Bride (Bride, #1)
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Read between October 6 - October 8, 2025
2%
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A glass of tap water the morning of—anything to avoid a “How do you do?” in front of the officiant.
Caroline
Haa that’s funny
4%
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He cages me, pins me, and stares down at me like he forgot where he is and I’m something to be consumed. Like I’m prey.
5%
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A guttural sound rises from someplace low in his chest, making my knees weak. Then he opens his mouth and I know that he’s going to tear me to pieces, he’s going to maul me, he’s going to devour me—
5%
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“You,” he says, voice deep, almost too low to hear. “How the fuck do you smell like this?”
13%
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“You can call me Misery.” He’s quiet for a beat. “Yeah. I probably should.”
21%
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“Yes, Lowe. Spank me and take away my TV privileges.”
29%
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“She’s my—” Lowe’s hand jerks up to clutch Max’s jaw. “Apologize to my wife.”
Caroline
I think he was gonna say my mate
31%
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“What the fuck are you doing, wife?”
31%
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“Why did my bed smell like you slept in it?”
34%
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at times, there are decisions that feel right, deep in the marrow of my bones.” He wets his lips. “You are one of them.”
36%
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Some nights, when he’s walking past her door, he has to whisper to himself: “Keep going.”
46%
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“Honey,” I ask, lowering my sunglasses to the tip of my nose, “are we rich?”
47%
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Lowe. “I don’t need to speed-read Architecture for Dummies and pretend I can tell Gothic and art deco apart?” He turns to me, stone-faced. “You’re joking.” “Please look ahead.” “You can, right? You are able to tell apart—” “Husband, darling, deep inside you know the answer to that, and please look at the road when you’re landing a plane.”
49%
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“My smell. Do I smell like…?” “Mine.” It’s a rumble in his throat. “You smell like you’re mine, Misery.”
51%
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“You think, but you don’t know. You don’t know anything about what it’s like to find your other half,” he continues, voice low and sharp. “I would take anything she chose to give me—the tiniest fraction or her entire world. I would take her for a single night knowing that I’ll lose her by morning, and I would hold on to her and never let go. I would take her healthy, or sick, or tired, or angry, or strong, and it would be my fucking privilege. I would take her problems, her gifts, her moods, her passions, her jokes, her body—I would take every last thing, if she chose to give it to me.”
65%
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“Do you have no fucking fear?” “No.” “I have enough for both of us, then.”
70%
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“Use me.”
70%
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“Of all the good things I’ve felt in my fucking life, you are the best.”