Thirty Days Novels & Stories

Thirty days. I kept my voice steady. “That clause just makes things easier. No confusion, no questions. After thirty days, the arrangement ends. You’re free to live how you want. I’ll make sure everything you need is taken care of. Think of it as closure. Or a pension, if that helps.” She didn’t respond. Not a word. The room was quiet for a moment, and then I heard her breath shift. It sounded unsteady. And then, tears. She was crying. She wiped her face, maybe thinking I couldn’t see.

His cheeks was red, eyes searching my face. I straightened my jacket while he sat slowly. Still staring. I turned away briefly, collecting myself. Then I faced him again. "Your punishment," I said. "You will move into my house. You will be present for my brother and you will not be seen at close range with any other man for the next thirty days." He blinked. "You're joking." "You can't just—" He stopped. Ran a hand through his hair. "You can't decide where I live."

“I was beginning to think comfort had softened you.” “I am not soft.” “No. You are distracted.” The word landed precisely where he intended it to and my jaw tightened. “I am not distracted.” “Is that so?” he asked but I didn’t respond. His gaze drifted briefly toward the ceiling, over my shoulders to the books behind me. “Thirty days,” he said. “For what?” “To restore the Angelos deal.” My stomach tightened slightly. “Thirty days,” he repeated calmly. “Or I step back in.” My control nearly slipped.

"What aren't you saying?" The stranger looked at him. Then smiled. A genuinely unsettling smile. "The same thing you're not saying." Alina's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?" The stranger took a slow step backward. The shadows seemed to swallow him with every movement. Before disappearing completely, he spoke one final sentence. A sentence that made both Alina and Adrian freeze. "Thirty days isn't enough." Alina frowned. "Enough for what?" The stranger's smile widened. Then he delivered the words that shattered the little certainty she had left.

"Or if you prefer not to pay you can agree to the second option." "I am not giving you forty million dollars," Jason laughed while looking around to make sure no one heard. "You are delusional." "Then read the second option," Danika interjected. "Option B is that you remain legally married to Mitchelle for exactly thirty more days. She lives in the house and she retains her title as Mrs. Hunt. After thirty days she will sign the final divorce decree and walk away for good." "Why would I do that?" Jason demanded.

“You didn’t.” I folded my arms. “So what’s the price?” “Thirty days.” The number dropped into the room. “Thirty days,” he repeated. “You live under this roof. You eat what’s brought. You sleep in that bed. You don’t leave the building without me or a man I trust. For thirty days, you are mine to keep safe.” His jaw shifted. “At the end of it, the debt is paid, and you decide what happens next.” “That’s a cage.”

His heart was still racing under my ear. “I’m going to spend every one of these eleven days reminding you who you belong to,” he said quietly. “By the time the thirtieth day comes, you won’t be able to walk into his house without feeling me in every part of you.” I closed my eyes. “And after the thirty days?” “There won’t be an after for him.” Adrian’s fingers traced slow lines down my spine. “I’m already working on it. He won’t live long enough to finish the month.”

On the day of our fifth anniversary, I got into a fight with my boyfriend, Tyrus Aberg. My best friend, Claire Dawson, sent me a screenshot. [Proxy Girlfriend: Thirty Days] Below it was Tyrus' reply. [Approved.] Every time we fought, Tyrus would deliberately have Claire act as his proxy girlfriend. He said I only dared to pick fights with him because I felt too secure in the relationship. He figured that as long as Claire got close to him and made me feel threatened, I would get jealous and tearfully beg him to reconcile. Three years ago, after one argument, he and Claire changed to matching couple profile pictures. "You've got one day to think it ove

I look to my chefs, a surge of hunger melts the ice that froze me stunned. "Give me 30 days to cook for you. A second chance for a much more personalized set of meals, one that isn't interrupted by birthday orders or guests. One that focuses more on who you are as a person, not a wish on you'll become as you age or celebrating the past version of you." Eli smiles genuinely this time. "Deal. 30 days. I'll come everyday."

I put the bar back and stayed on the bench. He stood between my knees to check my shoulders. His thigh brushed the inside of mine. He was already hard. I felt it through his shorts. Thick. He didn’t step back. “You’ve been coming late for three weeks,” he said. “You know why.” “I work till nine.” “You work till nine and you sit in the lot for twenty minutes before you walk in.” His thumb pressed under the band of my shorts. Not inside yet. “Say you stayed for this.” I shook my head. My hips lifted anyway.