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Honey

  • Unlocked Chapters: 1.2K
  • Novel Reviews: 1

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  • 👁 7.4K
  • 7.2

This is a Money Transaction, Not Love: A Maffa Seduction. "You know, you are bound by contract to marry my son." Sara, an ordinary college girl, is thrust into a dangerous world when she's forced to marry Adrian, the ruthless heir to the largest mafia empire, to settle her parents' crushing debts and fund her grandfather's life-saving surgery. Adrian's father dangles a cruel bargain: live with Adrian for 30 days, and if neither falls in love, Sara wins her freedom and the contract is void. "Now listen up, girl. It's a fact that the both of us will not be seeing eye to eye around here. So I have rules that you must follow so as to leave this place in one piece. Firstly you dare not call mny name if you must call me, you will have to address me as sir. Secondly, you dare not talk or initiate any conversation with me. Thirdly, you wil not enter my bedroom or touch anything that is mine. Fourthly, you will not touch me. Now isten, failure to adhere to these rules wil ost you." "Cost me?" I crooked. "It will cost your body, [l have the right to own a part of your body, and I will do with it whatever I want," he growls, his eyes roving hungrily over my trembling form. Defying his commands at every turn, Sara finds herself entangled in a web of forbidden pleasure she never imagined. AS the days blur with tension and desire, can she resist the mafia heir's dark allure--or will this transaction ignite a love that defies the contract in this steamy enemies- to-lovers saga?

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  • 👁 41K
  • 9.0

When I was a child, my grandma used to tell me stories. At the time, I never gave them much thought. Thinking they were just that… stories. Growing up, I soon realized that they weren’t lofty fantasies and fairy tales but memories of her past, memories of our ancestors before our world turned to sh*t. You see, what comes from legend, no matter how exaggerated the story becomes, there is always a sliver of truth. You just need to weed out the fiction from fact. My grandmother used to tell me stories of the Chosen One—the one who would save us all. When I was younger, I used to believe that what she said was true. Eventually, someone would be born, just as the Oracle predicted—someone who could save our souls and bind us back to our magic. Once I grew up and saw the world unfolding around me, I no longer believed in salvation. The chosen one seemed to be more of a prayer than reality. Some dream we wanted desperately to come true. Something in which we needed to find hope when there wasn’t any left. When our ancestors turned their backs on us, how were we expected to believe in this so-called salvation? Especially when all we witnessed was death and carnage ever since the great war. Nothing except pain and poverty. I used to believe the stories and used to pray for the mysterious chosen one that would rid our world of its evil. Now, though, I see it for what it really is, just a dream of hope. Some out of reach fairy-tale. A story to create hope. Hope is dangerous; it makes you believe things will get better. I stopped hanging on to hope when I witnessed firsthand that it caused nothing but heartache.

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Heroes

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