Millie Lancaster Novels & Stories

The dance floor had gone from glittering to grim. At 8:45 a.m., the elevator chimed. She stepped out, hair pulled back in a bun. No heels. No shimmer. Just a plain black hoodie, jeans, and a tote bag that looked like it had been through a few things. Millie “Millie” Foster. Twenty-five. She was the kind of woman who knew that behind every “fun night” was a morning like this one. Broken glass. Sticky floors. Her eyes scanned the room like a detective at a crime scene. She took it all in, one disaster at a time. She headed straight for the kitchen. Priorities. Dishes clattered like bones. She moved with the rhythm of someone who didn’t need praise, just progress.

“Why aren’t you saying anything? You were being so defiant just now. Did the cat get your tongue after we discovered everything? Didn’t you say that you didn’t know anything just now?” Millie lowered her head and bit her lip without saying anything! The tone of Yale’s voice grew icier. “Since you aren’t going to say anything, I’ll have no choice but to call the police!” Millie raised her head in a state of panic as her eyes turned red-rimmed. “It wasn’t me!” Yale harrumphed coldly and said, “If it wasn’t you, tell us who ordered you to do so?” Millie was stunned. She seemed to think of something as she gaped and spoke up after some time, “It was me… I wanted to do this myself. I was jealous

“I was hoping we could discuss the upcoming investor’s gala.” I watched as she placed a manicured hand on his desk, leaning in slightly. Lucas barely reacted. “Not now, Veronica.” She pouted, but her eyes flickered toward me. “Oh, is this…?” “My wife,” Lucas said flatly. “Lily, this is Veronica Hayes, head of PR.” Veronica’s lips curled into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, how lovely. It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Lily.”

"Hey! It's nice to put a face to the name. I'm Peggy. Peggy Anderson. My mom is Felicity, the..." "I know whom your mom is." I interjected. "It's really wonderful to meet you too Peggy. I'm Camilla Monteiro, but feel free to call me Mila." I grinned, and she winked. "I'm in love with her already Carter." Peggy piped. "There you have it! Your company." Carter gave a toothy grin. "I was already informed about that one. Chop chop! off you go then." "Away with me, then" He added. "But before that, when did you get here" He directed his question at Peggy.

She then added, "Also, I have another identity—I'm Pierce's ex-wife. If you dare to cut my face, I'll make sure the Searle family kicks you out!" Millie raised her head and looked at Felicity with unwavering defiance. She wasn't just some nameless nobody. She had a prominent identity, though perhaps it seemed insignificant compared to these high-society elite ladies. But that didn't mean she was completely powerless. She was a renowned international designer who was touted to be gifted with unparalleled talent. Countless prestigious brands had expressed an interest in working with her. If Felicity was adamant about ruining her, Millie would make sure that she returned the favor and destroyed

and noted the soppy look he got on his face when he looked over at Millie and Gabriel. “Well, first of all, Millie saved my sister Lucy - that’s her with the cascade of blonde hair sitting on the piano stool with our other daughter Jessica -from drowning off the beach in Cawlin, where we have a house. She disappeared almost immediately, and then, as if by magic, she came to the band’s Christmas party. We never let her go after that. She turned her hand to looking after the house for us and here we are, married with six-month-old twins, another two daughters and my sister. We all live together. But marrying Millie was the best thing Gabe, and I ever did. She’s amazing.”

Millie believed there was nothing to be ashamed of and discussed it openly, "It's not because of Mr. Harrison. It's because my marriage with Winston has come to an end." "What a shame," Vanessa said sympathetically. Millie chuckled. "Don't feel sorry for me. It's just a divorce. The next man will be better, more attractive, and wealthier." "Is there anyone in the world more influential than Mr. Greer?" Vanessa asked with a smile. Millie picked up the medical record from the side and nodded. "Yes. Me." She was known as "M" from the M base and unquestionably held more influence than anyone else.

The New York night was freezing, and the thin cashmere I wore was no defense against the December cold. Within minutes, I was shivering uncontrollably. I had nowhere to go for warmth, forced to stand outside the iron gates of the estate like an abandoned beggar. Through the heavy iron bars, I could see the warm, spring-like light of the living room. A woman in a designer evening gown descended the spiral staircase, moving as if she owned the place as she approached Luca. When she saw me freezing outside the gate, a cold, triumphant smirk crossed her lips. I recognized her. Millie. A bombshell poached from a high-end Manhattan strip club, with hair like spun gold and eyes the color of a turqu

I whisper, “I just want you to be safe… and no more old guys until you’re 18.” She giggles, “Lacrosse boy is only 18.” “I haven’t heard the best things about lacrosse guys… but I’m sure he’s decent, if you say he is,” I finish. Some girl snickers behind us. I, being a little paranoid, turn to see if we’re the object of her amusement, and to my surprise, I’m correct. Sarah’s evil twin, Miley Campbell, is pointing at us and laughing behind a kiosk near the store’s entrance.