Ans18

Twenty-two-year-old Tricia Volkanov's life doesn't belong to her. As the first daughter of Mathias Volkanov, head of the Volkanov Mafia, she's more of a pawn in her father's ruthless game of chess, than his beloved daughter.  When her father picks a noble man for her to get married to, Tricia is sad. She feels nothing for Antonio Dombruso, and rebelliously escapes the Volkanov mansion to experience a careless night where she encounters the alluring, beautiful man named Gideon Scarfoni, whom she hands over her virginity to on a platter. When she disappears the next day right before Gideon wakes up, Tricia is eager to put that one, sinful, passionate night behind her and get married to Antonio, but fate has other plans. The stranger's baby is growing in her belly, and it turns out he lied to her from the start. Because his name is not Gideon Scarfoni at all, but Connor Mennetti, and he's a formidable Mafia kingpin, and billionaire whom her father wants dead. THIS IS A FOUR-BOOK SERIES: BOOK 1: HIS BOOK 2: HIM BOOK 3: SHE BOOK 4: HER

I have always had an almost pathological sense of paranoia. Ever since I was a child, I was convinced that the people around me were out to get me. Back in elementary school, when everyone was lining up for their student ID photos, I flatly refused to have mine taken. I insisted that the district office was going to use my picture for identity theft. The situation escalated so badly that the principal had to personally sit me down and spend half an hour trying to convince me otherwise. Then, there was the fingerprint registration system in middle school. The school required every student to submit their fingerprints to access the campus buildings. I was so terrified that someone would steal my biometric data that I literally rubbed the skin off all ten fingertips to make them unreadable. Even when my fingers were bleeding, I kept shouting that they were trying to steal my identity. I would rather climb over the school fence every day than cooperate. Every relative I had called me crazy. My parents were so fed up that they seriously considered having me admitted to a psychiatric hospital. I did not care. I guarded my privacy with obsessive determination, gritting my teeth and holding my ground all the way up to the eve of the final exams. Then came the day before the exam. That afternoon, our homeroom teacher, Tracy Collins, walked into the classroom carrying a metal lockbox. A warm, motherly smile spread across her face as she set it down on the desk. "Everyone," she said, "to make sure nobody forgets their documents tomorrow, I'd like you to hand over your IDs and exam admission slips for safekeeping tonight." She patted the lockbox reassuringly. "Tomorrow morning, I'll personally return them to each of you outside the testing center. This way, there's absolutely nothing that can go wrong." The class was deeply moved by her thoughtfulness. Some students even looked close to tears as they eagerly pulled out their documents and lined up to hand them over. Everyone except me. My hand clamped down over my pocket so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Cold sweat poured down my back. A sharp alarm bell was ringing in my head. Trying not to attract attention, I fished out a spare flip phone from my bag, ducked beneath my desk, and dialed emergency services. As soon as the call connected, I lowered my voice and spoke into the receiver. "Hello. I'd like to report a crime. My name is Charles. "I believe a teacher at St. Alden High is working with an identity-fraud ring and is planning a large-scale operation tonight involving examination fraud and identity theft."

After I secured early admission to one of the country's most prestigious universities, my old high school invited me back to sit for the State Scholars Exam and compete for the top statewide score. But just ten minutes into the math paper, the proctor out of nowhere accused me of cheating. "Everyone else starts with the multiple-choice section. You went straight for the proofs. Were you planning to copy someone else's answers later?" Before I could explain a single word, he dragged me into the boys' restroom. Not only was I humiliated and forced to strip, I also had to let him inspect me over and over again to confirm that I had no cheating devices on my body. After I returned to the exam room, I decided it was better not to cause more trouble, so I started from the multiple-choice section like everyone else. But less than five minutes after I sat down, he yanked me up again. "This is even more fake. You didn't even take time to read or think through the questions before writing down the options. If that isn't cheating, what is?" "I suspect you knew the answers in advance. I'm reporting this to the exam board right now and having your exam qualification revoked!"

Sometimes a family member can be a blessing. Well, at times, he or she can be a curse. Annabelle Siromani moved to America with her parents when she was sixteen years old. They moved to the USA because of the constant problems her maternal aunt gave her family due to her obsession with Anna's father. She had to move to a new place with her family, away from her birth place, Pakistan. They had to get away from her deranged aunt that left no stone unturned to ruin their lives. Follow Anna in her story as she finds out how difficult it is to adjust in a new place.

𝙰𝚌𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛. 𝚂𝚒𝚡𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚕𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚎𝚌 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙰𝚗𝚗𝚎 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝, 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚐𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕. 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙾𝚛𝚎𝚗. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠.

"The way you behave...behave around me, with me it's highly inappropriate. I don't want you think I'll be your little assistant that you fuck on top of your desk or in the break room, if that's your intention I think it's best if you fire me or atleast send me back to work for Mr Caine," I told him after a couple seconds of silence I turned to face him to be greeted with a hard look on his face."Amelia....I'm sorry if you thought that was my intention, I can see where you would get that idea.. and I apologize for my lack of communication, in what I want,""So what do you want?" I asked my voice sounding strange I cleared my throat, he reached forward taking my ice-cream placing it on the bench his hand moving to my chin making sure I held eye contact."You..I want you Amelia," he answered his voice soft but held a level of firmness. Before another thought can pass through my mind, his lips are on mine