Floral Patterns Mga Nobela at Kwento

As one of London's premier wedding planners, I have spent my career orchestrating "perfect moments" for others, yet I never seemed to find my own. The ballroom at Claridge's was bathed in an opulent glow for my best friend Stella's wedding. The bridal bouquet sailed over the crowd. It brushed a young woman's fingertips, bounced once, and landed squarely in my arms. In an instant, half of London's high society turned toward Ryan. "Proposal! Proposal!" the crowd chanted over the rhythmic clink of champagne flutes. "Ryan, a sign like that is rare. Looks like we should prepare for the next big party!" Ryan was nudged forward by the crowd. In his charcoal Savile Row suit, he still managed to look detached, as if the noise had nothing to do with him. As I held the flowers, the lingering scent of fresh roses filled the air. For one ridiculous second, I even wondered whether I should warn him not to crease his trousers if he knelt. But he only smiled. Then, with practised ease, he took the bouquet from my arms. Without the slightest hesitation, he turned and handed it to his assistant, Emily, who was standing nearby. "She touched it first," he said, ruffling my hair with the same flawless tenderness I had endured for eight years. "Be good, Claire. Let's wait for the right time." The attention followed the flowers as they moved away. I caught the flicker of triumph in Emily's eyes and quickly looked down, tracing the intricate patterns of the carpet while forcing a perfectly poised smile. Ryan lived by schedules and efficiency, yet he never understood one simple truth: some chances, once missed, don't come with a "next time". My own wedding is next Saturday. And he has been officially struck from the guest list.

“What are you doing?” I heave, my breath hitched in my throat as I watch him slowly unbuckling his belt. “What does it look like I'm doing?” He tosses his belt away and unzips his pants. “I'm taking what's mine.” I gasp loudly when my eyes meet his huge shaft and I clench the sheets, my body flushing warm. “But... you can't.” “I can and I will,” he counters, hovering above me and tracing patterns up my inner thigh until his fingers graze my slit. He lowers his face to mine, his breath hot against my skin. “You became mine the moment you signed the contract. I own you and every inch of your body. And I'll claim it all, starting now. Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me.” *** Rayne's wedding day turns to chaos when a pregnant woman storms in and reveals her fiancé, Henry is the father of her unborn child. Fed up with Henry's neverending betrayal, Rayne becomes vengeful and lets herself loose in the arms of a stranger—Liam Everhart, New York's most elusive billionaire hearthrob and her boss whom she's never met. When Henry finds out about her one night stand, he throws her out on the streets and cuts her off financially. Desperate, penniless and with her health on the line, Rayne is forced to accept Liam's unexpected offer—a contract marriage that will secure her financial future and give Liam an edge over his rival cousins for the control of the Everhart family empire. But Rayne soon realizes that Liam's proposal comes with a very steep price: her freedom, heart, soul and her peace of mind, all of which are threatened by the ruthless power struggle within the Everhart family.