Woman Author Mystery Novels & Stories

No one acknowledged me beyond quick, nervous bows. I was the Mafia Prince's wife. The newest acquisition. Something to be wary of but not engaged with. I found myself drawn to the library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, leather chairs, the smell of old paper and expensive scotch. A room that felt lived in. Real. I ran my fingers along book spines. History, philosophy, military strategy. Fiction mixed with fact. Someone in this family actually read. Actually thought. "Finding everything satisfactory?" I spun. A woman stood in the doorway. Older, maybe fifty. Elegant gray suit, hair swept into a perfect chignon. She looked like money and authority and absolutely no nonsense.

"Your denial doesn't matter. There are records in Madison's manor, detailing every woman sent there—their origins, who sent them, how they arrived, their ages upon entry and death, and the abuse they endured. All laid out clearly." "Maya, will you confess now, or wait for the Ministry of Justice to summon you? Madison isn't just facing treason charges. Over a hundred women suffered and died in her manor—this case, as shocking as the treason accusation, has drawn Lycan Erasmus's full attention." Maya's knuckles whitened on the armrests, her forehead beading with sweat. She hadn't anticipated being cornered here. That woman's name had faded from her memory, only recalling Madison's obsession w

I'm not worried about her one bit, but I hope she's fine wherever she is. Walking through the door to our home, I dropped my keys and handbag on the hallway table. I kicked off my shoes and padded through the carpeted corridor to the bedroom. Having had dinner with some strange women I met at the park before coming home I wanted to settle in my favourite chair. I had received an anonymous package in the post a few days ago and inside was a hot and steamy erotic novel. Of course by my favourite author Marietta. There was no message inside, and I didn’t have any idea as to who had sent it to me, but I was enjoying it immensely.

I ran to the romance shelf first and started checking from side to side and I still did not see anything. I sighed in confusion because I had thought that I was going to see the clue in the romance section. I went to the section for fantasy books and I kept checking each side of a book, my eyes caught on a very attractive cover and I smiled before pulling it out. The cover was so beautiful and I read the title, 'Curse Of The Wolves'. It was written by my favorite author in the world, Jane Doe. I had read all of her books and all are a masterpiece and I had no doubt that the one I held in my hands was going to be a great read as well.

she snapped and walked out of the room. Mary stood waveringly as she watched her only friend go. The pains came again but she didn't feel like doing anything about it. What was life now without Alfred? Ofcourse she had suspected all along about him having a mistress. The midnight calls, the late nights, the condom packs intentionally left in his trouser pockets but she had thought he would not throw it on her face this way. She hadn't thought the mistress would be Selena of all ladies. A sad smile spread across her face.

she asked, bursting with excitement. "Anything you ask for, A*i," said Weston, sitting down beside her. A*ianna looked at all their expectant faces with a grin on her face. "Anything, dear," whispered their mom. "Well, I came across this book and I found that the storyline resembles yours and Isabella's, Weston. The author's name is Isabella H. and she's based in LA. I think this is our Isabella. What do you think?" Asked an excited Arianna.

A girl asked behind Imogen. "I was just looking around" She answered. "Alright, take your time, miss" The girl smiled and left. Imogen wandered around the bookstore, looking at every shelf for a book to read until her eyes found one. "Longing For A Woman" She called out and reached for it, but a voice stopped her and took it before she could. "Longing For A Woman, written by Emma stones, is a story that tells the tale of two women falling in love and parting," A man said while Imogen moves back, a bit uncomfortable.

Waiting. “What an unpleasant woman...” he muttered, trying to recover his usual sarcasm. But inside he knew: none of this was normal. None of it was safe. And she was nowhere near understanding what that city really was. Or what she herself was becoming. Mia wondered how the woman knew where the key was. It was as if she had communicated with Owen somehow, but that was impossible. She didn't use a phone, she didn't signal anyone. How did she know? The strangest thing was that she seemed so sure, as if she was in direct contact with Owen. That was absurd. Mia began to realize that the woman might know a lot more than she could have imagined, and that made her feel even more out of place. How

She looked at the time on the kitchen clock. Nine forty-seven. Two hours and thirteen minutes. “Mr. Hale,” she said. “I am not going to give you a quote tonight. But I want you to understand one thing before you publish.” She paused. “The person who started this investigation was not me. It was a woman named Helena Calloway. She was a biochemist’s widow who spent the last year of her life pursuing the truth about stolen research and was killed for getting close to it.” She paused. “Her name needs to be in the first paragraph. Not in a list at the end. The first paragraph.”

I liked a mystery. A woman across the street caught my eye. She was rushing from her car towards a tall building. Something drew me to her. Her long red hair was up in a messy bun. She struggled to open the door as she juggled papers, her purse and a coffee. A passerby opened it for her, thanking him as she rushed inside.