Nagisa In A Dress

I send my sister, Lola Graham, to my couture boutique to pick out a wedding dress. As she is leaving, a trainee clerk, Kayla Larson, demands three million for the gown. Helpless, Lola says my name. "I'm the owner's sister. I don't have to pay." Kayla rolls her eyes. "You're pranking the wrong store. Our boss doesn't have a sister. You're just broke and trying to scam us!" she snapped, blocking my sister's way. "This is your last warning—either pay up, or I'll rip that dress off you and throw you out!" Stunned, Lola calls me. When I rush over, I hear my long-time store manager standing deferentially behind Kayla, warning Lola, "You'd better behave. The woman in front of you is our boss' wife. Cross her, and you'll regret it." "Trying to fake your way in here? You've got some nerve," Kayla sneers, adding to my sister's humiliation. My hand freezes on the door. Without hesitation, I cut off my husband's secondary credit card and call him. "Have I been too generous with you? Or did giving you too much money make you think you could afford another woman behind my back?"

On the day of the wedding, my best friend, Elena Hartman, can't bear to part with me, so she threads my wedding shoes with a string and ties them snugly around her slim waist. The groomsmen turn the whole place upside down, and we end up late for the ceremony. She eventually cracks up and tugs at her billowy bridesmaid dress, revealing the outline of the shoes at her waist. "I dare you to come take them. As long as I'm here, she's not getting married!" My fiancé, Miles Lawson, shakes his head and chuckles. "You just love tormenting us, don't you?" Miles exchanges a look with the groomsmen, and they charge at her at the same time. She squeals as she falls back onto the bed, squirming under her layers of tulle. "Don't be so rough! I'm ticklish…" The groomsmen flush bright red. Miles' ears turn scarlet as he feels around her waist. She giggles even louder. "How are you going to undo it through all these layers? Use your head!" Then, she gasped. "That tickles!" Her theatrics make my temper flare. I spring to my feet, lift her skirt, and rip the wedding shoes right off her. "If you're that ticklish, smack yourself with a slipper. Drop the act, or I'll yank out the nerves that make you ticklish!"

I died on my birthday, but neither my parents nor my husband noticed. They were too busy pouring all their attention into planning my twin sister, Esme Shaw's, birthday party. While she was surrounded by people helping her pick out a gown, I was tied up and thrown into the basement. With what little strength I had left, I forced my broken fingers to press in the code—9395. It was a signal my husband, Edwin Grant, and I had once agreed on. It was a straightforward way to call for help in the event of danger. I never thought I would actually need it one day. But when I sent it, he didn't believe me. His reply was cold, "Claudia, just because I didn't take you shopping for a new dress, you've decided to put on a show? "You can still wear last year's gown. Stop making trouble. I'll see you at the party later." What he didn't know was that Esme had already shredded that gown into pieces. And what he couldn't imagine was that the moment after he hung up, I was already gone. So, when the celebration began, I never appeared. But when everyone saw the birthday gift I had prepared for Esme ahead of time, the entire room lost its mind.

Lewis Gordon says he likes older women. Seeing that he's young, energetic, and good in bed, I agree to be his girlfriend. But when he runs into me with his friends while I'm dressed in business attire, he is stunned and doesn't know how to react. Then, he quickly introduces me. "She's just a neighbor like an auntie." What? Middle-aged? I immediately break up with him. He sends a clumsy explanation, "When you dress like a middle-aged woman, it's really embarrassing for me." I block him and don't bother replying. Five years later, I bring my son along to celebrate my husband's godfather's birthday. Lewis shows up, holding hands with his girlfriend. When he hears my son call Johann Tucker "Grandpa Johann," he pulls a long face. He blurts, "This is my son, right? He should be calling him great-grandfather." I shoot him a look of pure disgust. "He's not your son." Lewis points at my son's face and sneers, "Look at his eyes and his face. He looks exactly like me. How can you still insist he's not my son?" All I can think of is my extremely jealous husband. If he hears Lewis claiming that he's my son's father, will he go crazy and kill him?

On our seventh wedding anniversary, I was straddling my Mafia husband, Lucian, kissing him deeply. My fingers fumbled in the pocket of my expensive silk dress, searching for the pregnancy test I'd hidden there. I wanted to save the news of my unexpected pregnancy for the end of the evening. Lucian's right-hand man, Marco, asked with a suggestive smile in Italian: "Don, your new little canary, Sophia. How does she taste?" Lucian's mocking laughter vibrated through my chest, sending a chill down my spine. He replied, also in Italian: "Like an unripe peach. Fresh and tender." His hand was still caressing my waist, but his gaze was distant. "Just keep this between us. If my Donna finds out, I'm a dead man." His men chuckled knowingly, raising their glasses and swearing their silence. The warmth in my blood turned to ice, inch by inch. The one thing they didn’t know was that my grandmother was from Sicily, so I understood every word. I forced myself to remain calm, keeping the perfect smile of a Donna fixed in place, but the hand holding my champagne flute trembled. Instead of making a scene, I opened my phone, found the invitation I had received a few days ago for a private international medical research project, and tapped "Accept." In three days, I would disappear from Lucian's world completely.

