Danny Phantom Bitter Reunions

The second day after I was transferred back to Los Angeles, I ran into someone I used to know on a street corner. She stepped right in front of me, eyes going wide. “Mia? Mia Rossi? Why would you come back now? Dante's marrying Camille at the cathedral in a week.” Dante was my first love, and also the youngest heir to a mafia dynasty on this side of the Atlantic. He'd made me a promise once: that he'd make the entire Moretti family kneel and welcome me in. We had a deal: the day he officially took over as Don would be the day he married me. But his family had other plans. They arranged a match for him: Camille, a princess from one of Sicily's five great families. Pure bloodline, the genuine article. At first, Dante swore up and down she meant nothing to him. Less than nothing. Then I started noticing how he looked at her. Softer every time. Like he was falling. One night, riding home after a shift at the bar, Camille's car came out of nowhere and took me down. The gas tank caught, and half the block reeked of burning rubber and scorched metal. I was pinned under the wreckage, blood seeping from the back of my skull down my neck, warm at first, then cold. Dante was the first one there. He beat the ambulance. The first thing he did was walk past me. He crouched down, lifted Camille out of the passenger seat, and didn't look at me once, just dropped a few words over his shoulder: “I already called an ambulance. Hang tight. Camille's had too much to drink. I need to get her home.” That was the moment I was done with him. Completely, finally done. While he was gone, I discharged myself. I bought the farthest plane ticket I could find that same night and left without looking back. Five years passed. “Mia, you have no idea.” The woman grabbed my wrist, dropping her voice. “Dante spent years turning half of Europe upside down looking for you. You came back at the right time. He still keeps a seat for you every month on his birthday. Camille's too proud for a lot of things,

“Say you love me,” he growls. “I love you,” I gasp, clutching at him. “Again. Louder.” “I love you, Cole. I love you, I love you.” My husband smirks like he’s claimed a victory. His hand grips my jaw, forcing my mouth open, kissing me so deep I can barely breathe. Then his fingers are exploring, working me open, ruthless and skilled, dragging me up fast. My body arches, desperate, already trembling. “Beg me.” His voice is harsh, guttural. “Tell me what I need to hear. Tell me you’ll never leave me. Tell me you’ll always be mine.” “I’ll never leave you,” I sob. “I’ll always love you. Always yours.” *** Then I found out that I’m nothing more than a baby incubator for him. He needs bone marrow for his son with another woman, Jade. She’s my mentor. She’s the woman who held my newborn baby and said, I’m proud of you, you’re going to be an incredible designer and mother. I swear, somehow, I will make them pay.

After I suffer from a miscarriage, Jude Dixon, my psychiatrist husband, hypnotizes me and seals my memories so that he can take his depressed patient, Maddie Pittman, on a vacation. For the next three months, Jude and our son, Oliver Dixon, keep Maddie company as they travel around together. Once they are finally done with the vacation, Jude decides to unseal my memories. Once again, I become a mother and a wife. But now, I no longer deal with the household affairs, nor do I nag their ears off. At first, Jude and Oliver think that I'm just trying to attract their attention out of spite by playing hard to get. They don't really care about my change in behavior at all. That is, until they see my post on a forum. "Help! What should I do when my memories are back, but my feelings aren't? Heck, I can't even relate to the past me! Right now, I feel super nervous and awkward whenever I'm in the same room as my husband and son! What should I do? Please help me!"

By the fifth year since the return of the real heir, Danny, to the family, I had gotten used to the plain oatmeal on the table. The second I asked for a bigger portion or more protein, Danny would express his envy toward me, his eyes downcast. “Rhys sure enjoys such a hearty meal, unlike me. Growing up in an orphanage, I was hungry all the time. I wince at the sight of meat. I don’t deserve to eat.” My parents shed tears of heartache while accusing me of rubbing it in Danny’s face. Later, whenever I dressed up to go out, Danny would let out a wry smile. “Rhys is so put together. That’s so not me. I grew up in the countryside, feeding livestock. Even all the designer clothes in the world can’t hide the fact that I was a farm hand.” My fiancée, Kyra, would always be there to hold my hand. She said, “It’s not your fault, Rhys. Don’t put this on yourself.” On the day of our engagement, Danny stared at the ring on my finger, his face brooding. “You have occupied my place for twenty years. Your fiancée and the life of luxury were never meant to be yours. Don’t you ever wake up in the middle of the night, feeling the weight on your conscience?” All eyes were on me, their silent judgment cutting into me. With years of pent-up emotions breaking free, I pulled a punch. My parents smashed the cake onto my head. Kyra, on the other hand, took out a handkerchief to wipe away Danny’s tears. That very night, I left a formal writing to cut all legal and personal ties with them.

My husband's adopted sister invited me out to dinner, and while we were eating, disaster struck—a violent earthquake shook the ground beneath us. My husband, a firefighter, rushed to the scene as quickly as he could. But fate had a cruel plan for us. We were trapped beneath a massive boulder, unable to move, and the rescuers could only save one of us. He made his choice. He chose her—the adopted sister who had always been frail and sickly—over me, his wife, who was five months pregnant with his child. I begged him, pleaded with him to save me. But he turned his back on me. The boulder pressed harder, and I felt the sickening crack of my arm breaking. He didn't even flinch. "Alice has always been weak," he said coldly. "If I leave her here, she'll die." But when I died, he lost his mind.

"At school, I can't touch you. But outside of school, you are my future wife." Estefan said the words with a cold, firm, and intimidating emphasis. Kaluna, who does not believe in love, of course refuses when her Aunt Ola marries a young man who turns out to be her own homeroom teacher. For the sake of her late brother's inheritance, Ola even collaborates with Dewa, Kaluna's former lover who betrayed his own best friend. "No matter what happens, you have to come back to me!" Dewa insisted, not caring even if he had to use all the dirty means he had. Can Kaluna face her cold homeroom teacher Estefan, as well as Dewa's persistence in betraying her love? follow me @setia_am