Are PNCT Hours The Same For All Novel Publishers?

After Pierce Emery and I got back together, I started "renting him out." Every time his old flame, Daphne Roach, called him away, I stopped crying and causing scenes like before. I charged by the hour instead. Ten grand an hour during the day. Twenty at night. Triple on holidays. Three months later, my account was up almost two million dollars. Pierce had promised to help me pick a dress for a banquet, but Daphne called him crying, saying she'd sliced her hand while cooking. I didn't even look up. I just held out my phone with the payment screen open. One night, I came down with a brutal fever. While Pierce was driving me to the hospital, his phone rang again. Daphne. He stared at the screen for a long second before answering. Her voice came through shaky and tearful. "Pierce, the thunder's so loud. I can't sleep. Can you come stay with me?" I quietly pulled out an umbrella and told him to let me out at the next intersection. He looked at me like he wanted to explain something, but I just smiled. "Don't forget to transfer the money." The same thing happened again on the day our daughter went in for her routine checkup. Except this time, she was the one asking him for money.

The year my boyfriend is dead broke, I leave him. Later, he becomes a mafia boss and uses every means at his disposal to marry me. Everyone says that I am the first love he can never forget, the wife he cares about the most. However, he then starts bringing home a different woman every night, making me a laughingstock. Still, I don't cry or make a fuss. I quietly stay in my own room, never interrupting his affairs. Elton Carter is furious. He pins me beneath him, kisses me harshly, and growls, "Aren't you jealous?" He has no idea that I'm gravely ill. He could buy half the city with violence, threats, and money. He could buy my freedom, my marriage… and each night bring a different woman home, oblivious to the truth. Little does he know, I have just seven days left to live.

THIS IS THE ENGLISH VERSION OF NIGHT SHIFT, BOOK 1 & BOOK 2 Yhra is a janitress at the hospital, a hardworking breadwinner of her family, until one night. The first night shift of Yhra will change her whole life.

I've sculpted a character based on my boss, Jacob Carter, in my smutty novel. Jacob, who's a cold, distant, and stern man in reality, is reduced to a lovesick simp in my novel. Apparently, he's maddeningly in love with me there. But when I tender my resignation letter later on, Jacob rips it into shreds before cornering me. "Oh? Are you planning to leave now that you've finished writing that novel of yours? How dare you discard me as soon as you're done with me! What am I, a cheap escort?"

I'm down with a 104-degree fever, so I want to apply for sick leave. But my wife, Nadine Sullivan's assistant, Terrence Lowell, denies my leave and forces me to take on an overtime shift. "Ms. Sullivan has gone on a trip to a tropical island with her 18th lover. So, I'm the one calling the shots at the company for the time being. "You're not allowed to leave the company without my permission." Terrence makes my life difficult on purpose just so he can kiss up to Nadine. That's how he becomes her 19th lover. Unwilling to accept this fact, I call Nadine on the spot. But she says to me coldly, "Terrence's word is good as mine. It's just an overtime shift; what else can happen to you? You're so dramatic, Barry." Disappointment surges into my heart at that moment. "Let's get a divorce." Nadine just smiles mockingly. "Do you even have the guts to divorce me, Barry Thorpe? All you do is cause trouble nowadays! Don't forget that you still need me to pay for your mom's hospital bills every month!" As soon as the call is over, Terrence starts a poll in the company's group chat. "Barry has brought up divorce again. Do you think he'll go through with it or no?" Nadine quickly votes "no". But what she doesn't know is that I've already made all preparations to leave her for real.

I was just picking up my spoon when he told me our marriage registration would be delayed again. "Let's do it next time," Ethan said as he put down his cutlery. His tone was as casual as if he were commenting on the pleasant weather. I took a sip of my food, chewed slowly, and swallowed. "Okay." He glanced at me, picked up his fork, and then looked at me again. "You're not angry?" I continued eating, my voice entirely flat. "No, I'm not." Our wedding ceremony had been held six months ago, but this was the seventeenth time he had postponed getting our marriage certificate. He was used to doing this. And I was used to accepting it. I finished my meal bite by bite. He didn't touch his food again. When I stood up to clear the table, he caught my wrist. "Summer, next Monday. I'll definitely be free next week," Ethan promised. "We already had our wedding anyway, a few days won't make a difference. Don't worry, I won't break my promise this time." I looked down at his hand, then looked up at him with a faint smile. "Okay." Over the past six months, he had said "next week" nine times, "definitely" thirteen times, and "don't worry" sixteen times. Yet, we still hadn't registered our marriage. And next week, it wouldn't happen either. Because this time, I would be the one breaking the promise.