Daphne Bridgerton Novels & Stories

Her long, dark hair fell in perfect waves over her shoulders, her lips painted a deep, inviting red. She stood slowly, her movements calculated, a sultry smile on her face. “My handsome Edward,” she purred. “Long time no see.” I laughed, though it was sharp and humorless. “So, you’re “the Daphne”?” I asked, my disbelief evident. “You must be joking. You’re supposed to be Mildred’s friend. She would never—” My voice caught, anger rising. “Why would you change your name just to pull this off?”

Sharp heels, colder smile, eyes that flickered with possession when they landed on Killian. I told myself to sit straighter, to look unbothered, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. Some peacocks were whispering her name like it was divine, spoken with that caution people reserve for hurricanes. Daphne. The kind of woman you notice whether you want to or not. And here she was, striding toward Killian’s company interview table like she owned the building. Sincerely, if she hadn't messed up herself like a maid in front of me I would have thought she was a goddess.

More often, Daphne sat with her pen idle, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her gaze drifting in ways that made Elise’s skin prickle with awareness she refused to name. At nineteen, Daphne carried herself like someone still learning the weight of her own body. Long auburn hair spilled over her shoulders in loose waves that caught the lamplight whenever she turned her head. Her hazel eyes, framed by unfairly thick lashes, held a quiet intensity that made Elise’s pulse stutter more than once. Daphne favored soft oversized sweaters that slipped off one shoulder and pleated skirts that brushed her knees, as though she hoped the fabric might hide the gentle swell of her hips and the curve o

I replied. “Mhm. Name one thing in this room prettier than me.” “The exit. Because you walked through it earlier.” She snorted. “That was so bad it circled back to being cute.” We walked out together, fingers brushing but not fully holding our public space compromise. Bridgerton isn’t exactly the place you start holding hands without looking around first. When we got outside, the sky was that deep evening purple that looks like a velvet cloth God accidentally dropped. Sienna squeezed my wrist gently. “You okay? You were quiet today.”

It was evident in her speech. "It's nice to meet you, Zita. I'm Rebecca but you can call me Becky." "I certainly can't, Duchess. The Duke will be furious with me if I address Her grace by her nickname." Zita said plainly, giving her reasons. Rebecca was about to speak with the door creaked open. The Duke stood there and looked at the two. Zita frighteningly had her eyes on the floor and avoided eye contact. Rebecca saw the look he wore-certainly a sign for her to avoid him-and she swallowed nervously.

Daphne looked at Lucille with pity. How was that possible? Throughout the industry, Daphne was known as the Ice Queen, colder and more ruthless than even Gideon. Her methods were autocratic, her standards unforgiving. She had never married and never apologized for it. In the architecture world, people called her the Nun, and the name suited her perfectly. In five years at the Prescott Group, Lucille had lost count of how many times Daphne had humiliated her in public, pointed a finger in her face, and made her feel like the most unwelcome person in the building.

"Magnificent, my darling. You have split the Vance crown in two. With Damian isolated in his war room and Elena blinded by her pathetic sisterly devotion, the estate's inner core is completely wide open." "She is so soft, Victoria," Daphne whispered, looking out the glass window at the dark Chicago skyline, her voice laced with heavy, unadulterated hatred. "She lives in this palace, wearing diamonds, married to the most powerful man in the city, while I was left to rot in that cold medical facility. She doesn't deserve any of this." "She stole your birthright, Daphne," Victoria cooed, feeding the poisoned lies directly into her mind. "She took your name, your wealth, and your husband. But so

My heart swelled looking at my beautiful mate. Daphne had chosen to wear a simple black cocktail dress tonight, with simple beading on the bodice, and a peek a book slit on the left leg. I swear that there was no woman that could outshine her radiant beauty. “We are lucky men, aren’t me?” Marcus asks as he comes to stand beside me.

Daphne watched John enter and refrained from wincing at the spike of pain that went through her mind. She tried to ignore it, but it only grew the longer she looked at him. John smiled at her. Part of her thought he was almost handsome, but there was a glint of duplicity in his eyes that corrupted his features, turning them just short of nauseating. The pain he caused her made her look away from him before looking at the duchess. The woman was beautiful and regal sitting in her seat with all the air of class and aristocracy, but her eyes were cold despite her warm greetings. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes as if she was incapable of feeling anything.

“Congratulations on your marriage, Her Majesty.” Ariana smiled as the two bowed respectfully to congratulate her. “Thank you very much. Lord Luke, Sir Cale,” Ariana replied. But as if remembering something, Ariana immediately continued her sentence again after that. “By the way, is Lady Charlotte okay? She's in her last month of pregnancy now, isn't she?” asked Ariana worriedly. The Lady Charlotte that Ariana mentioned is Luke's wife, who is currently pregnant. The woman was the fourth daughter of a baron who ended up marrying Luke, who is now a Viscount. Perhaps because Charlotte was a great scholar, she had a kind and gentle disposition. Luke's wife always takes good care of Ariana wheneve