Goodbyes Juice Wrld Lyrics Novels & Stories

Madison Rose Arellano agreed to marry a man named Marco Gavino Moretti in order to save her family's business. She had never met or even faced this man in person. All she knew about him were the negative views and opinions of other people. While she was afraid to marry someone she didn't know would treat her well, she was more afraid of what her father might do if she didn't follow his wishes. But how can she be a good wife to the person she married when, on the very first night, after their passionate union, he leaves her. No goodbyes, no words left behind. When she wake up... he's gone.

*Story on hold* Sarah attended a ball, her parents had forced to go to the yearly pack’s masked gala. She got drunk and hooked up with the pack’s Alpha. She got pregnant and her father sent her out of his house because she wasn’t going to say who impregnated her. She had her reasons for keeping it from her dad. On getting to the Alpha’s house, she met him pounding hard into Valerie, the pack’s bully. He sensed her presence, and rejected her as his mate on the spot…

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“Are you the Alpha’s wife? The one he refused to make the luna of our pack?” “Stop that Ava, you are being mean to my sister-in-law.” She said to her friend but she wasn’t truly scolding her, they were all mocking me. She then faced me, “I will ask my brother to let you come to more of these events instead of being cooped up in his office with paperwork so the pack members know what you look like so they don’t treat you this way in the future,” She chuckled. ******* Bella's life changed from being the only daughter of a merchant to the wife of an Alpha who refuse to mark or coronate her as his Luna because she was a full blooded omega. One day he took in a mistress with the excuse that he wanted to have full-blooded Alpha pups, setting her as an object of ridicule in their pack.

When I was seven years old, a handsome man Mom brought home gave me a box of mangoes. That day, Dad watched me happily eating the mangoes as he signed his name on the divorce agreement. Then, he jumped to his death. From that day on, mangoes became a lifelong nightmare for me. So, on our wedding day, I told my wife, Irene Johnson, "If you ever want a divorce, just give me a mango." She held me without saying a word. From that moment on, mangoes became forbidden for her as well. … On the fifth Christmas Eve after we got married, Irene's childhood sweetheart, Steven Carter, placed a mango on her desk. That same day, she announced that she was cutting ties with him and fired him from the company. That day, I felt that she was the woman destined for me. ... Six months later, I return from overseas after closing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration dinner, Irene hands me a drink. After I drink half of it, Steven, the man who was kicked out of the company, stands behind me and grins. "Is the mango juice good?" he asks. I look at Irene in disbelief, but she is holding back a laugh. "Don't be mad. Steve insisted I play a joke on you. I didn't give you a mango, just a bottle of its juice. "But I think Steve is right. There's something wrong with you for not eating mangoes. Look at how much you enjoyed it just now!" she says. I keep a cold expression, raise my hand, and splash the remaining mango juice onto her face. Then, I turn and walk away. Some things are never a joke. Mangoes aren't, and neither is my decision to divorce.

During the New Year's Eve dinner, my pineapple juice was secretly swapped for alcohol. But I had taken cephalosporin earlier on. The doctors used a lot of effort to save me, but my wife, Jennifer Robinson, shielded the person who was responsible behind her. "This matter ends here. Be generous and forgive him. He didn't do it on purpose." I didn't plan on letting this man off so easily. He had an ambiguous relationship with my wife. But Jennifer interrupted me with a frown. "That's enough! He's only a fresh graduate. What's the point of making a fuss? Do you have to ruin the rest of his life to feel satisfied?" I looked at how my wife was protecting him and my heart sank. "Then you two can spend the rest of your lives together."

At our college reunion, I let slip about the three great catches I was dating online. One ran a successful law firm, the other was a researcher at a leading institute, while another was an up-and-coming tech mogul on the Forbes list. My so-called best friend, Cassie Young, paused halfway through her plate of ribs. Giving me the side glance, she voiced her sarcasm. “I feel sorry for your future husband. Of all the women he could have, he had to marry someone with a rich history.” I took a sip of my juice and responded, “Honestly, I’m pretty stressed about the whole thing. They are all amazing. I can’t decide between them. Cassie, does anyone tickle your fancy? You can have one.” As her cutlery clattered on the table, Cassie widened her eyes. “A-Are you for real?”

While cleaning Desmond Maynard's house, I accidentally knocked over his mother's keepsake. He once told me it was his most precious possession. But when I picked it up, hundreds of love letters spilled out. There were beautiful poems, passionate lyrics, and heartfelt confessions. He had written one letter a week without stopping. On the back of each one wrote a line: To My Love, Bunny. The nickname rang a bell. It was his junior in college. Things started to make sense. I slaved away for 13 years, running his household and caring for his family, but Desmond never even said he liked me. That was because he already had someone he liked. I sorted the letters by date, put them back, and grabbed my phone to make a call. "Mom, I'm in for the marriage proposal."

The day I married Vincent Sorrentino, Lena, the Sorrentino family’s adopted daughter, threatened to jump off the steeple of the family church. Vincent left me standing at the altar in my custom wedding gown, no hesitation, just bolted after her. With every New York crime boss, politician, and oligarch staring at me, I looked out at the crowd and said loud and clear: “Any man who walks up here right now and says ‘I do’? I’ll marry you.” Three years later, Vincent was back into the Sorrentino family’s Long Island estate, Lena on his arm. I was sitting on the leather couch in the main living room, watching my favorate TV show. Vincent’s eyes locked on my huge pregnant belly, his jaw tight, growling through his teeth: “Whose bastard is in there?” I took a sip of orange juice, curled my lip into a smile, and said: “It's a Sorrentino baby, of course.”

I lost a game during the company’s birthday party for me. Lloyd Lane, my girlfriend’s assistant, stated my punishment while smiling. He said, “Woo the general manager of Glazed Light, and you’ll only count as having cleared the punishment after sleeping with her.” Everyone sucked in a sharp breath, as if they had rehearsed it. I said nothing and cast a glance at Naomi York, my girlfriend. Nonchalantly, she sipped at her fruit juice and said coolly, “Lloyd is just kidding. Don’t take it too seriously.” In order to ease the tension, everyone else said, “Lloyd, don’t make things hard for Claude. If you like Miss Clark so much, go and woo her yourself.” In the next second, Naomi had smashed her wine glass on the head of the person who spoke. Suddenly, I laughed. “Sure.”