Mr Criminal Wife Age Novels & Stories

Back in Alvarez residence…. Mrs. Alvarez sat in the living room with a plate of chips and nuts while she enjoyed her family documentary show, she was a Middle aged woman, and she looked her than most of her mates who were her age or even older. She was barely sixty but she looked to be in her late thirties. She was the wife of the renowned businessman, Mr. Alvarez and the mother to the loving son, most people had adored, Adriel. But despite having all these, her son was still careless after the hard breakup with Sasha.

He is pretty handsome, that is why. Even at the age of 39, he has an amazing physique and his face is a lot younger than his age. Mrs. Fahn does not look like she was even married to him. She looks too old today. And she is still the possessive wife of Mr. Fransisco because she has told everybody to call her Mrs, but she loves her father too much so she does not let his surname go. She is damn twisted. Sometimes I even think she should be in a mental asylum, not teaching music here.

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"

It was part of my moving-on journey. As long as I never agreed to marry Mario and was married to him by force, I was unmarried, and my name was Gia Conti. "Yes, she's 2 months," I chuckled. "Oh my, she's still a baby. I thought she was a couple of years old like my daughter Carla. She's 8," she chuckled, too. "They can still be friends," I joked. "If Carla still struggles to make new friends, then of course. We just moved in too," she responded.

the room was dark thank goodness the curtain did a good job of blocking the sun ray. 'W...' someone shoved a cup of water at face, not looking at the person I accepted it and drank. 'Don't rush child.' Child? me? I am a grown woman well my features tell me that. Placing the cup down I was prepared to give this woman a lecture, however all words died on my tongue when I looked at the elderly woman. She could me seventy or more, old age actually made her beautiful. Grey locks on her heart face, dare I say wrinkles look good on her.

“Welcome, Mrs. Hills.” “Pleasure to finally meet you.” “I’ve heard good things.” They all welcomed me. I nodded. “Thank you. I’m looking forward to working with you all.” But then… a voice rang out. “Is she your wife?” I turned to the woman. Early fifties, elegant in an old-money kind of way. Expensive pearls, with judgment in her eyes. Xavier went still. The entire room seemed to hold its breath. Seconds passed. Long, uncomfortable seconds. And then finally, he said, “Yes.”

The other two younger men must be their sons. “I have a beautiful family, haven’t I?” Mia is startled and turns towards the woman who is standing in the doorway. The woman is in her fifty’s, tall, and in good shape. She wears a beige suit with a Chanel brooch on her chest. Her hair combed in a neat bun, her skin fair and line-free, her green eyes as piercing as a knife. Mia could tell she was a knockout in her younger age. Mia realizes the woman is Mrs. Powell. She hurries to stand up, following Susie’s suit.

Vicky's sudden promotion to his new job, mere months after completing his internship, was still sinking in. Sitting beside Mrs Brown, a woman in her thirties, while he was still in his twenties, made the moment even more surreal. Mrs. Brown was arge woman, embodied a confident and adventurous spirit, defying her age with radiant youthful energy and playful charm.

They shielded me, forming an unspoken wall of solidarity. I caught a flicker of frustration in Simon's eyes, a subtle crack in his performance. The corner of my mouth lifted in a faint, mocking smile. "Simon," I said, my tone sharp enough to cut through his tirade. "You're accusing me of abusing my position to harm my wife. Do you have proof?" His laugh was cold, mirthless. "Proof? Of course, I have proof!" With a flourish, he produced Clara's death certificate, just as he had in the past.

The man everyone worshipped like a prophet, he was old enough to be my grandfather, perhaps older, no one actually knew his real age because nobody dared ask questions about the Master, but whispers among the older women claimed he was already in his sixties, his hair had turned silver years ago, though his presence remained terrifyingly strong, he spoke softly, moved slowly, and smiled gently, that was what made him frightening. Nothing about him looked violent, until you disobeyed him, then people disappeared, I swallowed hard as Mother Ruth continued pinning the dress around my body, the Master had been married four times before me. Four wives and every single one vanished, the Sanctuary