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Fathma lana Anaz

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  • Novel Reviews: 8

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  • Author: Aerawrites
  • Status: Completed
  • Age Rating: 18+
  • 👁 9.2K
  • 9.3

(Completed) At her step-sister's birthday dinner, Nina was drugged by her family and sold to an old pervert. In her desperate attempts to escape, Nina comes across Jayden Luxton, the business tycoon. “Marry me, and I promise to keep you alive and unharmed.” He proposed. With her innocence in line, Nina has no other choice but to marry him. Jayden wanted a wife and Nina needed protection. The deal was a win-win situation where both parties got what they wanted. However, the prerequisite was that they couldn't fall in love with each other. As two individuals who lived an exhausting life that lacked color and love, all hell would unloose once they lived under the same roof. After their every lovemaking session, he would always remind her. “Don’t fall for me. If not, you'd end up hurting yourself.” Yet, he was the one who couldn't let go of her and kept spoiling her to no end! “Boss, someone bullied Madam at her college.” The next day, Springfield College, the top college in Spring City, disappeared overnight from the country. - “Boss, madam has taken fancy to Paris, the most renowned clothing brand in the world.” As a result, the entire collection of Paris was emptied to decorate a certain someone's wardrobe. - “Boss, madam went on a date with a wild man.” The poker-faced and aloof CEO finally had a crack in his expression as his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Does she think it's that easy to get rid of me?”

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  • 👁 36.2K
  • 9.6

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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  • 👁 33K
  • 8.9

[18+] Sleeping with my best friend was something that shouldn’t have happened. We made a promise to each other when we were young, but it was long forgotten, at least by him, but not by me. I didn’t forget that he was my prince charming. He dated girls, which I didn’t mind because I was still underage. We slept in the same bed until this date, but we have never crossed the line. The problem started when his fiancée failed to appear for their wedding, and I had to play the role of his bride for the day just to save his face. That was the date everything changed. We had the steamiest night, and he told me it shouldn’t have happened because he was dating my best friend, Candice. That struck me dead in the gut. I should have known that our promises were long forgotten. He took my innocence and told me it shouldn’t have happened. That hurts, but nothing hurts more than learning you’re pregnant with your best friend’s child and you can’t tell him because he is in love with your friend. “Hi! My name is Lola.” He grinned. “My name is Dante.” “May I join you in a game?” “How old are you?” I gave him a puppy-dog expression. “You’re so adorable when you do that,” he observed. “I am nine years old.” “Well. I’m a sixteen-year-old, do you wish to play with your older brother?” I gave a nod. Just like that, I started playing with a 16-year-old. I was his little sister and he was my big brother. We grew up to be best friends. Everything was shared. We continue to share a bed to this day.

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Heroes

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