Marilyn Thornhill Novels & Stories

Lilith who was full of envy and resentment, obeyed no matter how much she dislikes it. The throne was promised to her long ago, even on the time Elspeth was already born, the crown was promised to her. Until Veronica was born, everything Hikaris have promised her was then dedicated to the woman with amethyst eyes: Veronica. “Is everybody ready?” Taylor asked as she points her rifle on the exact angle to distract the guards. “We are ready to engage, General.” Taylor’s team said in union.

“Oh my God. It is. Catherine Thorne.” Marcus frowned and looked over. “Who?” “The one Coach Miller destroyed this afternoon,” Chloe said, turning back to the group with a mixture of disgust and delight. “You lot missed it because you arrived later. She marched up to Miller with this grand little society smile and asked if she could apply for the national training list because she once came second at some random school sports day.” The table erupted. “You’re joking,” Marcus said, almost choking on his beer. “A school sports day? What did she think the national team was, a charity gala with lane ropes?”

However, the previous scene revealed it was due to someone other than the Guild of Eternal Life. Matilda figured everything out as they entered the suite and looked at Marilyn in surprise. Marilyn was present both times Matilda was allowed inside. It meant that the Hawthorne family was actually being considerate of Marilyn. She finally understood why Janette of the Lawson Group requested that Marilyn be appointed Bellenuite's vice president. However, Marilyn had been abroad the entire time, so why did the Hawthornes show her such consideration? At that point, Ivy brought two glasses of water and placed them in front of the two ladies.

She was no longer a Trident operative; she was Sarah Miller, a ghost resurrected to haunt the living. Thorne turned to his aide. "Signal the 'Oyster's End.' Tell them the bait is set. And contact our mole on the Cynthia Blue. I want Ethan Hawke exhausted and paranoid by the time he touches French soil. I want him looking for a miracle." Thorne looked back at the holographic map of the Atlantic. "The 'Billionaire's Bride' thinks she’s won a war. She’s about to find out that in the Trident Group, the dead never truly stay buried. They just wait for the right time to pull you down with them."

I whisper. “Female offender?” Abby asks. Detective Jones nods. “Yes, what is your affiliation with Melanie Torren?” he questions. “We met in a group. I mean group therapy for abused women. After months of therapy, my psychologist suggested to go to group sessions and when I was ready, I went, and she was the first person I met at the centre. One evening she told her story that her husband had beat her within an inch of her life but that she was lucky and killed him before he could kill her. She was quiet and timid, wonderfully sweet. We bonded.” I look at the detective scrutinising me.

The kind of peaceful silence that seemed to wrap around the walls, thick and soft like a heavy blanket. Amara pushed open the front door, her satchel slipping off her shoulder, and sighed. It had been a long day — she hadn’t been able to focus at all in class, her mind constantly drifting back to the tiny, life-changing secret growing inside her. She found Mrs. Holloway in the sunroom, curled into an old armchair, knitting something pale blue. The sight made Amara’s throat tighten. She walked in slowly, twisting her fingers together. Mrs. Holloway looked up with a warm smile. “Welcome home, sweetheart. How was your day?”

It wasn't the Editor. It was a woman who looked exactly like a younger version of Meilin, but her eyes were the cold, calculating hazel of a Thorne. "My name is Christie Thorne," she said, her voice echoing through the new reality. "And I’ve come to collect the Royalty Fees for the 'Prince's' new world." The "Billionaire Romance" had truly ended. The "Dynasty War" had begun.

"The woman in the vault—the one who called herself 'The Matriarch'—she’s not just a voice. She’s Lady Genevieve Thorne. My father’s eldest sister. The one who supposedly died in a hunting accident forty years ago." I froze, the silk of my scarf halfway around my neck. "Another ghost? Your family tree is a graveyard, Julian." "It’s a dynasty of lies," he replied, finally setting the weapon down and turning to face me. The shadows of the cabin played across the hard planes of his face, making him look every bit the Thorne he was trying to outrun. "She’s the one who funded your father’s initial research. She didn't want a neural-link for medicine; she wanted a hive mind to restore the aristocra

I opened a private, encrypted chat with a contact saved only as 'The Shadow. Me: It is done. She has been cast out. The campus sees her as a harlot now. Her reputation is ash. And her emotions are probably in shambles. I know her well, she's about to do something irrational. The reply came a second later. The Shadow: You did well, Mary. The sheep always turn on the one the shepherd leaves behind. Keep watching her room. The battle is about to begin.

"My father is a mayor, remember? Plus it is Theresa who was arrested and sentenced to prison not me. I'm Martha Alessandro, the most powerful woman in NorthHill." "The most powerful woman?" Amy repeated again. She had never been greatly confused as she was at the moment. "Why don't you check online for the identity of the most powerful woman in NorthHill?" Martha asked. Amy immediately brought out her phone and searched quickly on G****e, to her greatest surprise, Martha Alessandro was listed as the most powerful woman in NorthHill. Moreso, the picture of the most powerful woman was that of Martha. How? How does she even start bearing the surname, 'Alessandro?'