Mine Book Novels & Stories

Let me borrow yours," he took my notebook and began to write as well. -What did you write? Can I read? -I asked. He shrugged his shoulders without looking at me. That gave me his permission, so I took the notebook and read the writing. Monique Draper. -She gets nervous when you look into her eyes. -Her hobby is reading and writing romance stories. -Her mother died when she was ten. -Her origins are French. -She has a twin sister whom she loves very much but her sister is no longer the same.

It's a free book. Please, give a chance to my other books on Goodnovel as well and follow me on I*. It's the same penname wellmindelysian. You can get updates about my new stories there. Thank you again.

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There was a bedside table next to her with a glass of water and a bucket next to the bed. "Hello," her voice came out in a cracked whisper. "Hello," she said even louder. "Is anyone there!? Can anyone hear me!? Please. I need help!" she said as she started to cry. This was real, and she had no memory of how this happened. How long had she been here now. Did she wake up prior to this and do the same thing? She looked down at her ankle, which burned the most. It was raw, and it looked like burnt flesh all around. She felt the metal around her ankle, and it burned to the touch. She was being captive with silver. Is that what was making her so weak?

Annoyance curled at the pit of her belly at his words, and she sneered. "And how are you so sure that I'm a Larkin? Because your paper says so? I was born and raised a Morgan, so forgive me for not acting like a Larkin" Mr Larkin's face immediately lit up in a big smile, and he chuckled before he opened the door even wider. "Come in, you're going to fit in perfectly just like a Larkin that you are." Lily arched her brow and looked around suspiciously, before she cleared her throat and made her way in.

"Just don't let her give you that shit about being busy. That's her kiss-off line. Besides, she never looks busy to me." He opened the front door and disappeared outside into the sweltering heat. Nick took his hand out of his pocket and returned to his task. A moment later he stepped inside and congratulated himself for remembering a bad habit from the less respectable years of his life. He glanced around the room. It was tiny. A desk was crammed up against the wall. A metal, three-drawer filing cabinet squatted in a corner and two chairs sandwiched the desk. A coffee machine was the only other piece of furniture in the room, and the desk had a small plant and a laptop computer on it. The of

Let's take you to the flashback! Flashback 9:45AM IST Singhania's Residency Vasant Bihar, Alexander Graham Bell Marg, Malabar hill Mumbai, 400006 "Mummmmmm!" I whined rubbing my temples. Currently I am waiting in the living room with my laptop and headpieces on, waiting for my mum to bring a coffee. This project of Melbourne is messing up with my head. And currently I'm having a killer headache. Everyone is busy with the decorations for puja and they spared me as I had important work.

Thanks for coming this far, dropping a new update soon but till then let me in your thoughts about the book and also check out smitten(a mafia romance) Thank you very much🥰

I wandered aimlessly between the rows of shelves, the soft shuffle of my shoes the only sound I could hear. The quiet was nice. It gave me space to breathe, to think. Eventually, I found myself in front of the romance section. The spines of the books were a rainbow of colors, each one promising a different kind of love story. My fingers skimmed across the titles until they stopped on a green book with a particularly beautiful cover. I pulled the book from the shelf, feeling the weight of it in my hands. The cover was soft beneath my fingertips, almost velvety. It was stunning, the kind of book you’d want to display on a shelf just to admire. The title, "BE MINE," was written in elegant gold

With him occupied, I pulled out the book I had managed to slip away from the library. The title ‘MINE’ was embossed in gold, though the letters were slightly worn as if they had been traced a thousand times. I opened the first page, expecting a ledger or a cold list of assets. Instead, I found a confession. The handwriting was sharp, elegant, and heavy with intent, like a chronicle of an obsession. Page after page, the author described a woman with a poetic, almost frightening reverence. He wrote about the way her hair caught the morning light, the specific, melodic pitch of her laugh, and the way she tasted like summer rain and secrets.