Mills & Boon Novels & Stories

It lay open on the floor, its contents spilled across the polished mahogany. Among my keys and a half-empty pack of tissues was my old, tattered wallet. The flap had popped open, revealing a faded polaroid of Toby smiling widely, his tiny arms wrapped around my neck, alongside a stack of unpaid, overdue hospital bills stamped with red warnings. Lucien looked at the photo, then back to my face. A strange, calculating shadow flickered across his silver eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a cold, business-like calculation. "Five hundred thousand," Lucien murmured, crossing his arms. "To you, it's an impossible fortune. To me, it's pocket change. But I am not a charity, Scar

I was going through my phone when a certain news caught my attention, because that news mentioned me, none of the other news did, and I know why because my dad and brother had threatened the reporters. Not that I couldn't do it, it just makes me feel that I'm loved and people do care about me. . "The playboy, again is engaged, with a Victoria secret model, who claimed to be his best friend during his first marriage with the heir of Lightwood enterprises Ms. Caroline Lightwood." Is this the reason for the divorce of Ms. Lightwood and her player ex-husband Mr. Knight.? As we all know how much both the partners were in love with each other. What might have led to their separation? We all know M

“Reginald, good to see you. Sarah, you remember Evelyn.” I exchanged pleasantries, my voice light and practiced. Evelyn Voss complimented my dress, her eyes flicking over me with the same assessing gaze Eleanor used. “You’re adjusting well to married life, I hear. Such a whirlwind romance. How romantic.” “Very,” I replied, squeezing Adrian’s arm. Eleanor materialized beside us like a shadow in her sleek black gown, pearls gleaming. “There you are, dears. Sarah, darling, you look almost poised tonight. Come, I’ll introduce you to the board wives. They’ve been asking about the new Mrs. Moretti.”

Two milk chairs were placed by the sides of a black shiny table, the curtains were drawn apart, revealing a wide view of the glass window. The room looked different; it wasn't the room she and Lily, her best friend, had booked yesterday. With a sense of urgency, she attempted to roll over, but her body stilled like a rock when a firm mascular hand gripped her waist. Aria gasped, her eyes bulged with terror, when she noticed that he wasn't Ivan, her boyfriend of three years.

Elena I woke to a soft knock on the door, sunlight already pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows like judgment. The bed—king-sized, cloud-like, oppressively pristine—felt more like a display prop than a place to sleep. For a second, I forgot where I was. Then I saw the envelope again. Reality rushed in like cold water. I sat up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and pulled the silk robe tighter around me. The floors were warm beneath my bare feet as I padded to the closet. A rack of clothes had appeared overnight—dresses in soft neutrals, tailored blouses, delicate heels. None of them were mine. Of course not. I picked a pale cream blouse and high-waisted taupe trousers, polished and mo

It fit the perfectly trimmed garden, where flowers bloomed in neat rows. The mansion had a dreamy appearance with towering stone pillars and wide, arched windows reflecting the fading sunlight. As we drew closer, the huge double doors, made of fine dark polished wood with gold accents, opened to reveal the most beautiful and expensive opulent interior. The inside screamed perfection. Who knew Alexander Donovan, with his cold personality, had exquisite taste like this? I didn't have time to look around when a maid approached me tapping me out of my wonder. She also, without a word, motioned me to follow her behind, making me think that everyone who was walking for Alexander was muted, but she

The car pulled away from the curb, and Millbrook waited four hours further down the road, closer now than it had been an hour ago, and somehow further away than ever. Bertrand looked up from his phone, his face pale in the afternoon light, the color draining out of it the way it does when a person hears something they have waited too long to hear. "Ashgrove Manor says there's a resident named Ruth Preston," he said slowly. "Ninety four years old. Admitted under her married name. Her maiden name, according to their records, was Caldenwood." I turned to Alexander, my breath catching in my chest. "That's not Aldric," I whispered. "That's someone who knew him." "Or someone who loved him," Alexan

“They’re ready for you.” Damon gave a subtle nod, and Lena forced her expression neutral as they followed Ellen down the corridor. The hallway was dim, the kind of deliberate, moody lighting that made everything seem more luxurious. The air even smelled expensive—amber, vanilla, and a hint of cedar. They approached a glass door with a brushed-gold sign above it that read: Wintour & Co. Bespoke — Handle with Envy. Lena almost snorted. Figures. “This way,” Ellen said cheerfully, leading them inside.

I manage to whisper against her lips, my voice trembling. “They won’t,” she murmurs back, her lips brushing against mine, her words melting into another kiss. Her tongue glides against mine, and the heat pooling in my lower belly makes my knees weak. Millie moans softly, the sound vibrating against me as her hand roams under my t-shirt, her touch leaving a trail of goosebumps. My nipples hardens, and a quiet moan escapes me before I can stop it. I pull back, gasping for air, my chest heaving. Millie’s lips are swollen, her pupils blown wide, and the look in her eyes is enough to make me forget the risk.

despite our differences in social status, she's always been by my side, and we've grown so close. I nodded once. “Yes Mila, Adrian Blackwood.” Mila let out a slow breath. “Okay. Wow. That’s… wow.” She leaned back against the plush seat, crossed her arms, then leaned forward again like she physically couldn’t stay still. “I leave you alone for one interview and you come back engaged to a billionaire sociopath?” “I’m not engaged.” “Marriage contract,” she corrected. “Which is as a matter of fact, worse.” "I didn't sign it though"