Mia Wallace Pulp Fiction Costume Novels & Stories

I w‍aited by t‌h‍e gold-tri​mm‍ed doors,​ my hea‍rt h⁠am‌meri⁠ng against m‌y r​ib⁠s. Th⁠en I sa‍w‌ h⁠im.⁠ Mauric‌e. ⁠H⁠e​ wa⁠s‌ s‌t​and‌ing ne‌ar⁠⁠ the bar, loo​king exac‌tly the w‍ay​ he di​d in my nig‌ht‌m⁠ar‍es.⁠ He w‌as‍ w‌ea‌ri​⁠ng a tu‍xedo,‌ lau​ghi‍n​g‌ at something Stacy said. Stacy was weari‌‍ng a pale‌ pin​k dress th⁠a​t​ mad‌e he‌r‍ l⁠oo​k inn​ocent. It was a​ lie. She was‍ th‌e⁠ o⁠​ne who⁠ had hel‍ped hi⁠m f� �⁠orge my sign⁠ature‌ on‌ t‍he li‌​fe in‌surance p‌apers.‍‌

He needed to look so utterly, fundamentally incompetent that when the hammer of the embezzlement charge finally fell, it would look like the natural conclusion of a man losing his mind. As Caleb, I was a ghost. As Antonella, I was the architect of his domestic demise. It started with the suits. Alaric’s wardrobe was his armor bespoke Italian wool, tailored to within a millimeter of perfection to compensate for his lack of a backbone. At 6:00 AM, while the villa was still nursing its gala hangover, I slipped into the laundry room. I had intercepted Alaric’s favorite charcoal-grey power suit, the one he planned to wear for the preliminary merger meeting with the Moretti representatives.

Paula exclaimed bitterly as she was annoyed having to walk around the vast mansion searching for Skylar in her heels. Skylar turned to stare at a bitter Paula who was glaring at her. It brought a smile to her lips when she saw Paula fuming in a fake annoyance“ I'm sorry. The painting captivated me” Skylar said, turning to look at Paula, who was dressed in a red flowing gown with a halter neck. It surprised her how Paula could pull off a dressing like that, looking so beautiful like an angel. She didn't even want to think of her dress; she looked like she was going to a funeral rather than a charity ball; she didn't know what prompted Mrs. Thompson to pick a black gown for her.

Mia shook her head desperately, her face was pale and bloodless. "Little beauty, it doesn't matter if we make a mistake! It doesn't matter!" The man reached out and touched Mia, "You are already dressed like this, why are you pretending? Don't worry, we will definitely let you happy tonight... hahaha..." Mia is wearing a costume, the texture of tulle, and the collar opening is relatively large, revealing her white skin, as well as the faintly visible small groove, full of temptation...Before, she was proud of this outfit, but now... she regretted it to death!

she pointed to the costume that was hanging on the wall as she walked to one of them and started putting them on. She finished and wore a nose mask and hand gloves as they followed according to what she did, then they walked inside the freezing mortuary. They followed Annabella until she got to a corpse that was covered with a blue robe. It had a tag on the wall close to its head 'Lucy Graham' She looked at the sheriff who glanced at Tabitha. Tabitha nodded, then the sheriff turned to Annabella and nodded at her. Then she immediately held the tip of the robe.

Martha returned to the Old Johnston Manor, sat at home, and wallowed in anger. She cursed Philip Clarke for treating her this way. She would never forgive him! Before long, someone came to the door. Two bodyguards in black suits rushed in. Martha got a fright and yelled, “You! Who are you? What do you want?” Thereafter. With the clacking of high heels, an elegant figure appeared at the door of Old Johnston Manor. Giada Wallis. Her appearance was still so imposing. She was wearing a white long dress while wrapped in a little cloak. She had on a pair of sunglasses, looking like a cold iceberg.

"Don't think that because you're my wife, you can do as you please. I already told you that you need to be on your best behavior!" Ellen still held her cheeks, dumbfounded. A realization came to her mind. 'I forgot that he is Aleck Verro... He's a mafia boss who would not bat an eye if he killed someone...' 'Even me...' ... Race day. On a sunny Sunday, Cecilia wore a white mini fitted dress that perfectly hugged her body. Her slim and tall build was accentuated by her black strap heels. She then paired it with a black clutch that she crocheted in her free time.

Zella looked at the servers, who were confused for a few seconds until they nodded their heads. "What are you waiting for? I don't have much time," Zella growled as the servants looked petrified before finally leaving after getting yelled at by Zella. They reappeared with fabric paint that appeared to be in a sealed container. Zella immediately took the red paint and poured it over the surface of the dress, from the waist to the ankles. The liquid flowed like fresh blood. "Miss! What are you doing?" The maids screamed and covered their mouths when they saw the bone-white dress that looked holy turn into a death dress that looked like a dress after a murder.

Now, I was going to be a slut, a cheap slut for the mafia lord. The door flew open and I looked up, my face fell when I saw Wallace walking in with his usual mockery smile pasted on his lips. "I knew you'd walk into trouble one day. Now, look at you," I roll my eyes at him. "If you're not here to untie me, use the door," I rudely told him and his smiles vanished. He was pissed by my comment but what I didn't understand was that he didn't scold me as always. He came closer and began opening the handcuffs. When the handcuffs fell on the bed, I rubbed my red wrists but Wallace didn't let me catch some breath, he grabbed me by my shirt, "Believe me, you won't make it alive tonight."

------------------ I adjusted my black Gucci suit, the fabric smooth against my skin, and admired the glint of gold from my shirt as I gazed into the mirror in my massive walk-in closet that rivaled most 1-bed room apartments, smiling as it had been a relatively calm morning. However, the harmony of this morning was interrupted by the door to the walk-in closet swinging open. I turned to see who dared make a see to see it was my Second-In-Command Maurice, a tall, red-haired demon who stood in the door frame wearing a white button-up shirt and jeans splattered with a fresh coat of blood. "Maurice, are you okay?" I asked, scanning Maurice, seeing even his black suede shoes were coated in crims