Villain Suits Novels & Stories

She dug the novel out from beneath a stack of correspondence she'd been using to bury it, dust gathering faintly along its spine, and sat with it open in her lap for the first time in nearly two weeks. *The Villainess's Ruin.* She'd read it once, in her old life, curled up with tea gone cold beside her, treating it as nothing more than pleasant escapism before bed. She read it now with an entirely different kind of attention, searching each page for anything she might have skimmed past the first time, anything that might connect, however loosely, to a name like Renshaw.

What he saw only deepened his fury. Then, he stumbled upon the most recent video—one where he was wearing the exact outfit he had on today. It was a screen recording of Bellie's I*******m story. A melancholic song played in the background while he stood working in the distance. The comments on this particular clip were far more unhinged and delusional than any he had seen before. Tham's jaw clenched tight with mounting rage. The narratives these people were weaving in the comments were entirely fabricated.

Willa said, appearing at my side with the silent grace of a ghost. She was breathtaking. She had flatly refused the traditional silk gowns offered by the "Legacy" designers who were suddenly desperate to dress the woman they had once called a vandal. Instead, she wore a structured, architectural suit of deep emerald velvet, the sleeves rolled back to reveal the faint, stubborn traces of cobalt paint on her wrists. She looked like a queen who had just come from the front lines of a revolution, her hair a wild, dark halo against the minimalist white of the gallery walls.

F-k, Vixen had him fantasising about his best friends in bed, now. Not that Vice and Victor were not fuel for some seriously good fantasies. There was a reason they had been so successful in the industry – and that reason had a lot to do with aesthetics. Victor was easily as tall as Shadow, and as built, whereas Raven shared more the same physique as Vice, to the point that he had not been above raiding Vice’s wardrobe when he had needed a suit for court or something that looked high roller for a surveillance. Vice did high roller well. Hell, Vice did everything well.

“Seriously?” But my hands were already unbuttoning my shirt. I stepped into the bodysuit, the cool material hugging my skin like a second mouth. My nipples poked against the lace. The suit rode high between my thighs, cutting deep into my hips. I pulled on the coat last, and when I looked in the mirror— I looked like a fucking problem like some kind of sex weapon disguised as royalty. And I liked it. I walked back down, clicking softly in heels Vittorio must’ve picked. They were thin, red, and vicious. When I stepped into the room, his eyes darkened instantly.

Or how much fun I weirdly had sparring with him. ‘Admit it,’ Ava purred. ‘You like him a little.’ “Nope. Just allergic to arrogance,” I muttered, yanking the hoodie off and reaching for the crisp white shirt. ‘Right. And I’m the Queen of MoonCrest.’ I ignored her. The suit was a good fit, surprisingly. Tailored to match my measurements almost perfectly. I turned side to side in the mirror and had to admit, I looked sharp. Dangerous, even. Like I actually belonged in a mafia setting.

said Val pointing knife at Jack who is trying to hug her. “OK fine but baby I want that Mr. Right suit” asked Jack pouting and Val stood there stunned. “What did you say?” asked Val. How did he know that suit name is Mr. Right. “Mr. Right suit oh the one in your study locked in a glass case” said Jack. “Did Sheela tell you that it’s called Mr. Right?” asked Val furiously. Jack shook his head in confusion why is she suddenly violent? “Did Zach tell you?” asked Val again. She will kill them both. Even Ty didn’t know that suits name.

SUITE 702 – THE BURG AL ARAB ​The morning of the Obsidian Forum didn't begin with sunlight; it began with the electric hum of the Abyss. Ava stood before the floor-to-ceiling gilded mirror, but the woman reflecting back was a stranger. ​She wore a bespoke black power suit—the fabric so dark it seemed to absorb the room’s light. Her silhouette was sharp, lethal, and undeniably commanding. Over her natural hair, she had pinned an ash-blonde bob wig, the jagged, modern cut altering the very shape of her face.

Did that simply mean that Victor had also voiced opposition, or was I missing something here? That same uneasiness returned, as though I were still missing something important. “—Wait... complaints submitted by who?” I asked slowly. His stony expression somehow became more intimidating as he answered, the reply being so much worse than I could have possibly imagined. “A complaint submitted by your boyfriend... Alpha Liam Pyres.”

“I still can’t believe we live in the same building. It’s—” Victor pushes me back against his front door. I gasp as he drops to his knees in front of me. He reaches up between my breasts and unzips my costume all the way down to my ankles. I wanted to go as the traditional Harley Quinn, so I wore a black and red jumpsuit that looks like a court jester’s costume. But instead of the hat, I let my dark curls run wild. I got the suit a few years ago when I was a little thinner, so it’s snug all over me and not just in certain places. It feels like a second skin, but it actually gave me some extra confidence tonight. Enough that I’ve been far bolder than I ever have with anyone before.