Maggie Cross Novels & Stories

"Let’s see how she wants to play this." Maggie didn't hesitate. She marched straight to Table Four, her shadow falling over Ciara’s beautiful yellow dress. She didn't look at Kenneth. She looked down at Ciara with a smirk that was dripping with pure, unadulterated venom. "Well, well," Maggie scoffed "I was told Kenneth he was meeting with a rising star, but I didn't realise he was funding an amnesiac charity case who can't even remember what she did to her own family."

When they arrived, four of them were at their respective workstations. Chris cleared his throat and announced loudly, "Stop whatever you're working on, and let me introduce the new owner of our branch." Everyone looked up, and one familiar face instantly caught Stella's eye. She blinked in surprise. 'Isn't that Maggie, the woman I bumped into at the square earlier? I didn't know she worked at The Velvet.' Maggie was a skilled designer, and a big company was more suitable for her career growth. 'Why would she be here?' Maggie had also noticed Stella and paused for a brief moment. She then quickly regained her composure. However, her expression now held a touch of seriousness.

He was beginning to think that he shouldn’t have taken Maggie’s advice and lied. He couldn’t be upset with Maggie. She was Texas born and raised. Her kind and generous heart never set foot more than one-hundred miles past the Rio Grande. She rose from a poverty existence as a child to the owner of a small cattle ranch. She was a widow by the time she found Aiden half-dead on the roadside. Her husband was lost in a skirmish with the Cherokee and she was struggling to keep the ranch afloat. Spoiled was something she had no concept or understanding of. No, he couldn’t blame Maggie for not realizing the implications of what a lie to a spoiled socialite would be.

“What’s that?” Maggie’s hand trembled as she reached for a photo from her bag. It was an old, worn picture of a woman holding a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. She handed it to Elizabeth with shaking fingers. “That’s me,” Maggie said, her voice breaking. “And that… is you.” Elizabeth stared at the photo. Her lips parted slightly. "I don’t understand."

Richard was watching the strip show, but I didn't find it so interesting. Out of nowhere she came to me. Damn! Only if I could remember what she called herself. “Hi Crescent” she flashed a smile. “Hey… hum..” “Maggie” she finished. Yeah… I think that's her name even if I can't remember. “Hey Maggie” “You are here too?” She asked. Is she blind? “Yeah, came along with a friend” I told her. “Also came along with a friend, there she is” She showed me her friend. Some brunnete with freckles.

She couldn’t hold her excitement so she jumped on the bed in relief when she was alone and soliloquized “ Wow, this place is incredible. This bed is so soft , I wish I could just stay here forever” Maggie fancied and admired the life of the rich but she quickly gave herself a reality check that it was only for the time being . She really didn’t want to be a burden to anyone so she had to remain focused . Life had forced her to think for herself due to the absence of her father , she knew better not to go beyond her boundaries . She quickly unpacked her clothes and bags . Making sure to carefully arrange them in her wardrobe . It wasn’t like Maggie was very organized but she didn’t want to ap

It sounded fake sweet. Maggie walked over wearing an emerald dress that probably cost a fortune. Jessica and Xenia followed behind her like perfect shadows. Beautiful, quiet, and watching everything. "I'm so glad you came after all," Maggie said. Her smile looked fake. "Though I'm surprised. You seemed so worried about your poor mother. How is she? Such a terrible accident." "At least I have real family who cares about me. " Cecilia looked at Jessica and Xenia. "And I don't have to chase after other women's men."

Maggie grumbled, looking at me in the mirror, “You don’t look like a chicken, don’t listen to him.” I sat there while Maggie carefully curled my hair and did my makeup, skillfully moving with the grace and precision of an artist. “You should be a makeup artist, Maggie.” I said as she applied false eyelashes. “I do this because I love you. And I want you to look drop-dead goregous. I want that bitch Queen to know who she’s messing with.” Maggie said knowingly. My face fell, and I pulled away, “Maggie… How do you know?” I whispered. She looked a little taken aback; she opened her mouth to reply just as someone knocked at the door, “It doesn’t take an idiot to know who killed your mom, Bella.”

They instantly fell silent, like frightened quails—though a flash of resentment flickered in their eyes. "You earn one hundred a day," I said casually. "Let me see… at that rate, you'll only need to work for me another… two hundred seventy-seven years. Keep up the good work." By then, both the Hunt and Hartley families had already severed ties with them and publicly announced they would provide no financial support whatsoever. So they were forced to rely entirely on themselves. When Queenie heard the number, her eyes rolled back, and she fainted on the spot. Without money, their lives quickly fell into ruin.

"And every time we walked past a food street, the first thing you'd do when you got home was do the laundry and take a shower. You always said the smell of the smoke and charcoal clung to you." Maggie continued babbling, repeating things I had complained to her about in our previous lives. I had long forgotten most of them, yet she still remembered them clearly. But none of that mattered to me anymore. Right then, Scotty—whom I'd called over—arrived and quickly pulled Maggie up to her feet. As if afraid I was going to do something to her, he shielded her protectively like a mother hen. I waved my hand impatiently, my face full of disdain.