Mr Fashionable Novels & Stories

The maids reassured me with a smile, as they said that it’s gonna be okay. After hours of exhausting training, Damien and his parents entered the training grounds; and the very first thing that caught their eye was the sight of me pulling the gun’s trigger, and ended up shooting next to the bull’s eye. They looked at me with amusement, and soon after, Damien walked closer to me with a proud look on his face. “Not bad,” he smirked. I looked back at him, as I smiled. Damien’s eyes were fixed on me; not a second of turning away. We’re like lovers who hold the most genuine feelings towards each other. A model having an affair with one of the strongest mafia bosses in the world. What could be pos

I smiled politely. “Yes. I’ll come.” Madison clapped happily. “I knew you’d say yes.”She pointed playfully at me“And don’t disappoint me.” “I won’t.” “Oh!” She suddenly remembered something.“There is one important thing.” “What is it?” “The dress code.”She grinned mischievously.” The dress code is hot and sexy” I nearly choked.“Excuse me?” She burst into laughter. “I want everybody looking their absolute best.” She stood up, picked up her handbag, and adjusted her sunglasses.

she asked softly, her eyes searching his face, hoping for a different answer. Maurice turned, fully facing her now. His expression wasn’t harsh, but firm, as if carrying the weight of a father talking sense into a daughter. He stepped closer, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. “Mia, listen to me carefully. You don’t need to wear clothes like this to be beautiful. True beauty is not about showing everything to the world. It’s about grace, dignity, and the way you carry yourself. I don’t want you mistaken for the kind of girls who believe they must expose themselves to get attention. You are different, Mia.”

The first one was a lace high-neck long-sleeve midi dress, while the other one was a classic white with a square neckline. “Either way, it’s the person who wears it.” I smiled, turning around. “Wow. You look hot.” Mad was already wearing a white crisp shirt and dark pants, and he looked like he had just walked out of a men’s fashion magazine photoshoot. I closed the distance between us, tiptoed to kiss his lips carefully, not to leave a lipstick stain. “And you’re gorgeous.” His hands came to my waist, traveling down to my ass. I was wearing underwear inside the robe, but I felt naked through his intense gaze. He then takes my hand. “Come with me.”

He looked perfect in his navy suit. But then she saw it. Franklin reached out to adjust his cufflink. As his sleeve pulled back, Aria saw the edge of his shirt cuff. It was frayed. Just a little. A tiny unraveling of thread at the seam. Franklin Stone never wore frayed shirts. He bought his shirts from a tailor on Savile Row who flew to New York twice a year for fittings. He was a man who believed appearance was the only reality that mattered. Aria looked at her mother. Eleanor was wearing her signature pearls, but her ring finger—usually adorned with a five-carat solitaire—was bare.

She was still not over with Miliani's hair when Jessica along with Tulip knocked on the door. Both Mili and Willa could not figure out what to do with Mili's long, wavy hair. Jessica silently observed Miliani's limited edition custom-tailored dress - a floor-touching elegantly black gown with a deep front slit. But her makeup and hair weren't up to the level of her attire. Minimal and basic accessories, unruly hair and amateur makeup made her look miserable in Jessica's eyes.

“You’re not still clinging to that cheating excuse of a husband, are you?” I scoffed. “Please. I’m done with his sorry ass.” “Good, that's my girl,” she said firmly. “Then I’ll see you tonight.” And she hung up. By evening, it was almost time for the social banquet, the annual elite dinner attended by the city’s wealthiest figures. Millionaires. Billionaires. People who smiled too much and meant too little. I was still at my penthouse, debating my dress choices, when the doorbell rang. Madison stood outside, already dressed to impress, with a makeup artist beside her. She didn’t waste time. Within minutes, I was seated while the artist worked magic on my face. Madison helped me pick a dress

Begrudgingly, she replied [“Fine”] Later that evening, Mirable arrived at the upscale restaurant Franklin had chosen. She was dressed in a tailored navy blazer and pencil skirt, professional as always. Franklin stood waiting for her near the entrance, his usual stoic demeanor in place, though there was a flicker of something softer in his eyes when he saw her. “Franklin” she greeted, her tone clipped but polite. “Mirable” he said, gesturing for her to follow him inside.

I let the breeze tangle my hair and pretended I wasn’t completely unraveling inside. Macey flipped the visor mirror down. “I have exactly two zits and zero dresses for Milan. I’m a walking emergency.” I smiled. “You’ll be the hottest one there. Milan won’t know what hit them.” She winked. “That’s the goal.” We hit every store that had lighting kind enough for selfies—Zara, Mango, that fancy boutique with the velvet sofas and water in wine glasses. Macey tried on a dramatic red dress that made her look like an expensive scandal. I found a pair of soft denim shorts that hugged my hips in the kind of way that made me feel hot.

It was a place where morality went to die, and for Madison, it was the perfect hunting ground. She stepped through the heavy doors of the bar up west, and the atmosphere shifted instantly. She was a vision of lethal elegance, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders in loose, glossy waves that caught the strobe of the dim lights. Her red lipstick was applied with surgical precision—a bold, defiant crimson that made her teeth look startlingly white. Her clothes were deliberately alluring, an outfit made from sheer fabric that hugged her body provocatively and did not leave much to the imagination.