Papyrus Scarf Novels & Stories

Nothing can bring two people together like an adorable little pooch! Brady Rogers took the job as the new city planner for Holiday Hills expecting a town rich with Christmas spirit. What he finds is anything but. Due to budget cuts, many of the Christmas activities have been cancelled. When a cute little dog steals his scarf, he's led to a couple of people who want to help Holiday Hills regain the towns reputation for being the place to celebrate. Could it be that little dog has also led him to love? Noelle Snow loves her job running the animal shelter, but she needs more money to keep the no-kill shelter a float. When she meets Brady, thanks to a sweet pup named Pooch, she might just be able to save the shelter, help the town find their Christmas spirit, and fall in love. But when the town's mayor has different ideas about how the budget should be spent, Brady and Noelle's plans might just fall apart and tear a riff between them. Will Pooch be enough to bring them back together?

A forgotten bite. A fake bond. A power no wolf was meant to command. Twelve years ago, Kira watched her home burn under a blood moon. Smoke in her lungs. A mother’s scarf in her hand. And a golden-eyed boy who bit her—not to mark her, but to silence her. He told her to stay quiet. To wait. Then he left. Now, Kira is back. Not to forgive. Not to forget. But to survive. To infiltrate the pack that destroyed her people. To find the boy who abandoned her and burn his world from the inside. But things have changed. That boy is now Alpha Ronan Vale—cold, ruthless, untouchable. When Kira is captured during the sacred Pack Trial, the Council calls for her execution. Ronan claims her instead, announcing a trial mating bond that isn’t real. At least… it’s not supposed to be. As secrets unravel and an ancient power stirs in her blood, Kira discovers she’s not just an omega. She’s something the world thought extinct—a Royal Omega, born to command alphas and destroy empires. And the fake bond? It starts to feel terrifyingly real. But the past has claws. The Council has plans. And someone is still hunting her—someone who once paid a killer to make sure she never lived long enough to be chosen. The bond was a lie. Until it wasn’t.

Three days ago, Damon Ashford marked me. The night he became Alpha, he sank his fangs into my neck under the moonlight. When his wolf blood mixed with mine, my wolf soul trembled violently. I thought the bond was taking root. I was too excited, too happy to tell the difference between real blood transfer and the simple sting of broken skin. This morning I went to City Hall without telling him. I wanted to pick up our certificate and frame it for our bedroom wall. I wanted to surprise him. The clerk checked the system, then looked up at me. "Whitmore, the mark on your neck is fake. There is no trace of wolf blood exchange." "Also, Ashford completed a formal registration with a woman named Clara Wellick two weeks ago." Under wolf law, a mark must be registered within seven days or it becomes invalid. I came to register, only to find I was never registered at all. I took off the scarf covering my neck and dropped it into the trash can outside City Hall. Standing on the steps, I sent my brother a message. Marcus, I’ll go with you for the closed medical research.

The day my husband, Caleb Vale, buries his first love, Layla Shaw, he stands in front of me and throws our wedding ring into the sea. For the next 12 years, the breakfasts I bring him go straight into the trash, and the scarf I stay up all night knitting is tossed into the fire and burned to ash. The cruelest moment is when he looks me in the eye and says, "Aurora, if you really want to please me, you might as well go die." But when a mugger comes at me with a knife, Caleb still steps in front of me without a second's hesitation. As he lies dying in my arms, he uses the very last of his strength to force out a few broken words. "Go... I hope I never see you again in my next life." At the funeral, Helena Rogers sobs until she faints. "This is all my fault. I never should've arranged your marriage..." Everyone around us pities him and resents me. They whisper that I'm a jinx and wonder why I'm not the one who died. And honestly, I wonder the same thing. Why not me? After Caleb is lowered into the ground, I climb to the top floor of the building and jump. As I hover on the edge of death, a cold, mechanical voice echoes in my mind. "Binding complete. Wish detected. The system will now send you back 12 years."

When Sylvia Reed postponed our wedding for the fifth time, I found a pregnancy test report in her bag and decided to force the issue. Then I saw a trending local post. A woman rolled up her sleeves, baking cookies. Beside her, a man bent down to tease a child. One look was enough. I recognized the scar on her wrist. It was in the exact same spot as the one Sylvia got years ago when she took a knife for me. The scarf draped over the man's shoulders was one I'd custom-made for Sylvia. Our initials were stitched into it. The sight burned. I thought about how Sylvia had been glued to her phone lately, and how I'd heard a baby crying through it. Ten minutes ago, she'd sent me a voice message. "Luke, something urgent came up at the company. I can't make it back to try on the suit with you. Maybe we should postpone the wedding again? Next year. We'll definitely do it next year." But I'd already waited seven years for this wedding. I took off my groom's suit and cut it to pieces. Then I wiped my eyes, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number I hadn't called in seven years. "I'm short a bride for my wedding. Interested?"

