Nietzsche Portrait Novels & Stories

Cynthia De'Lacruz grew up with a portrait of her father's visage embedded in her heart; from the day her father was murdered, she vowed to reclaim her father's vengeance. What happened when one of the world's wealthiest bankers, Santos Torialba, freezes Cynthia De'Lacruz's bank account. Will Cynthia De'Lacruz bring down his entire bank, as she promised? Will Santos Torialba ruin her life as he retorted? Unknowingly, hatred transforms into love.

I finally managed to score a dream tutoring gig that paid an incredible $500 an hour. Nevertheless, looking at the family portrait sitting in my employer’s house, I saw my own supposedly honest, simple mother. In the photograph, she was leaning affectionately against a wealthy, tailor-suited sugar daddy, who was holding a 5 or 6-year-old boy in his arms. Her smile was even warmer and more tender than the day she sent me off to college. My mind went entirely blank. I whipped out my phone, ready to start a video call with my dad to catch her in the act. Suddenly, a rough hand firmly clamped down on mine. It was my mom. She dragged me into a blind spot out of sight, lowering her voice to a desperate plea. "Sweetheart, please don't tell your dad! His dialysis treatments can't be interrupted! This man is loaded, and he's more than willing to give me cash. I'm just bleeding him dry to pay for your tuition and keep your dad alive!" The corner of my mouth twitched into a bitter smirk as I set the family portrait right back where it belonged. "Mom, do you actually believe your own lies?" Her face turned deathly pale in an instant. I didn't press her any further, though. Instead, I reached out and thoughtfully wiped a speck of dust off the glass frame. "Fine. Make sure you do a good job then."

it," she says calmly. "Okay then," I take off out of the living room. "I'll take a shower Stella is an eighteen-year-old senior high school student known to be an independent young lady. She lives a rather financially unstable life and her mother is suffering long-term trauma, so she has to work after classes and on the weekends. On her way home on an a Friday afternoon, a car almost hits her and gets into a fight with the driver. A day after it, an anonymous calls her to do a portrait of a cient in person. Little does she know that it is the guy that has almost hit her on the road. Also, she knows nothing about him — that he is the son of the billionaire that helps her get a scholarship. That is when the course of her life dramatically changes.

My boyfriend is a forensic artist. He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood. Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains. After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face. When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

On the day of Zephyr’s art exhibition, I saw people stand around a portrait of myself. My cheeks were flushed, and I was bare. My posture was the one we used in bed last week for fun. Zephyr even got the mole on my chest right. As people stared at me mockingly, I demanded, “Why did you do this to me?” He was unbothered. “It’s not as if I asked you to sleep with someone else.” But he did let people see how I looked when I was having an intimate moment with my own boyfriend! “It’s just a painting. Why are you being so petty?” I was stunned by the mockery in Zephyr’s gaze. Then, I called my assistant. “I’m attending the international art festival as the organizer.”

For five years, I paved the way for my wife, Samantha Cole. After helping her resolve the company's troubles one last time, I called her and asked, "Darling, I'm so cold. Can you come home and hug me?" On the other end of the phone, Samantha had only just pulled herself away from a moment of intimacy with her young lover, Oliver White. When she finally answered, her voice was impatient. "Joshua Davidson, will it kill you to stop being so dramatic?" Indeed, it would. I slammed the phone down and then died on our bed. Later, Samantha—the woman who had kept me trapped in that lonely house for five years—held my portrait in her arms and finally learned what regret felt like.

In Orwell, West Ridge is the place everyone feared of. It was said to be a huge manor in the middle of the forest that was long abandoned. Anyone who goes there either dies inside the residence or meet an accident on their way out of the forest. Nadia Hughes is new to Orwell and didn’t know the stories. When she went for a walk in a forest, she found West Ridge and went inside the manor. There she found an ancient portrait of a woman who looks exactly like her. It opened another world for her and she soon realized that she transmigrated to the body of the woman in the portrait. But what’s more shocking is that she became a vampire, and there are two men who claims to be her lovers who are actually a vampire and a werewolf! And it even got more complicated when a mysterious man in black cloak suddenly became the subject of her darkest fantasies…

In the picturesque coastal town of Altea, Spain, lives Estrella Marquez, a young woman whose heart beats to the rhythm of adventure. Working in her family's seafood restaurant, she dreams of a world beyond the familiar shores. One fateful day, amidst the vibrant melodies of a local music festival, Estrella's path crosses with Samir Benali, a charismatic French Moroccan musician. Despite their differing backgrounds, a connection sparks, leading them on a journey that transcends borders and challenges tradition. Against all odds, they discover that love, like music, knows no boundaries. With echoes of Spanish and Moroccan culture, the novel paints a vivid portrait of love's resilience and the transformative power of shared dreams. Waves of Wanderlust: The Altea Odyssey is a journey filled with the intoxicating notes of love, the clash of cultures, and the harmonious melody of two souls finding their way in a world that often demands conformity.

I was engaged to Silas, Don of the Vance Famiglia, yet in the annual family portrait, I was shoved into the back corner. Standing right beside him was Camilla, his most trusted Capo. He sighed impatiently. "We have plenty of photos together, Scarlett. Missing one won't kill you. You're the future Donna. Stop being so petty." I swallowed my pride and gave up my spot. But my compromise bought me nothing. The necklace meant for me ended up around Camilla's neck. His plus-one to galas became Camilla. His excuse was always the same: "She's a vital part of the syndicate. You shouldn't compete with her." So, I gave him exactly what he wanted. I stopped being petty. I shredded the wedding planner I had poured my heart into, trashed our photos, and left New York for good. And suddenly, the cold, calculating Don was tearing the city apart looking for me.

He laid me on the sheets, climbed over me, caged me with his arms. "Last chance to run," he said, voice low. "I need the money," I whispered, feeling so tiny in his arms."You're soaking," he muttered. "Virgin or not, your pussy wants this. "I moaned, looking away, couldn’t help it, "Eyes on me, sweetheart," he pushed his tip in slowly. "Fuck," he groaned. "So tight." He fucked me like he was claiming something. "Come for me," he whispered in my ears, moving faster. "Damien," I cried out his name as I came. "That's it," he growled. After a long minute he pulled out slowly. "One night," he said again, almost like a reminder... Weeks later, I walked through the quiet hall of my school. A massive portrait stared back at me, Damien Blackwood the Principal Benefactor and Owner of Columbia University. Same man who’d just taken my virginity for money. My stomach dropped. "Oh fuck... what have I done?"