Which Pixar Film Won The Most Oscars?

BOOK 1 & 2 BOOK 1: A WHOLE NEW WORLD ESSENCE I would’ve died for them. My husband. My son. But when I was drowning, they didn’t even blink. I gave them everything—my heart, my time, my life. And still, I wasn’t enough. “Will you be my mommy?” my son asked his father’s mistress right in front of me. “Don’t be so selfish, Essence,” my husband said. “You’re lucky anyone married you at all.” They broke me. But I didn’t stay broken. I walked away with just a vow to build something for myself. What I didn’t expect? Lucian Knight. The billionaire bachelor every woman wanted... on his knees, whispering, “Please marry me, Essence. I’ve waited for you my whole life.” I left betrayal behind. But I never knew love could feel this good... or this sinfully sweet. BOOK 2: ENEMIES TO SOULMATES Daniel Knight lives for two things — running his empire and watching Sexy Red burn up the stage. The mysterious, red-haired dancer with a body made for sin is all he wants… and all he can’t have. The last thing he expects? His mother shoving him into an arranged marriage with Kelly Thompson… the plain, boring, mole-faced “ugly duckling” he insulted without a second thought. He hates her. She hates him more. “Marry you? Not in this lifetime,” he sneers. “Right back at you,” she fires back. But when the wedding ring is on, Danny still can’t get Sexy Red out of his head... until one night, he rips off her disguise and realizes the woman he’s been craving is the wife he swore to make miserable. Now, every touch feels like a lie. And the man who swore to ruin her… can’t stop trying to claim her.

Amalthea Romano is the most organized person you'd ever meet. From her closet, down to her study table, everything must be perfectly aligned. Ganoon din sa schedules niya! She's very goal oriented. She planned to graduate college, run the family business, get married eventually or maybe spend the rest of her life with her beloved pets. But one Sunday morning ruins it all. Papaanong biglang nasingit sa schedule niya ang maging babysitter?

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

After years of investment from my company, my boyfriend finally broke into show business. At last, he won an Oscar. True to his promise, he married me. Then, during a backstage interview, he said, "It was transactional. I had to marry her in exchange for the funding." His braindead fans came after me soon afterward. They stalked me and, one day, poured sulfuric acid over my face. The attack left me disfigured. He sent me to the hospital, but that was just another part of his scheme. Before long, the world believed I had died from complications. When I returned to life, I decided to invest in someone else. After all, he was the only person who had mourned my death and given me a proper burial.

During a maritime rescue, my in-laws were trapped aboard a sinking vessel. I personally led my husband, Adrian Cole, captain of the rescue team, straight to their location. They were seconds away from launching the operation when Vanessa Tate looped an arm around his neck and said with a smile, “I heard there are two very important people on that ship. If I’m the one who brings them out, I could earn a second-class medal.” She leaned closer, half teasing, half coaxing. “Help me out this one time. Do that, and I’ll call you Daddy for the rest of my life.” Adrian raised a brow and let out a laugh. “You’d better mean it. Because I’m taking you up on that.” Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he ordered the rescue boat to turn around. I froze, then shouted after him, “Adrian, Mom and Dad are still trapped in there. Are you seriously leaving them to die?” He shoved me aside, his expression turning cold with impatience. “Claire, think about what matters most. Your parents can swim and hold on a little longer until another team gets there. But if Vanessa misses this chance, she may never get another shot at that medal.” My blood ran cold. Yes, my parents could swim. But the people trapped inside that vessel were not my parents. They were his. And they were the two “important people” Vanessa had been talking about all along.

Four days after my death, my four-year-old daughter finally sensed that something was terribly wrong. The fridge door slammed into her forehead when she tried to get a snack. Normally, I would've been there in a heartbeat—arms open, kisses ready, whispering, "You're okay, sweetheart, Mommy's here." But this time, I just lay on the bed, cold and still.​ She didn't understand. She thought the sweet treat would make me respond. So she held the final piece of chocolate up to my mouth. "Here, Mommy. Have some chocolate..." But I didn't even blink. She climbed into my arms, clutching my clothes tightly. "Mommy... Mommy, wake up..." She waited for me to stroke her hair, to tell her that everything was going to be fine. There was only silence.​ Completely lost and scared, she found my phone. "Daddy, why is Mommy still sleeping?" she asked, her voice filled with desperation.​ In response, Oliver sent a photo of himself having Christmas Eve dinner with his childhood sweetheart. His voice was icy cold when he replied, "She's just sleeping, not dead. It's Christmas Eve, and I'm busy. Tell her to stop playing games and come apologize when she's done sulking." Then he hung up.​ But when the truth finally hit Oliver—when the coroner's report came, when the police knocked on his door right in the middle of his laughter, when he realized I'd been lying dead for four days while he toasted—he broke.