In the third year after my fiancée, Iris Ford, falls off a cliff during a sketching trip in the mountains, I accidentally walk into her personal art exhibition. The person I have longed for day and night is right there, gently adjusting the scarf of the young man beside her. The walls are covered with portraits she once promises to paint only for me, but every subject of her paintings is that young man. Violet Bardot, Iris' best friend and the one who once helps me handle her funeral affairs, grabs me anxiously. "Graham, don't do anything rash. Iris has her reasons. After Jack Glenwood saved her, she suffered from a head injury and lost her memory. She didn't mean to stay away." I smile at how ridiculous she is. "It's one thing if Iris lost her memories, but did you lose yours too? Since Iris is still alive, why do you not bring her back? You've watched me live in pain and misery for three years. I had to rely on sleeping pills just to get by. Do you find that amusing?" Violet falls silent and doesn't dare to look at me again. The young man named Jack hides behind Iris timidly. In the next moment, Iris turns to look at me with a frosty expression. "Mr. Stevens, I do not wish to go back. The person I love now is Jack. Since I've forgotten my past, just treat it as memories from a previous lifetime."

"N-N-No, I'm joining my hands in front of you not today, it hurts a lot." she cried out while joining her hands in front of him. "Come here, fast!!" he commanded her in his authoritative voice making her stomach churn and insides shudder. "N-N-No, please let me go. Don't do this." she cried out loudly when he started to charge towards her. She decided to run in opposite direction in order to save herself but before she could even take a single step away from her place he was standing right in front of her and snatched her scarf away from her. ________ Tears welled up in her eyes because no one has ever talked to her with this much respect and calmness. Moreover, she was shocked too after hearing him talking in her native language which she didn't even expect from him. Ryker Verlice, the most feared mob boss of Ireland. Everyone fears him because of his intimidated and impatient aura. His anger issues are cherry on top. He cares for nothing literally nothing but what happens when a caged and scared beauty catches his eyes? Inaayat, the caged and scared beauty is serving the thakurs since her childhood. She has no identity except the maid of the thakurs. No one knows her because she lives hidden by the thakurs. They have broken her to the extent that she couldn't trust anyone but what will happen when an unknown intimidating man will start standing up for her?

My brother Christopher owned a boutique on Fifth Avenue. I'd gone in, picked out a few pieces, grabbed a silk scarf on the way, and was heading for the door. The clerk behind the register stopped me. "Ma'am, we'll need you to settle this now." I looked up. Her name tag said Yvonne. Unfamiliar face. Probably new. I didn't think much of it. "Just put it on the owner's account," I said politely. "He knows who I am." She gave a little snort through her nose, eyes raking from my hair down to my shoes. "We don't run accounts here. You might have the wrong store." She pushed an itemized bill across the counter. Four hundred thousand dollars. I scanned the line items. Personal Style Consultation. Premium Fitting Service. VIP Client Private Service. Every single charge cost more than the clothes themselves. I let out a short laugh. "I'm a Whitfield. Christopher's my brother. Whatever this is, he can deal with it at home." Her smile got uglier. "Anyone can claim to be a Whitfield, sweetheart. Are you trying to skip out on the bill, or are you just trying to embarrass yourself?" I didn't bother arguing. I pulled out my phone and texted Christopher: [Fire the clerk named Yvonne in the next ten minutes, or I pull every dollar I have in this store.]

Three years after my fiancé fell off a cliff while on a sketching trip in the mountains, I walked straight into his solo art exhibition by accident. And there he was, the man I hadn’t been able to forget for a single day, gently adjusting the scarf around a young woman’s neck. Every wall around us was filled with portraits he once promised he would only ever paint for me. Yet now, every single one of them was of her. Beside me, Timothy Hansen, his closest friend, the one who had helped me handle the aftermath back then, grabbed my arm. “Lexie, don’t do anything rash. Ethan had his reasons. He was rescued by Jane after the fall. He hit his head and lost his memory. It wasn’t on purpose that he didn’t come back.” I gave a wry smile. “So he lost his memory. Did you lose yours, too? If Ethan was alive all this time, why didn’t you bring him back? You watched me spend the last three years drowning in pain, surviving on sleeping pills. Was that entertaining for you?” Timothy said nothing. He didn’t even dare to look at me. Meanwhile, the girl—Jane Green—shrank back, hiding behind Ethan like a frightened animal. Then, Ethan finally looked at me, his expression cold and distant. “Ms. William, I didn’t come back because I didn’t want to. Jane is the one I love. As for the past, since I don’t remember it, just think of it as something from a past life.”