Too Late Colleen Hoover Novels & Stories

Tell me it's not true! Mom was totally lost. She figured Bruce knew I was off the market. She had no clue why he was even there, but she kept her cool and explained. "Mr. Laurent, meet my grandsons, Leo and Luca. They're four, Eleanor and her husband's little ones." "No way!" Bruce was shaking his head like crazy, "Eleanor can't be married! She loves me! She's been waiting for me! She's been waiting all these five years!" The crowd started buzzing, the room turning into a hot mess.

Damiano offered. “No need. Stay with your grandfather,” Arturo replied before leaving. Once inside the car, his subordinate stepped forward. “Commander Bianchi, here’s the information you requested.” Arturo opened the file. Pietro Conti had a fairly ordinary background. But the woman—Lorenza Taddei—was different. The subordinate explained carefully, “She has no history of cancer, yet she was later registered in the oncology department. Also…” Arturo’s expression darkened. “Also what?”

After they'd had a few drinks, my stepfather asked him where I had gone the last time he saw me. The relative was getting tipsy from the drinks, so he mumbled, "No idea. Only saw his back and nothing else. It probably wasn't even your kid." My stepfather froze. It had been so many days, and only now did the possibility that the cops weren't scammers finally hit him. Before he could say anything, the tipsy relative continued, "Your wife did ask if anyone died here. Later, my wife said a young man did, a high schooler. Apparently, he had late-stage cancer. The poor lad had cancer cells spread across his whole body.

"Mia, do you have to talk like that? I've explained it to you so many times. I only think of Hazel as a little sister. There's nothing going on between us." I didn't say anything. I just pulled out my phone and showed him Hazel's post. In the photos, inside the exact private room we had booked, Grayson's family and Hazel's family were sitting together, perfectly harmonious. In one picture, Grayson was lowering his head to peel shrimp for her. In another, Hazel was reaching down to touch his face. The two of them were so close they looked like they were about to press together. The caption read: [Meeting the parents! The guy who's sponsored me all these years is about to become my husband.]

I gently patted her on the shoulder and said, “Mrs. Jackson, have you forgotten how you got to where you are today? From a low-level clerk to your current position, it was all thanks to my mom’s support.” Daisy nodded quickly, bowing as she spoke. “Of course not. I will always be grateful for everything Mrs. Hamilton did for me. I owe her my life.” Watching the scene play out, Selena finally realized she had messed with someone she shouldn’t have. Still not quite convinced though, she asked through gritted teeth, “Mom… who is he?” Another slap landed on the back of her head. “You idiot!” Daisy snapped. “You’ve really done it this time. That’s the son of Mrs. Hamilton, Capital City’s former r

Lucas jerked his head up, his face instantly turning deathly pale. He grabbed my hand again. "It wasn't me... I didn't make you..." "Mr. Hart." A cold male voice came from the doorway. Holden's suit was damp with rain, and his tie clip gleamed sharply under the light. "What are you doing to my wife?" A vein throbbed at Lucas's temple as he stared hard at the man standing in front of me. "So you're Holden Shaw?

I went back to the kitchen on legs that felt strangely lighter. I picked up my phone. I opened my notes, scrolled to the bottom—past the positioning, past the questions, past Diana’s careful layers of holding companies, and added one more line. ‘Robert Sinclair. He knows something. Pay attention.’ I stared at the words. Then I looked at the east wing door, still closed, where Celeste Vane continued her calls, building whatever empire she was building, completely unaware that the most powerful position in this apartment had just shifted—quietly, irreversibly into new hands.

"She's hiding something else. Something bigger than the trust agreement, maybe even bigger than what she's already confessed to." Nadia's phone buzzed suddenly, and she glanced down to find a message from an unexpected sender — Ms. Reyes, sent with unusual urgency. *Mrs. Hale, I overheard something you both need to know immediately. Mrs. Colleen made a call an hour ago, before you spoke to her in the library. I only caught part of it, but she mentioned your names, and something about "making sure the confession never actually reaches anyone who matters." I think she's planning something.*

I stopped, watching a few women in expensive gowns trade scornful looks. “Rebecca was always meant to be head curator. What right does she have to fight for it?” “Exactly! The Don and Rebecca grew up together. A perfect match. Then this little painter shows up out of nowhere and steals the fiancée spot. Rebecca hasn’t said a word, and she’s the one throwing a fit?” Little painter. My fingers tightened around my glass. “Besides, Rebecca was the one working the collectors day and night for this auction. She was gone half of last month. Who knows what she was up to.”

A slow, deeply satisfied smirk spread across my face as I took a sip of my wine, the memory of Leon’s trembling, disheveled form in my lab flashing pleasantly through my mind. "Honestly, Annie? It’s been pathetic," I said, my voice completely informal and relaxed as I leaned into the counter. "He literally spent an entire week sitting in my corporate lobby from 8 a.m. to midnight, sending up massive boxes of white roses that my security team kept throwing straight into the dumpster. He looked like he hadn't slept or showered in days." Annie let out a sharp gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "No way. The great Leon Halefield was loitering in a waiting room? Oh my god."