The Mischievous Mrs Maxfield Novels & Stories

"Are you out of your mind?" Mrs. Scofield thundered, her face purpling with rage as she slapped Electra across the cheek. The sound of the slap echoed through the room, leaving an uncomfortable silence in its wake. Electra's eyes widened in shock as she held her cheek, staring at her mother in disbelief. "What have I done to deserve the slap?" she asked, her voice trembling with hurt and anger. Mrs. Scofield's expression was unforgiving, her eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you plan to marry Maxwell without informing us?" she thundered, her voice echoing off the walls. "How can his father announce that without our knowledge or consent?"

There was a knock on the door and the two women calmed themselves down. “Come in,” Eileen said. It was Mrs. Taylor with the meals. She looked at Fia on the bed and then at Eileen who was accompanying her. “Where’s Master Maxwell, Ms. Reid?” “Out enjoying himself!” Mrs. Taylor was stunned. “How… Could he do that?” “She’s just joking. He went to see the director.” “I see,” Mrs. Taylor said as she sighed in relief. “I listened to Master Maxwell’s request and made something nutritious for you. I’ve also made a few dishes that are beneficial for your health. Have a bite too, Ms. Reid.”

Max sighed. "That’s enough children!” Mrs. McTavish scolded. “This is not a good time to discuss this. We have guests and besides, Max hasn’t introduced Genny to his new girlfriend," Mrs. McTavish plastered a fake smile on her face as her views settled on me.

Mrs Mica pecked my cheeks "Gud afternoon Mrs Mica and Mrs meyer"i greeted seating beside Mrs meyer "So what brings you here Penny?"Mrs meyer asked "Well I came to pick you guys up...it's Max birthday today!" "I totally forgot"they said In usion making me giggle "Give us 30 minutes and we'll be ready"they both got up from the couch and went upstairs Mrs Meyer is so sweet...now I know where Max gets his sweetness from Speaking of Max.. I hope his on his way home

“What is wrong with you at this hour?!” “You lying bastard!” Mrs. Crawley shrieks, shoving her phone in his face. “Who is this woman? Tell me, or I swear I’ll skin you alive!” Mr. Crawley stares at the screen in horror. The image shows him with a woman who works as a waitress at their family-owned bar. Explicit photos leave no room for excuses. “Honey, it’s not like that! It’s photoshopped. I swear!” he stammers, panicking like a scolded child.

But now, all he could smell was cleaning solution. He hit the intercom, buzzing the staff quarters. "Hello?" It was the young maid, Carmen, her voice thick with sleep. "Carmen, where is the Mrs.?" "What? Boss?" Carmen sounded confused. "It's… it's eleven at night. I don't know where she is. She's usually in the library reading by now." "When did she leave?" "Leave? I don't understand, Boss. I was in the laundry all day. I didn't see the Mrs. go out."

"Hello Mrs Maxwell, you look beautiful tonight''. I drew my attention to Mrs Jenifer Maxwell who was looking beautiful in her cream colour designer evening gown. She remarried very recently. I was so happy for her and Elle. Mrs Maxwell finally found her true love and we all were happy for her and Mr Maxwell. "Wrong, Sky. Most beautiful" Chris corrected me and kissed Mrs Maxwell's hand. Chris never failed to charm women of any age group. Sweet boy.

His eyes widened when he saw me and his imagination must have been running wild, as he clutched tighter to Mrs Collins. "Blade?" She calls still frozen at the kitchen door. "What," He answers. "Why is there a teenage girl tied to the kitchen chair?" Mrs Collins asks and Max looked up at her as his poor overactive imagination must have left him thinking it was actually a person inhabited by ghosts. "She's my prisoner," Blade calls back and Mrs Collins mouth opened to say something but she thought better of it and closed it. She sighed and entered the kitchen with Max still clutching to her clearly frightened by the sight of me.

The mansion was a hollowed-out shell, the windows like eyeless sockets staring out at the dead gardens. But as we approached the old stone carriage house—the site of my father’s original workshop—a faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump echoed through the floorboards. The sound of a loom. "She's here," Julian whispered, shifting Florence to his other arm. We entered the workshop. It was filled with the scent of cedar and machine oil. In the center of the room, lit by a single, flickering industrial lamp, stood Melanie Vance. She wasn't at a computer. She was standing at my father’s old wooden loom, her fingers flying across the threads with a frantic, uncoordinated speed.

"Even if you can't continue your studies at the Werewolf Academy, you can still live comfortably." I tried to smile through the pallor. However, the future Simon spoke of didn't exist for me anymore. At this point, their love and affection were luxuries I could no longer afford. Laila turned on the camera and began recording. "This thesis was written by me at home…" she sobbed. "I never thought my sister would claim it as her own." As she spoke, she turned the camera toward me. Dad, Mom, and Simon all watched closely, as if afraid I might slip.