Where Can I Find Maxim Gorky'S Surviving Letters And Archives?

I gave Julian Marchetti thirty years of my life after the war ended. I built his empire, raised his children, and held the family together behind the scenes. But when he died, his will didn’t even mention my name. Half his fortune went to our children. The other half went to Lydia Carter, the daughter of the man who’d saved his life in Normandy. The same Lydia who’d stolen my identity.The same Lydia who’d built her entire life on the ruins of mine. All he left me was a single note, scrawled in his familiar handwriting. I loved you. We had thirty good years. But I owe Lydia. This is the least I can do. I dropped dead of a heart attack right there in his study, clutching that pathetic piece of paper. When I opened my eyes again, I was reborn in 1945, when the war had just ended This time I will not swallow my anger and suffer in silence; I will fight back. And I will take back every single thing that is rightfully mine.

Found in the marooned ruins of Chavand was a book ripped and torn. Its yellowed pages eaten up and coiled. Forgotten and unheard about was this book until it came to light. His legends lived on, his tales of valour prevailed. His glory seemed enternal and he was worshiped and adored. But his heart remained shrouded in a cloak of mystery. His emotions, his turmoils went unnoticed in an attempt to make him great. Seen as someone who was invincible and immortal, the Rana changes your perspective from his greatness to his soft heart. Written across the pages during his last moments, he wrote his own life. Where bards would be at a loss and poets were simply lost in his glory and valor, the Rana is said to be the only one who could write about himself.

On the seventh year after the breakup, I receive a package from Clarence Fraser. All 44 pounds of said package consist of the stacks of chat history I have with him in the past. Soon, Clarence's text appears on my phone screen. "Wanna meet up? I'd like to tell you something." I pause momentarily before responding with a "1". That number signifies rejection. Then, I turn my phone off. After wiping my sweat off with a towel, I pick up another crate of fruits and continue promoting them to the customers loudly, as though nothing has happened. It's been so many years, and I don't know why Clarence decides to text me all of a sudden. Similarly, he doesn't know that I've already become someone else's wife a long time ago.

My husband is the director of a private hospital. During the three years of work, he would always find his "female best friend" with all kinds of excuses. The first time he went, he bought me a new purse I had been longing for. The second time he went, he credited one thousand dollars to the beauty salon I frequented. Only after he gave his family member's spot for the hospital's retreat did I finally ask for my one-hundredth request. He simply signed the form, thinking that it was some kind of order for a luxurious item. "I've neglected you lately. Shall I take you to see the aurora after I come back this time?" When he gracefully gave me that promise, I calmly smiled. That was because he didn't know the last thing I asked him to sign was divorce papers.

​Vivian Vance 26 An independent art appraiser searching for the truth behind her father’s sudden death. Arthur Pendelton 46 powerful billionaire philanthropist, Vivian's longtime guardian, and her "godfather." Victor Arthur’s security chief and a trusted associate of Vivian’s late father, secretly working for a hostile corporate syndicate. ​Haunted by her father's unexplained death, Vivian Vance arrives at the coastal Blackwood Manor. She has been summoned by her wealthy godfather, Arthur Pendelton, who has recovered her father's encrypted journal. The journal contains details about a high-value art collection, but Vivian quickly discovers the codes actually hide bank routing numbers and coordinates. Amidst the storm outside and the growing mystery, the years of unspoken, taboo attraction between Vivian and her older guardian ignite, culminating in an intense, passionate night in his study. ​The next morning, Vivian overhears a conversation between Arthur and his security chief, Victor. Arthur claims he is "handling" Vivian to find the hidden ledger and "take care of the rest." Heartbroken and believing she is being used to cover up her father's murder. She seduces Arthur in the estate's subterranean thermal pool to distract him while she secretly decodes the coordinates, locating a hidden wall safe in the manor's library. ​Vivian successfully cracks the safe, finding the incriminating ledger and a digital flash drive. Before she can escape, Victor corners her at gunpoint. He reveals the ultimate betrayal: he murdered Vivian's father, and Arthur was actually trying to protect her by hiding the ledger. ​Just as Victor prepares to shoot Vivian, Arthur launches a surprise tactical ambush. A brutal fight ensues, during which Vivian helps overpower Victor. he knew Victor was monitoring the house, so he had to pretend to use her to keep Victor from killing her before he could secure the evidence to dismantle the syndicate.

My best friend and my husband, Lorenzo Bartoli, fought every time they met. Lorenzo was the Don of the family, while my best friend was his Consigliere. She always fiercely opposed his most ruthless, high-risk decisions. Tempers explode every single time. But there was one rule that they both agreed on without any hesitation. No one was allowed to touch me. Because of them, no one in the city dared to cross me. Until the fifth month of my pregnancy, when I went down to the basement vault to organize Lorenzo's guns for him. I opened the safe to see stacks of letters, hundreds of them, all unsent. I picked one up. The moment I opened the letter, cold dread overwhelmed me. The receiver of the letter wasn't me. [My dearest Sofia…] I quickly scanned downward to the final lines of the letter. [If I don't make it back alive, everything in the Swissie accounts goes to you. As for Vittoria, she's a good woman, but I have never loved her.] With trembling hands, I tore open the rest of the letters like a hysterical woman. Three hundred of them in total. Every single one was addressed to Sofia Finzi. Sofia was not a stranger. She was my best friend.