Novel & Cerita Marilyn Thornhill

"Shasta doesn't understand that, being even newer to the Dominance business than you." "She's not scarred now. Looks quite lovely in fact." "That's a story I can tell. William Thornhill paid for her plastic surgery, Mistress." "Thornhill, the multi-billionaire ,Thornhill." "The very same, Mistress." "Oh, I will have to hear this story. Could I make a news story out of this?"

I got up and peeked a little to see who the lady was and eavesdrop a little. “Hello to you too little brother” She says. The lady is his sister, Angeline Hawthorne. Angeline is a famous fashion designer. She is the 2nd child of the Hawthorne’s family while Adrian’s is the oldest. As far I know, Nigel had 3 children. “Where’s Emily?” Angeline asks. “She quit.” Adrian answered. “What?!” Angeline yelled. “Oh my god. She confessed didn’t she?” Angeline continues. Adrian was silent for a couple of minutes.

I said as Stefano scrambled onto Max’s back as he spun, “Although at least if we have to go to the ER, I might get to see Milly. I haven’t seen her in weeks.” Now twenty-seven, Milly had fine-tuned her powers and was the best Doctor we had. She could heal any wound without breaking a sweat. We’d hardly lost any soldiers to injuries in years. “She is continually working,” Max said, “The woman never rests.” “Well, tell her the Luna has ordered her to take a day off soon and meet me for a coffee. I miss her.” “Will do,” he said as Madeleine joined the ‘climb Maxy’ game.

She asked frantically, surveying the tray for another time but to no avail, the ring is nowhere to be seen. The maid holding the tray studied the tray and realized that the ring is missing. Her eyes were stricken with panic when she realized what piece is missing from the tray. The servant immediately went to her knees, her hands holding the tray up. "Your Highness, I don't know... It was just there earlier." Morrigan looked around, unconsciously biting her lips. She stood from her seat and went around the divider, ordering the maids following her to fold the divider, studying her surrounding,s and unconsciously reaching to her thumb. Without the ring on her thumb, it felt foreign to touch.

stern and cold. Besides him stood a lady in her mid forties, wearing an emerald sequenced dress. She had a huge warm smile on her face - I bowed my head deeply, acknowledging her presence. "I was tangled up in something - but I'm here now." - I answered,my voice not betraying a single emotion. "You must be his wife - it's a pleasure meeting you. You look so lovely tonight" - I smiled slightly, casually flattering the lady. "Yes, thank you. I'm Mariam and I'm flattered to meet your acquaintance" - she giggled like a shy girl in her mid twenties.

A promise blooming in the space between their breath. As the moment passed, Emilia turned toward the window. The sky was violet now — the sunset’s last breath. She noticed a rose sitting in a small vase on the study desk, likely left by a student or librarian earlier. Drawn to it, she reached out and gently cradled the bloom. “Still drawn to the thorns,” she whispered with a soft smile. But as she ran her thumb along the stem, a thorn caught her. “Ow,” she winced quietly.

It wasn’t there. A woman stood in the doorway, watching me with eyes that seemed to shift color in the light: green, then gold, then somewhere in between. She was beautiful in an ethereal way, with long dark hair shot through with silver streaks despite looking no older than twenty five. She wore simple clothes (a dark green dress and boots) but carried herself with quiet confidence. “Who are you?” I demanded, my voice hoarse. “Where am I?” “My name is Elena Nightshade,” she said calmly, moving into the room with fluid grace. “And you’re in my home. You collapsed at the edge of my property three days ago.”

She was standing right in front of me. “You think sneaking in here like a thief would make me forget you are late? Again?” she frowned placing her hands on her hips. Marilyn was in her late twenties. With a sun-kissed complexion. Her wild brown curls were always up in a messy bun, showing off her sprinkle-tipped nose ring. She had lots of colourful tattoos peeking out from under her sleeves. She had a daughter Lola whom she adored. “Well?” “I can explain Marilyn. It’s a long story. I was…”