It is said that Zhang Nan is a person who doesn't understand romance and lacks charm, but nobody knows that he has already given his entire world to Yao Yao...
It is said that Zhang Nan is a person who doesn't understand romance and lacks charm, but nobody knows that he has already given his entire world to Yao Yao...
My husband, Lorenzo Bradley, was a firefighter. He was the kind of man who always showed up when people needed him most, rescuing those trapped in peril and giving them a second chance at life. To many, he was a hero. But somewhere along the way, he stopped being "my" hero.
I still remember the first time I met Lorenzo-it was a blind date.
After turning 25, I noticed a shift in the questions my relatives asked during family gatherings. The casual "What do you do for work?" gradually turned into "When are you getting a boyfriend?"
In recent years, my parents took it to the next level. Armed with my photo and personal details, they secretly signed me up on a bunch of matchmaking websites. Clueless about their antics, I was bombarded with dating invites from strangers online and spent a good week thinking I'd been targeted by scammers.
Finally, unable to endure my parents' relentless pressure any longer, I caved and agreed to one of their arranged blind dates.
That day, it rained. We were set to meet at a cozy coffee shop. I arrived early and took a seat by the window, watching the hurried passersby through the rain-streaked glass.
A moment later, I noticed an elderly couple walking past. The man held an umbrella in one hand and clutched his partner's hand tightly with the other. They strolled leisurely through the rain, his shoulder half-drenched while hers stayed dry. He didn't seem to care about himself, his eyes glowing softly as he looked at her with quiet devotion.
The sound of raindrops pattering against their umbrella felt less like a cold drizzle and more like a quiet symphony, creating a moment that was uniquely theirs.
I couldn't help but wonder, "Where is my moment of magic?"
Just then, the café door swung open, and a tall figure stepped in. He wore a crisp white shirt and a pair of casual jeans. His short haircut framed clean, sharp features, giving him a fresh, approachable appearance.
This was Lorenzo, my date for the day.
He scanned the room briefly before making his way toward me. We'd exchanged photos beforehand, so it wasn't hard for him to pick me out.
Though I had only agreed to the date to placate my parents, I couldn't deny a touch of nervousness-it was my first blind date, after all.
But to my surprise, Lorenzo seemed even more nervous than I was. He barely made eye contact throughout, fidgeting with his coffee cup as if it were a lifeline. In his attempt to hide his nerves, he drank cup after cup, prompting the waiter to refill his coffee three times.
I had to stifle my laughter the entire time. When we finally said goodbye, his hurried steps as he left made it look like he was fleeing the scene. Watching his retreating figure, I couldn't hold back my laughter any longer. This guy's probably not sleeping tonight, I thought.
I was right. Because that night, at 2 a.m., I received a text from him, "I can't sleep."
I stared at the message, picturing his clean-cut silhouette in my mind. A grin spread across my face as I burrowed deeper into my blanket. What I didn't tell him was that, even without drinking any coffee, I couldn't sleep that night either.
I didn't expect our second encounter to come so soon.
On my way home from work one evening, I passed a residential building surrounded by a crowd. Two bright red fire trucks were parked at the entrance, their lights flashing. Curious, I joined the onlookers to see what was happening.
It turned out that there had been a fire in one of the apartments. The firefighters had already rescued the residents, but the flames were spreading, and there was a gas cylinder inside the apartment.
For safety reasons, the firefighters had evacuated all the residents from the building. I stood at a distance, watching as a firefighter emerged from the smoke and flames, carrying the gas cylinder on his back.
Behind him, the inferno raged on, licking at his gear like a venomous serpent intent on consuming him. Yet, he didn't stop. Step by step, he ran to an open, safe area far from the crowd before finally dropping the cylinder.
He then dropped to the ground and pressed his body flat against the pavement, extinguishing the flames on his back. I couldn't even imagine the pain he must have felt.
Two other firefighters rushed over with extinguishers and unleashed a torrent of foam on the gas cylinder, working frantically to ensure it wouldn't explode.
While most of the crowd focused on the thick smoke and fire spewing from the upper floors, my eyes stayed glued to the figure who had risked everything to carry the gas cylinder out.
Although his face was hidden beneath his helmet, something about his silhouette felt eerily familiar.
His teammates helped him to his feet, and at last, he removed the heavy protective helmet he had been wearing. His face was flushed and slick with sweat, and he bent over, gasping for air. The moment I saw his face, my eyes widened in shock-it was Lorenzo!
That night, every time I closed my eyes, I saw Lorenzo racing out of the fire with that gas cylinder on his shoulder. The image haunted me, and I couldn't stop imagining the worst-What if the cylinder had exploded?
