pure taboo homeless

What will you do if you will live with the five handsome, hot, famous, and not-so-ordinary gorgeous men in a big mansion? Would it be lucky or bad if you will live with them? Five men with different personalities, what if some of them fall in love with you? How will you handle it? And what if, you didn't guard your heart and you fall in love with one of them? What if that love is forbidden because you fall in a difficult man and a real Prince, who lived in a real palace. would you fight or would you escape? This is the story of a woman name Azaleah Liem Mcphee, whose life will turn upside down together with the five knights. Will she have her first broken heart and pure pain in one of the Knights? Will she be able to have the guts to fight what is forbidden? Will she get her happily ever after with one of this Prince?

"Huh? Innocent and pure male god?" Albrey Hamilton's cold thin lips brushed Oakley's cheeks gently, his hand gripping the person's pale and smooth chin. "Very funny, isn't it?" Albrey Hamilton's hand ruffled Oakley’s hair, tousling it. "Aren't you just a plaything?" Albrey Hamilton sneered coldly and domineeringly captured the lips of the person beneath him. Immediately, Albrey pinned down the person's waist and thrust into the person fiercely creating a loud papapa noise that resounded in the low-key luxurious room Oakley's eyes and face reddened which wasn't known if it was due to pleasure, fury or embarrassment. Oakley's eyes pooled with tears that slipped past his cheeks rapidly yet he only bit his lower lip, a stubborn and defying expression on his face. He refused to part his lips, speak or acknowledge the cruel words of the person hovering over him. "Naive." Albrey's thin lips curved in a cynical disparage. "How do you think your fans will react when they discover their pure idol sold his body to me to become famous?" Albrey sneered coldly, his eyes darkening with coldness at Oakley's silence. Oakley stiffened after hearing the ridiculing word that emitted from Albrey's lips.

By the second year of my marriage to Quentin Lambert, we had a son. Fast forward five years, and I was basically a human cookbook, agonizing over every pinch of salt like it was rocket science. One night, Quentin tossed out, "Too much salt." And our son? He didn't even blink—he dumped the whole pot down the drain right in front of me. That's when it hit me—pure exhaustion, like a tidal wave. I told Quentin I wanted a divorce. He didn't even bother looking up. "Is that really necessary?" I nodded, my voice flat. "It is."