm, unbothered face—the one that had never given him anything but a hard wall. Her hair was pinned back in a loose, messy side bun, a few dark strands catching the wind. She was wearing a cream satin blouse with a long tie at the neck, dark trousers, and high heels that let her look him straight in t

The specifications fit only one woman in the agency: Khalifa. Khalifa was everything Zoya wasn't. Voluptuous, confident, with a laugh that commanded attention. She was the kind of woman men wrote poetry about – curves that seemed to defy gravity and a presence that filled any room she entered. Zoya looked down at herself. Lean. Toned. Smaller. She wasn't his type. The thought stung more than it should have. She told herself it didn't matter. Clients had preferences. It was normal. It meant nothing.