Colette Novels & Stories

She was now Qiao Mo, the secretary to the President of of the Wushi Cooperation, and she was running late for work. She stormed out of her apartment building tying her long hair into a classic ponytail and wiping off the toast crumbs on her cheeks. Her long-sleeved white shirt was carefully tucked in her stripped skirt. Her purple coat hanging loosely on her leather purse almost fell off when she leaped on the bus. She still had seven minutes that, if there was no traffic would save her from a lecture from the president.

Do I have dementia? “Oh dear, you look confused.” She says as she laughs a little, “Come with me, I feel like I should introduce you to some people.” She says and I blindly follow her. Too confused to know what’s going on. “This is Gwen, Harry, Marie, Penelope, Daphne, Kyle, Daryl, Juliette, Sarah, Seb, Ron, Terry and of course Dave.” My eyes widen when I realize what is happening. Oh. My. God.

Not Colette’s name. Elias Whitfield’s.

The next day, I discovered that the core design files for my Paris Fashion Design Competition entry had been completely deleted from my computer. Even the recycling bin was wiped clean. Those designs were everything I had been working on. They were the cornerstone of the independent brand I was planning to launch to finally get away from Alexander. I called IT immediately. The technician told me the files had been manually targeted and erased at eleven o'clock last night. At eleven last night, I was already home. The only people still at the office were the night guard and... Victoria.

hello lunch, I grinned in delight, and seconds later, I sank my fangs deeply into its veins, glorying in the rush of thick liquid pulsing down my throat. Colette “Yeah, that’s a no from me.” Colette looked up, clearly frustrated as she took her feet out of the third pair of heels she’d tried on this morning. As always, Tibarn was skulking around out at the borders, leaving her with a battalion of maids whose sole purpose was to dress her and make sure she was comfortable for the day. The boredom had all but strangled the gentle wolf.

She knew that eventually, he would be back home, she would cherish the memories they had shared and the bond they had formed. She wanted to show him how much she cared for him, and she knew that a simple "thank you" wouldn't be enough. So, she decided to do something bold and unexpected. She went shopping and bought a sexy outfit, something she would never normally wear. She wanted to surprise Delcan and show him how she truly felt. She knew it was a risk, but she was willing to take it. She texted him and told him to come home early. But he tried cause he was busy at work. He had been working late for weeks, and he missed spending time with her. When he walked through the door, he was surpr

The pin itself mixes a few animals and the letters of our institute. The Combined College of Magic and Science. CCMS for short, and in the lapel pin the two 'C's pinch the 'M' and 'S' stacked on top of each other. Looking at in the right light, everyone's got a nice little square jewel to adorn their fresh uniform. It wouldn't hold under the tightest scrutiny, but I happen to really like the color-scheme that's employed at CCMS. I'm not the most adept at styling something to wear, nor am I artistic enough to create a logo, but I can recognize something I can appreciate. Looking at the lapel pins and the uniforms, and an occasional flag with the CCMS logo on it in the hall has me liking the c

Margaux was waiting, patient as a spider. “I do not know anyone named Colette,” Maya said. Her voice was level, almost conversational, the way she spoke when she was designing under pressure, calm on the surface while every detail was being calculated. A soft exhale came through the speaker, almost amused. “Let us dispense with the pretense,” Margaux replied, her tone cultured, precise, every syllable shaped by years of boardrooms and backroom deals. “Colette worked at the mill. She took documents that do not belong to her. Documents concerning my family’s business. I want them returned. All of them.”

“Margaux, this is Colette—the genius behind Le Jardin Bleu.” I turned to Colette with a grin. “And Colette, this is Margaux Leclair, one of the most talented fashion designers in Paris.” Colette’s eyes widened. “Oh my goodness, that Margaux Leclair? I’ve followed your work for years! Your Rêverie Nocturne collection—breathtaking.” Margaux laughed, genuinely delighted. “You just made my week. Thank you, Colette.” “She’s being modest,” I added.

Just that and nothing more. While with Colette, everything was different. She had plans for her future and not a day passes by that she does not work at it. She has reasons as to why she wants to become a better person; reasons that motivate her to keep going even when she feels drained. On days even when she feels too overwhelmed to do work, Colette does not give up; because she knows she will not produce quality work if she forces herself to get work done while she is in one of her moods, she does not waste the time and instead does something productive to occupy the now free time she made for herself.