Bridgerton Novels & Stories

All I needed was space. Sebastian Spenser. The heir of Spenser cooperation and legitimate face of the family business. He is taking me as his bride because he needed me to give him an heir. Because my grandfather thought it was good for business. I stared down at my wedding dress. It is a heavy Ralph Lauren custom made ball. It was made up of the finest Chinese silk with a floral of white lilies. It is gorgeous, fancy and expensive. It was chosen by my mother. I would have preferred a simple yet elegant one but mother insisted I get this particular one. Only the best for the Spenser and Hastings union.

"I hate to say this but it means that the entire clan of the Bridgertons is going to protect you by all means, Ms. Clarkson." he retorted. "and it might not end well for both of us. So, if you want us to protect you from getting killed by those wolves, cooperate with us before it's gonna be too late." Mr. Bridgerton's statement even worried me the most. I did not completely understand everything he said but I don't want to die either just because I discovered their secrets.

"Is she on a TV show or something? She looks like someone I know." "You don't know her and be thankful. She and Damon were a thing a few times over the last thousand years. Her name is..." Bethany cut him off. "Bridget." "Yes. Go put that up. Don't support her shit. She's a venomous snake. Not sure what my brother ever saw in her." He turned and walked to the cash register with a bunch of items. "Grab what you want and come on. I'll buy, but you have five seconds."

I exclaimed. “Apart from on TV, how many therapists have you seen in your life? I am not talking about those you had a short conversation with. I am saying all the ones you must have seen with your two eyes,” Bridget said shortly. “My guess is none. You are too ordinary to have met a number of therapists in your lifetime. Am I wrong?” I was vexed. I took a deep breath here. “You have a talent for annoying other people. You should take your flowers…” I told her carefully.

My eyes trailed to the 64 inch television hanging on the wall displaying varieties of channels, the complete home theater sound system that could blast the entire wall street out of their houses, then the dining table. It had twenty-four chairs! Is this a conference table because that's exactly how the dining looked. The round glass table was enough to host fifty people in a ball. I noticed the glass table wasn't transparent but opaque glass. Hmm, looks like someone is intelligent. "...and this is Miss Hailey Parker, my bride." I snapped my head back to the little group just in time to hear grumpy's last words. A stupid feeling blossomed in my heart. He had called me his bride, that stupid i

“Miss Christine sure is delusional. Mr. Vincent is the Godfather of the Medici family. He’s worth billions. In New York, anyone with status treats him with the utmost respect.” “Isn’t he getting married to his fiancée in five days? And she’s saying he’s the love of her life? Does he even know who she is? Every Cinderella dreams of marrying into wealth, but not just anyone off the streets can be the Godfather’s woman.” I walked out of the hospital and, in a daze, got onto the subway. At that moment, my phone vibrated. When I checked it, I saw that Elena had sent several photos in a row. They were wedding photos of her and Vincent, taken in Central Park. The wedding dress she wore was the same

I looked up and felt my stomach drop. A woman walked in, tall and elegant in a designer dress that probably cost more than my monthly revenue. Her blonde hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless, her entire presence screaming old money and privilege. She moved through the bookstore like she owned it, her critical gaze sweeping over the modest shelves and worn carpet. When her eyes landed on me, her red lips curved into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You must be Anastasia," she said, her voice smooth and cultured. "Christopher's little wife."

She was dressed in a crisp, sharp-collared long-sleeved shirt tucked into a perfectly ironed, professional short skirt that moved with her hurried pace. She didn't wait for an invitation, her heels clicking rapidly across the marble floor as she took in the scene of the spilled whiskey and the shattered television. "Sir!" she exclaimed, her voice tight with professional concern as she stopped before the wreckage. "Mr. Logan - is everything quite alright in here? I heard the crash from the hallway." Sebastian didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on the blood dripping from his palm onto the white floor. "Does it look like anything is alright, Sonia?”

With a sharp huff, Cain turned and walked away, the crowd parting for him as he passed. Behind him, Vera lifted her glass. Orion met it with his own. They clinked them together, identical smirks stretching across their lips. And for the first time that night, Vera felt it fully— This was only the beginning. —— “Your dress is stealing the show, Ms. Vera,” Maya whispered beside her as they stood watching Didi and Cain stroll slowly down the aisle. The press were everywhere. Cameras flashed like lightning. Phones were raised high, people stretching on their toes just to get a better view of the bride and her gown. Vera overheard a group of women behind her murmuring breathlessly that they would

She'd told herself she could separate the mission from the ma# **THE CALCULATED BRIDE** ## **Chapter 4: The Inheritance** --- The Blackwell estate sat on fifteen acres in Connecticut, a monument to old money and older grudges. Isabella—still thinking of herself as Aria in these moments—watched through the car window as they approached. The mansion was Georgian Revival, all white columns and symmetrical windows, surrounded by manicured gardens that probably required a full-time staff. It was beautiful in the way museums were beautiful: perfect, untouchable, cold. "You're quiet," Damien observed from beside her. He'd insisted on driving himself rather than using his driver, one of the small re