“You need to learn manners, kitten.” I growl, prowling towards her. "Don't call me that, you kidnapper!” She screeches, throwing another bedside lamp at me. “Take another step forward and I'll—” I grab her and bend her over my knee. I twist both of her hands behind her back, despite her struggles and screams. “What are you doing?!” She shrieks. "Teaching you what happens when you act like a spoilt brat.” I yank her dress up to reveal the smooth skin of her ass, and plain white panties. And land a hard slap on it. *** Dymond Hilary's obsessive ex-lover is trying to murder her. It gets too dangerous, so she runs to the next city, Los-Angeles, with nothing to her name. No job, no home and no means for survival. To make ends meet, Dymond resorts to pickpocketing and stealing. This serves her well, until she made the terrible mistake of stealing from Nile Garres, the most ruthless and tyrannical billionaire in the country. As punishment, he kidnaps her. First to humiliate and teach her a lesson, but then found himself fascinated by his little redhead pet, who he would protect and pamper with all his wealth and power. But how does this ruthless billionaire react when he discovers that his feisty little kitten was pregnant for a powerful rival billionaire? And he finds out she was on someone's murder list? And this "someone" was her psychopath ex-lover?

Inside the tattoo studio, Seth Jones let his fingertips trace the dip of Rita Searle's waist and move slowly up her spine. With a soft rustle, her dress slipped to her ankles. He stood over her, taking in the blood-red rose inked across her chest. They had been married for three years, and this was the anniversary gift he'd be giving her—999 roses tattooed into her skin. A broken sob scraped up Rita's throat. "Seth, it hurts… Please, stop…" Her tears splashed onto the back of his hand, but he only pressed the needle deeper, dragging it along until angry red welts marked her body. "Victor wanted those damn roses so he could give them to another woman, and that led to Tara falling off that cliff and ending up in a vegetative state. I'm just giving him what he wanted. You should be grateful." Lying on the cold tattoo table, Rita felt the chill spreading through her. Her eyes stung, weighed down by grief churning behind them. "Isn't it enough? You bought out Searle Group, you hung Victor over a cliff, and left him for the vultures. What else do you want from us?" Seth grabbed her by the throat and forced her chin up. "And isn't Tara innocent in all this? Rita, you and Victor destroyed her life. Don't you owe her for that?"

The man I love is getting married. And it isn't to me. I've been in love with Jonathan for as long as I can remember. I loved him as a girl. I loved him as a teenager. I loved him as an adult. I love him still. But he doesn't love me. How could he? He's a billionaire and I'm just the butler's daughter. But when I attend a party in my Gucci dress and fancy heels, he sees me in a whole new light. And it couldn't have come at a worse time. His high-powered wedding is in two weeks. It falls to his older brother, Christopher, to protect Jonathan from himself. As always. And this time, that means spiriting me away and tempting me with my dream job on a tropical island. Here, I learn that Christopher is so much more than I ever gave him credit for. He gets me in a way no man ever has. His body completes me in ways I didn't even know possible. And the way he looks at me makes me think he could be the one. I've always been in love with Jonathan, but now that I've been with Christopher, I find I can't choose. Some people go their whole lives without finding one love of their life. Now I have to decide between two.

"She will come back," she promised. "She just needs time to sort her head out." "Not her heart?" The dry distinction made Charley wince. "I'm sure she loves you," she persisted. "She's just not ready to commit to marriage." If you just give her time, then I— Black eyebrows with a fascinating silken gloss gave her a curious look. "Are you actually standing there, Miss Jones, suggesting that I should wait for Adelina to sort her head out?" Well, was she? Lifting her chin, "If you love her—yes," she insisted. "Then you are a romantic fool because it is not going to happen." He moved suddenly, straightening away from the desk. "There is a wedding arranged for next Saturday morning, and I intend to make sure that it goes ahead." Without a bride? Charley stared at him. "You mean—you're going to find her and drag her back to marry you?" A silly kind of laugh left her throat at the very image of Adelina being dragged by this man down the church aisle, kicking and screaming. ‘No.’ Reaching behind him, his long fingers picked Adelina's letter up again—this time to fold it with slow, neat precision. "I mean to replace her with someone else."I want reparation for being taken for an idiot, and if that means putting you in Adelina's wedding dress and marrying you in her place, then that is what is going to happen."

Princess Layana's birth was a mystery and her heritage a secret. Despite the luxurious life of a royal, she simply wished for a life away from the cage-like palace. Declan of House Storm was the sole survivor of a massacred clan, an event that gave birth to the darkness within him. Fuelled by hate, rage and betrayal he wants nothing but to get revenge on the royals that slaughtered his family. What will happen when the shielded princess with a heart as pure as the first ray of dawn meets the heir whose soul is shrouded in a blanket of darkness. Will he set her free from her shackles? Will she be able to lead him to the light before it’s too late? When the first whispers of darkness spread from the borders, they are brought together to protect the kingdom.Beware the prophecy decreed a long time passed for it may hold their world in its balance. -------- “It seems Lord Declan holds more ignorance than he is aware, we are women with emotions, wishes and hopes that we put behind us for the betterment of the kingdom,” Layana said her eyes flashing “Do enlighten me, what exactly can the precious jewels of the kingdom do for its people?” Declan mocked arrogantly. “Jewels? You compare us to items devoid of emotions, but yes, like jewels, we will be given away to the highest bidder. So before assuming princesses are simply there to play dress up and have tea parties, remember our lives are not simply fun and games!”