Ibrahim Moon
1 Published Story
Ibrahim Moon's Book and Story
Alone On An Island With Seven Gorgeous Women
Modern My best comrade-in-arms died in that nightmare of a battle, and I was discharged from the army. I summoned up the courage to call my girlfriend and tell her of my retirement, but she had even bigger news for me. She was marrying my close friend. I had lost my comrade, my girlfriend, and my friend. I could barely move my limbs and get on the plane that would carry me and the urn that contained the ashes of my comrade. To make matters worse, the woman sitting next to me on the plane started berating me. I was drowning in helplessness and anger. Why did fate keep playing these cruel jokes on me?
The plane started to act strangely and then broke down. We went spiraling and crashed into the sea. Seven women and I were the only survivors, and we managed to reach a nearby desert island. These were my companions on this isolated island. Eliza, an attractive Hollywood actress. Rosie, a spunky young lady from a wealthy family. Karin, a mature and elegant married woman. Tracey, a mellow stewardess. Hazel, a wise translator. Anya, a cold and distant intern. And Stella, a righteous and brave policewoman. Some might be driven to despair on this wild and unforgiving island, but I found new strength, responsibility, and bravery within myself. I swore that I, Marlon Becker, would ensure the survival of these beautiful ladies. You might like
The Ex-Fiancé You Can't Afford To Lose
Madel Cerda I stood in the ballroom with a diamond ring in my pocket, waiting to be crowned King of the empire I had built from the ground up.
Instead, the woman I loved walked to the microphone and signed my death warrant with a smile.
Serena didn't announce our engagement.
She announced that Luca Moretti—an incompetent associate I'd almost fired three times—was the new Underboss and her partner in life.
Then, she kissed him. Deep and possessive, right in front of the entire Commission.
My heart didn't break; it simply stopped.
Luca smirked at me, wearing a suit that was too tight, while Serena looked at me with cold, dead eyes.
"Dante is the old guard," she told the crowd, dismissing me like a waiter. "We are moving in a new direction."
They stripped me of my title. They humiliated me on live television. They thought they had taken my crown.
But they forgot one crucial detail.
I was the Architect.
I had built the encrypted logistics system that kept the FBI in the dark. A system that required my specific biometric code every morning to function.
I didn't make a scene. I didn't scream. I simply placed the ring on a waiter's tray and walked out into the night.
Forty-eight hours later, the Vitiello empire was in a freefall. The accounts were frozen. The shipments were flagged.
My phone buzzed. It was Serena.
"Dante," she panicked, her voice trembling. "Fix it. Now."
I took a sip of my espresso and smiled at the chaos on the news.
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Serena. You fired the only pilot who knows how to fly the plane." 
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