Cognac Villain Novels & Stories

“And maybe I came for a drink. Got any of that real French champagne back there, or are you serving bathtub gin to all the girls tonight?” Nico chuckled, the sound dark and amused. He signaled the bartender without looking away from her. “Two glasses of the good stuff, Tommy. And make sure it is not the swill we give the tourists.” A crystal flute appeared in front of her, bubbles dancing. Elizabeth took a sip, letting the cool liquid slide down her throat while she studied him. “You are Nico Vale,” she said. “I have heard stories.” “All true.” He stepped closer, one hand resting on the bar beside her hip, caging her in without touching. “And you are?”

Not that it was needed, as the combination would be foul, but it gave her some malicious satisfaction to think of it. “Here,” Fatima returned with the absinthe bottle. Connery took it, read the label, raised his eyebrows, before opening the bottle and taking a swig. He shuddered as he swallowed it, and reached for a glass, pouring a measure in before taking another swig from the bottle and putting the lid back on. “With louche would be better… But it adds some fire to the morning, nonetheless.” He returned the bottle to Fatima and placed the glass before Meguitte who tapped the powder into it and stirred it with a spoon.

Meg was afraid to call it, and so Moxxi was thrilled to win, satiating her competitive side! "Should I stop to get it?" Aron asked from the driver's seat. "It's fine." Frank waved, opening the door—instead of feeling a draft, several cases of alcohol flew in. There was Dom Perignon P3, Romanee-Conti, vodka, and everything else. "You're well prepared, Ms. Turin!" Alda dissed her. Jada smiled in turn. "You flatter me, Ms. Ingram. It's only natural to enjoy oneself however they like. Isn't that true, Moxxi?"

Broad shoulders that practically filled the doorframe. He smelled of dark cedarwood and expensive whiskey. My heart slammed against my ribs as my notepad slipped from my trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a loud sound. It was him.

Maybe the woman everyone called a villain wasn't the person she should have been afraid of. Maybe she was the person who had been standing between Amara and the truth all along. Protecting her. Even when Amara didn't understand why. Outside, footsteps disappeared into the rain. And somewhere far away, a phone screen lit up. A message appeared. SHE KNOWS HE'S ALIVE. A second message followed. MOVE TO THE NEXT PLAN. And beneath it was a photograph. Daniel Quinn. Alive. Older. Standing beside a window. Waiting. END OF ARC ONE

He knew that doing this meant betraying Willow, so he kept it hidden from her. In the beginning, he still felt guilty, but as the happiness he gained from his affair grew, the happiness outweighed the guilt, and he chose the other woman. When all his lies fell apart, they had an ugly fight. They insulted and fought against each other so badly that their home no longer felt like one. In the end, they even swore that they would have nothing to do with each other anymore. They got a divorce last month. As the villainess of the story, my mother was insanely obsessive.

Vane grinned, flashing a gold tooth, "she’ll have to get through fifty heavily armed pirate ships, ten thousand angry dockworkers, and whatever the hell you two are. I'd pay good money to watch that math fail." Tristan managed a faint smile. "You're awfully cheerful for a man who almost got flattened by an executive tram." "I'm cheerful because I just raided the Grand Duchess's private liquor cabinet in the antechamber," Vane said, patting a heavy, crystal decanter strapped to his belt. "Three-hundred-year-old Aethelgardian brandy. Turns out, efficiency tastes delicious."

Still, I went on, "My best friend and my husband had sex in my grandfather-in-law's casket on the day of his burial. Then, after I exposed them, my mother-in-law and these two tried to twist the narrative and paint me as the villain. "I am the victim here. I've suffered two betrayals from the people closest to me. This is the proof." I raised the phone. "They planned this themselves. I believe even my grandfather's spirit can see that I'm innocent. And I have all of you as witnesses." I turned to Dulce and finished, "Is there any doubt left?" Vincent suddenly sat up in the coffin. "Fuck you, bitch! Victim my ass! You caused this too!" he bellowed. "Yes, I'm cheating with Stephanie. So what?!

Though puzzled, Cathy did it without hesitation. Once the account was set up, I had her post just one video. It was short—barely fifteen seconds. The camera slowly swept across VIVA's most exclusive booth, The Legacy. The table was lined with bottles of Armand de Brignac and Perrier-Jouët. A group of well-dressed men and women laughed and played, the atmosphere at its peak. At the very end, the shot froze on a hand wearing a Patek Philippe celestial watch. Those long, elegant fingers lifted a bottle of Armand de Brignac and poured me a drink.

He extended a heavy crystal tumbler toward my face, completely ignoring the fury of my speech. "The repetition was for emphasis." And because my throat was completely parched and my animal was vibrating with stress, my fingers snatched the glass, and I drained half the dark fluid in one massive swallow. "My compliments to the cellar." "A Vieux Château Certan. Two thousand five." "The tracking data means nothing to my lineage." Though the velvet texture on my tongue was undeniably spectacular. "An exceptional season for the Bordeaux vines because of the dry winter cycle—"