Abigail Jones Great Pretender Novels & Stories

Hunter was going through the pages when his assistant started telling him, “Abigail is 22. Used to live with her stepmom and sister after her father’s demise. She was about to get married to her childhood sweetheart but he cheated on her and was found with her stepsister in a very … umm … indecent condition. The couple not only deceived her but also took away all the savings they did as a duo. Ms. Abigail leased an apartment in Dream Galaxy. Trusting her fiancé, she gave the sole ownership to him. He owns a bank account where she had been saving money for the wedding. But he is not willing to return her money. She used to design furniture pieces and earn money by selling them. Now she is so

I paused the video and leaned closer. It wasn’t just the posture. It was the tilt of her head when she processed a question. The brief narrowing of her eyes before answering. The way her jaw tightened when she was irritated but trying to hide it. My chest tightened slowly. “No,” I whispered. “That’s not possible.” I replayed it. Again. And again. By the fourth time, denial wasn’t an option anymore. Abigail hadn’t died like I thought, she just disguised as this woman. The realization sat heavy in my gut. If Abigail was alive and Georgina had her, then Alexander’s situation wasn’t just a setup. It was a trap designed to destroy everything he owned, everything he was, and then profit from the a

Abigail Rossie is a 50-year-old woman with a captivating appearance, though full of deception. Her long brunette hair cascades stiffly down to her shoulders, resembling an unseen brown crown. Her eyes, similar in color, sparkle dangerously, instilling fear in her enemies. Not just for her looks, but for the cunning of her mind. Behind the apparent luxury and grace, Abigail is a master of intrigue and real tactics. Her somewhat serene face, adorned with hidden wrinkles, reveals signs of age and experience.

The relief was a quick, dizzying head rush, instantly replaced by sheer fury at his composure. He knows. He absolutely knows. No human being could see that resemblance—the eyes, the jaw, the intense way Amelia stares—and remain neutral. This is not ignorance; this is an act of supreme corporate control. He is choosing to play the game, to pretend he is an innocent customer, so he can stay. He is trying to appeal to my kindness, my supposed empathy for his 'loss,' while I hold the child he nearly destroyed in my arms. I will not break. I must get him out of here. I watched Jenny guide Amelia into the small, safe haven of the back room, closing the door firmly. Now we were alone, surrounded by

I did not expect that crazy confession, My heart sank in my chest, and my eyes almost widened in shock, but I held it back, if she noticed, she’d grow suspicious. "He was a trouble anyway. I did them a favor—him and his ungrateful, obsessed mother," she hissed, finally revealing her true self. So all this time she’d been pretending to be innocent? That was a lie? How could someone pretend to be so perfect for so long? "You’re a coward, Abigail. You’ll never win his heart. I’m honest, that’s why he likes me," I pushed her with my words, watching her jaw clench tighter.

To fulfill his young girlfriend Wendy Baker's dream of becoming vice president, my husband faked amnesia after a car accident and used it as an excuse to strip me of my position. One afternoon, I happened to overhear a conversation between them. Wendy sounded hesitant as she asked, "Aren't you worried Elaine will never speak to you again if you do this?" My husband did not seem concerned in the slightest. "I'm only letting you have some fun for seven days," he said casually. "After that, I'll just tell her my memory came back. What's she going to do, hold a grudge against someone who was supposedly sick?" My footsteps slowed. I heard every word. However, instead of exposing his lie, I qui

An older accountant pretended to read an email but didn't. “I did not know everything,” Abigail said, lowering her voice. Freeda’s remained level, unwavering. “You knew enough.” “I knew he was angry,” Abigail said. “I knew he was trying to save face. I did not know it had gone this far.” Freeda watched her carefully, the white dress, the careful makeup, the soft eyes. Everything about Abigail screamed performance. A different genre now: less mistress, more woman trying to escape a storm she had chosen to linger in.

“I’ve taken a liking to you ever since I saw you. So, I’m going to warn you. Donovan is moving into the city in a month's time. He’s paid a couple people and wants your head.” She walked up to me and my hands immediately went to my gun. “Oh, calm down. If I wanted to kill you, I’d have done it the moment you stepped in.” She said before handing me a card. “I have a proposal for you. Call me. I’ll trade information if you help me with my dirty business. I hope we become partners soon, Mr Moore.” I glared at her and she smiled, dropped the card and walked out of my home. The smell of her perfume almost choked me, and the urge to punch a hole through her face was overwhelming.

Byron gave a curt nod, and only then did Caleb look over Abigail and try to use a fake emotional method, realising that only that could save their ass. "Abigail, I know you are still angry about the past. But please help us. My parents are too old and they cannot live without a roof. We understand our fault. Please, I request you for our past bonding." He pretended to look sad. She looked at Caleb with a sneering gaze and realised how he surely could do anything to get his work done, but she was no longer a fool, and now she had everything, most importantly, power, which was surely enough to beat up this man.

Minutes later, a hesitant text from Abi finally came through: "Hey Lizbeth, I heard... I'm really sorry but I can't come over right now. I'm swamped with studies." The flimsy excuse didn't fool Lizbeth for a second. She fumed, her anger simmering beneath the surface. She tried calling other friends, one after another. Each call was met with vague excuses, busy signals, or outright rejections. "I'm not feeling well," "I have family visiting," "I'm out of town." The thinly veiled lies infuriated her. Her social empire, built on manipulation and fear, was crumbling. Enraged, and feeling the walls of her room closing in, Lizbeth summoned one of the household servants. "Go to my apartment," she c