London Novel Novels & Stories

CALUM London is the same as I remember. Loud, bubbly, with its citizens rushing off like they all have an emergency. We arrived a few hours ago. The boys crashed once they were shown their room, but me, I haven’t been able to sleep a wink. Not even on the flight here.

Just past the first turn, she realised there was no house, no village in front of her, only a long stretch of whiteness bordered by snow-powdered hedges without a telltale rise in smoke in the distance. She didn't dare look up again for a long while. Time lost all meaning as she walked onward, her cheeks stinging, then without feeling, as hints of eventide crept in behind the melancholy December sky. It was then that Betty murmured an almost forgotten prayer from her childhood……...a little something to her guardian Angel begging an entree to paradise. ………………………….. She awoke stretching contentedly. Staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling, it took her a few moments to determine where she was, but

“I expected you to arrive later in the evening.” “I managed to talk Javier into buying me lunch,” London said, pulling down her skimpy sweater. The jeans she was wearing were far too tight, but her slender body had an aggressively sensual sway as she sauntered to the door. “See you, Javier,” she said, waving as she departed. Javier leaned back against his desk, eyeing his secretary with curiosity. “It is a pity truly that all our talents are not as easy to handle as London.” “Yet you manage to handle most of them,” answered Ella pointedly.

In the middle of their arguement, they didn't noticed that Gerald fell asleep again. Willie already submitted his document about how successful his cousin Hugh Darcy to the station. As Princess Irina told her, he should mention the bars and the clubs Hugh runs, not just in Cambridge but also in London and West England. The news was spread through news papers, one of Sam's men disguised as a guess at Pemberley and dropped a news paper there so that Lady Sophia will be aware of it.

He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes flicking to mine for a fraction of a second before settling back on Mika with a mask of polite boredom. "London is less about dreams and more about endurance," he answered. "It’s a city that hardens you if you aren't careful." "Oh, I bet," Mika purred, completely undeterred. "But the nightlife? The flats in Mayfair? I’ve seen pictures of those townhouses. They look so... exclusive." "I had a place in Mayfair," Chandler replied, his tone dismissive of the wealth she was so clearly tallying. "But I prefer to stay at the city."

The city felt different. Not quieter, exactly. London was never quiet. Sirens still echoed down distant streets, taxis still splashed through puddles from the night’s rain, and somewhere nearby a train groaned along the tracks. But something in the air had shifted. For the first time in months, Vivienne Laurent woke without fear sitting heavy in her chest. Morning light slipped through the tall windows of Daniel’s apartment, painting soft gold across the bedroom walls. She lay still for a moment, watching dust drift lazily through the sunlight, her mind catching up with reality.

Any excuse to fuck her mouth was a good one. Her eyes narrowed in a glare, but she didn’t say a word. I turned back to my book, ignoring her on the other couch despite how hard my cock was. While I was a sexual man, I wasn’t obsessed with women. They came and went, pleasing me and then disappearing. It took a lot to grab my full attention. Since I was thirty-two and it had never happened before, I assumed it would never happen. But London made me reconsider. “I never see you drink anything but scotch and coffee.”

“Peaceful. It’s easy to see why you love it here.” Sarah smiled, glancing sideways at me. “I do. It’s my little corner of the world. Simple, safe. Not like London’s rush.” I chuckled. “You say that like London’s a monster.” “It is,” she said with mock seriousness. “All that noise. People never stop moving. You never stop working. It’s like the city doesn’t breathe.” She wasn’t wrong. “Maybe that’s why we love cities,” I replied quietly. “When everything else falls apart, I can count on work to keep going.”

she replied, biting down on her lip dramatically. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re crazy.” “And you’re boring,” she fired back instantly. The ride into the city was beautiful. London unfolded in soft gray skies and elegant architecture. Red double-decker buses rolled past like something out of a movie. Black cabs. People in long coats walking briskly like they all had somewhere important to be. We dropped our bags at the hotel and refused to waste daylight. “Tour first. Sleep later,” Layla declared. So we wandered.

I sat beside her, and she immediately stretched her legs back out, her feet landing in my lap. "What are you reading?" She held up the book without looking away from the page. "A mystery novel. A detective in Victorian London." I caught sight of the cover. A woman in a low-cut dress leaned against a man in a top hat, their faces inches apart in the fog. The Scarlet Letter Murders. I grabbed the book from her hands. "Hey!" She sat up, reaching for it. I flipped through a few pages. My eyes landed on a passage. His mouth found the hollow of her throat as his fingers worked the laces of her corset…