For the first time, I realized I couldn't sleep-not because of fear, but because of worry for Lorenzo. At the time, I didn't fully understand what those feelings meant.
Over time, Lorenzo and I became closer. We got to know each other better, but our relationship remained strictly platonic-until that day when everything changed.
That day, the sky I saw was a brilliant, cloudless blue. But the sky Lorenzo faced was a burning red, thick with smoke and ash.
It was a weekend, and I had turned on the TV out of boredom. A breaking news report flashed across the screen, "A major fire has broken out at a large gasification plant in Cloudhaven's outskirts due to outdated machinery overheating. First responders are on the scene."
I immediately reached for my phone and dialed Lorenzo's number. It rang endlessly with no answer. I knew then-he must have been called to the scene.
On TV, the footage showed the inferno raging uncontrollably, punctuated by explosions from the gas tanks. Everyone else was retreating, but the firefighters in their bright orange gear were charging forward, armed with heavy hoses.
Clutching my phone, I felt a growing sense of dread. Was he there? Was he among them?
The entire day, I couldn't focus on anything else. I anxiously followed every update on the fire, each report making me more uneasy.
A gasification plant fire was far more dangerous than a residential fire. The plant was full of highly flammable and explosive materials, and every moment spent fighting the blaze carried the risk of catastrophic explosions. For the firefighters, it was a battle waged at the cost of their lives.
Time seemed to crawl unbearably slowly. Every minute stretched endlessly, my heart pounding with worry. By late afternoon, I still hadn't heard from Lorenzo.
In that moment, my heart was in turmoil. I couldn't calm myself or stop thinking about Lorenzo being at the gasification plant fire. All I could do was repeat to myself over and over in an attempt to find solace. "It's fine. It's fine. Lorenzo will be okay."
At 8:26 p.m., my phone finally rang. It was Lorenzo.
Years ago, Cathy's husband threw himself into danger to save her. Then fate cut the cord-after the accident, he remembered everyone but the woman he'd once died for. On their third anniversary, he betrayed her, and that night she signed the divorce. Freed, she dusted off her hidden brilliance: miracle healer, racing legend, elite hacker, visionary designer. When his memories roared back, regret did, too. He stormed her wedding, pleading, "Cathy, please, one more chance!" But a certain trillionaire held her close and huffed, "Honey, someone's asking for trouble."
Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.
I received a pornographic video. "Do you like this?" The man speaking in the video is my husband, Mark, whom I haven't seen for several months. He is naked, his shirt and pants scattered on the ground, thrusting forcefully on a woman whose face I can't see, her plump and round breasts bouncing vigorously. I can clearly hear the slapping sounds in the video, mixed with lustful moans and grunts. "Yes, yes, fuck me hard, baby," the woman screams ecstatically in response. "You naughty girl!" Mark stands up and flips her over, slapping her buttocks as he speaks. "Stick your ass up!" The woman giggles, turns around, sways her buttocks, and kneels on the bed. I feel like someone has poured a bucket of ice water on my head. It's bad enough that my husband is having an affair, but what's worse is that the other woman is my own sister, Bella. ************************************************************************************************************************ "I want to get a divorce, Mark," I repeated myself in case he didn't hear me the first time-even though I knew he'd heard me clearly. He stared at me with a frown before answering coldly, "It's not up to you! I'm very busy, don't waste my time with such boring topics, or try to attract my attention!" The last thing I was going to do was argue or bicker with him. "I will have the lawyer send you the divorce agreement," was all I said, as calmly as I could muster. He didn't even say another word after that and just went through the door he'd been standing in front of, slamming it harshly behind him. My eyes lingered on the knob of the door a bit absentmindedly before I pulled the wedding ring off my finger and placed it on the table. I grabbed my suitcase, which I'd already had my things packed in and headed out of the house.
Rumors said that Lucas married an unattractive woman with no background. In the three years they were together, he remained cold and distant to Belinda, who endured in silence. Her love for him forced her to sacrifice her self-worth and her dreams. When Lucas' true love reappeared, Belinda realized that their marriage was a sham from the start, a ploy to save another woman's life. She signed the divorce papers and left. Three years later, Belinda returned as a surgical prodigy and a maestro of the piano. Lost in regret, Lucas chased her in the rain and held her tightly. "You are mine, Belinda."
Rejected by her mate, who had been her long-time crush, Jasmine felt utterly humiliated. Seeking solace, she headed to a party to drown her sorrows. But things took a turn for the worse when her friends issued a cruel dare: kiss a stranger or beg her mate for forgiveness. With no other choice, Jasmine approached a stranger and kissed him, thinking that would be the end of it. However, the stranger unexpectedly wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, "You're mine!" He growled, his words sending shivers down her spine. And then, he offered her a solution that would change everything...
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