Mysterious Personal Shopper Novels & Stories

I'm literally living my best life at this point. I parked and walked in. I'm spending so much money, and it excited me because I was spending it all on him. It was one of the most expensive male stores in the city, and I was welcomed warmly. Due to how expensive it was, I was given my personal shopper who is also a staff. She seemed to be in her early twenties. She followed me around, helping me pick wears based on Trey's size. “Your husband should count himself very lucky. You're so stylish, no wonder he's stylish too.” She complimented me, especially after taking in my outfit.

Yet, he'd asked me to trust him, so I was trying. He pushed Nathan’s stroller, guiding me into a private room that was pure excess. Too many mirrors, overly plush seating, and a blinding chandelier transformed the space into a sparkling, suffocating cage. My personal shopper ushered me behind a curtain to reveal racks of clothing she claimed to have selected for me. How she’d managed to guess my size was beyond me. I hadn’t bothered to check the label on anything in months.

Tall, blond, beautiful, and curvaceous, she was the complete opposite of Sinclair. She ducked her head when the lady approached them with an enticing smile. "Viscount Redington," raising her hand, waiting for something. Nicholas inclined his head before nodding at the bewildered woman before them. Tightening his hold on Sinclair's tiny waist, he uttered, "sweetheart, this is Melody, my sisters' personal shopper. She will be assisting us today." The lady perked up and smiled widely. "My lady, a pleasure to meet you." Surprised by her greeting, Sinclair looked up and blushed. The personal shopper was delighted to meet her. A commoner. "I am..."

She won't realize she's picking out her own wardrobe for me, piece by delicate piece. Second: confirm a monthly subscription for a personal shopper. She'll sigh, annoyed at the extravagance. But she'll dutifully tick through the checklist: wine, chocolate, pens, a brand of lotion she buys only when she's feeling indulgent. All her favorites. I picture her frowning, confused when the packages arrive at her door in a few days. She'll think it's a mistake, maybe even a pleasant one. Luck. Coincidence. She won't trace it back to me—yet.

The memory of that night in Hawaii—the taste of her, the sound of her laugh, the way she looked at me not with sycophantic awe, but with a fiery, defiant challenge—it’s branded into me. It has never happened before. No woman has ever lingered like this, a ghost in my boardrooms and a phantom in my penthouse. “Sir, I think you should watch this.” My secretary’s voice cut through the turmoil. His tone was carefully neutral, but I caught the underlying tension. He handed me a tablet. On the screen, a headline blazed in bold, black type, accompanied by a crystal-clear photo of Emily and me during one of our dates. “FROM ONE BILLIONAIRE TO ANOTHER: THE MYSTERIOUS MS. CARTER, THE ONLY ONE WHO CONQ

I say in a light, scared voice that I hate so much. “Okay, I have a personal shopper, and she will help you. She knows what I like.” I cleared my throat and left my eyes to meet his. We stare at one another for a moment. Charles stands and immediately turns his back to button his suit jacket. “How about I show you around.”

Furrowing her brows, she turned the key and opened the door. She saw that the color came from clothes and a woman was behind the bunch. She smiled at her and said. “Good evening,” looking Alex up and down. “I’m a personal shopper. Mr. Berkeley called me over.” “Oh!” Alex said, nodding. “They must be for me.” Behind her, she felt the presence of someone, and by the look on the personal shopper's face and the way her stomach tightened, she knew it was Gabe. His scent invaded her brain, making the hair of her arms straighten, making her aware of his heat behind her. He was close to touching, but he wasn’t.

I told myself. But no. It didn't. A man, with rainbow-colored hair, caught up with me and said, "Hey, I'm talking to you. Are you in a hurry or something?" I glanced at the name tag on his vest - Jeremy Levy. Personal shopper and image consultant. Seriously? Give me a break. I thought to myself. I don't need a man who can't decide his hair color give me any suggestions on how to do my hair. "Whatever you're selling, I don't have money and I'm not interested." I kept walking.

Whenever he arrived at night, Desire would’ve been sleeping already and all he’ll do is sleep next to her and by the time Desire wakes up by morning, he’s gone. Desire longed to talk about what happened between them but she never had the chance. She felt him distancing himself from her but she kept on giving an excuse that it was because of how busy he’s gotten. “You May come in” Desire called out after she heard a knock on the door. The same handmaiden that the Queen had always sent to her came into the room, holding an elegant ball dress in hand with a pair of beautiful sandals and a necklace that shines like Gold. Desire couldn’t stop looking at the dress and everything they were holding.

Estelle stated sadly, “I will ask someone about it.” “Someone? You mean his family?” “No, I’ll ask his benefactor.” Cristofer furrowed his brow upon hearing this and remarked, “Forgive my straightforwardness, but I find Mr. Mysterious’s quite strange. He rarely made public appearances. The fact that such a mysterious figure passed away in an accident, with only his benefactor knowing the location of his grave, raises suspicions. It seems as though he orchestrated the accident deliberately, ensuring no one can find him…”