Old Mills And Boon Novels & Stories

I smiled after receiving the message, so I replied, "I'll be there, just give me a few more minutes." I only have one hour left for my preparation. So, after drying my hair, I immediately went to my closet and wore the dress that I'd set apart yesterday night. It was a long, black, cocktail dress with a slit. It's also covered with silver glitters scattered around the dress, making it elegant. Then, I faced the mirror and started wearing my makeup. As planned, I want to wear simple makeup that showcases my simple beauty. I couldn't help but smile while facing the mirror. I never get too excited like this before. Imagining the faces of my foes never fails to amuse me. I want to see how they a

“Impress me? Duh. You’re stupid if you think money is going to impress me.” “What should I do then?” She leaned in, tugging at the collar of his shirt seductively, and whispered in his ears. “Be a little more romantic.” He looked flushed, and that only served to delight her more. “Why are you still standing there? Come on.” The flight attendants welcomed them aboard the private jet, guiding them to their plush seats adorned with soft pillows and cozy blankets. The spacious cabin exuded a sense of opulence, and Shanaya couldn't help but marvel at the thoughtfulness Dhruv had put into every detail of their trip.

Elara’s new life as Mrs. Blackwood began with a sense of overwhelming displacement. She had stepped into a world of privilege and luxury, a stark contrast to the life she had known before. Every corner of Damian’s sprawling mansion seemed to whisper of old money and aristocratic lineage—a world that felt as foreign to her as another planet. As she wandered through the corridors, each room more opulent than the last, Elara couldn’t help but feel like an outsider.

I looked into the rear view mirror occasionally and Nelson was constantly stealing a glance at me. The beautiful but suffocating pink gown clung onto my body, revealing my shapes and curves. I couldn't wait for all these to be over so I could pull it off. “Remember the warning, no extra talks. Just answer necessary questions and keep shut,” Nelson warned. My surprise couldn't be contained as the limousine came to a halt in front of a magnificent mansion. I had thought Nelson's mansion was the biggest I would ever see but this was two times bigger than his. From the fascinating environment to the fleet of cars in the garage, and the numerous domestic workers, who were all dressed in their col

Zayn let out a low chuckled, "Don't worry Araceli, We'll be there with minutes to spare, just enough to keep them on their toes." Miguel chuckled, his amusement tinged with respect. "Mr. Vanderbilt always gets his way, doesn't he?" Zayn raised a nonchalant eyebrow. "Just prefer to keep things interesting, Miguel." I couldn't help but steal a glance at Zayn. There was a magnetism to him, an aura of power that belied his relaxed posture. He was a lion in a tailored suit, surveying his territory. The large doors of the "Finnmam's Enterprises" boadroom was swung open, revealing a room that spoke volumes about its owner's wealth. A large window showcased the Miami skyline, the room had exquisite

Emilie’s POV: The morning sun filtered through the penthouse windows, casting long shadows across the marble floor. I stood in front of the mirror, smoothing the fabric of the deep emerald gown Milo had chosen for me. It hugged my frame tightly, the neckline plunging just enough to make me feel exposed, yet the elegance of it was undeniable. Tonight, I wasn’t just Emilie, the girl who’d traded her freedom for her father’s life. Tonight, I was Milo Petrov’s wife, and he intended for the world to know it.

I was just pulling another tray of lemon tarts from the oven when the bell above the door chimed. She stepped in like she owned the place. Samantha Elliot. Her hair was in a glossy low bun, lips painted in the exact kind of red that stains your ego, leather pencil skirt hugging her hips, a cream turtleneck that somehow screamed “wealthy villain,” and brown boots that clicked loudly with each step. In her hand: a pristine white box with Elliot’s Bakehouse stamped across the top in gold foil. I didn’t stop working, but I felt Jess tense beside me, felt her hand still on the espresso machine.

She was guided by the ushers to take a seat in the front row which she very much appreciated because it would give her a very clear view. A mini auction show began before the models were to get ready and she watched as the ridiculously rich people bought unreasonable things that she knew would just sit in their houses as a form of decoration. There were very ugly art works from renowned artists, custom designed urns, rare and unique furniture pieces and many more. When a vintage wine collection was dropped on the stand, she thought of Avery immediately and decided to bid for it. Only a dark-skinned man and herself were interested in the wine, but with determination, she bought it for a whoop

"Let's just say certain…family obligations require a change in my marital status. And you, Miss Moore, possess a certain charm and…unexpectedness that suits my needs." Charm? Unexpectedness? Such vague answers did little to quell my unease. "But why a baker? There must be a hundred socialites lining up for the chance to be Mrs. Billionaire." A rueful smile played on his lips. "Socialites are predictable, Miss Moore. You, on the other hand, present an intriguing…wild card." Wild card? The term sent a shiver down my spine. Was I signing up to be a pawn in some high-stakes game I didn't even understand?

I then scurried my legs into my lemon flip-flops and changed into a more suitable clothing for a walk down the street; a light brown flayed gown with strips at the back that fell just above my knees. Stepping out of the house, I felt the chill of a cold hazy London morning. I had never loved strolling, especially early in the mornings. I had to do it this time, because it was the only thing I could do, under this circumstance. I have barely croseed a few houses when I saw a fucking hot filthy rich young man standing by his car, parked down the brightly lit alley of the lonely road. There was something about him that was alluring. I stopped to stare at him for a while and he watched me keenly