100 Novel(s) Related To Vanity Fair Novel

In truth, with so much wealth in Victoria's hands, those people wouldn't dare to stay away completely. It was actually Jane who persuaded them all to back off, using the excuse that Victoria wanted some peace and quiet. Victoria was always the type of person who held grudges. After everything that had happened in the past few days, some people's shares of the inheritance would definitely shift in Jane's direction. On top of that, Summer, the thorn in her side, was finally about to be dealt with. Then, Violet would have a real chance at becoming the lady of the Hunt family. The Fridman family was bound to rise to glory.

Dawn's sky blue hue washed over the pompous mansions, majestically constructed chateaus and grand, imposing manors that distinguished the ever tranquil Estate – Fairford Overlook, from the ruckus New York City was famous for. Fairford was the paradise of New York, the safe haven for the lofty-minded honeybees to produce the financial honey in pacification before consumption from the insatiable city of New York. It was the estate said to be ever flowing with wealth as indispensable as the pacific. It was where I, Harvey Rhett, 19 year old undergraduate from the prestigious Starglint College and heir to BlueStream Advercomp lived – with my family… until things happened.

The camp had become a slaughter house, Sir Duggar’s men were the cattle, and well-armed knights with green tunics were the butchers. I moved from tent to tent doing my best to hide in the shadows. The Bravousians were duteous with their massacre. Every man they came across was killed without mercy and without hesitation. My luck must have been turning around because I could see the entrance and I had only encountered two skirmishes. One man had charged me with his sword out like a skewer. I spun out of his way and stabbed him in the back as he ran past. The second man tried to shove me into a tent so I kicked him in the nuts.

The evil one yelled impatiently, tired of Janice slow-reveal. Vivian face-palms herself sighing loudly... "She means. I didn't take the book. Instead I was making use of your pen." "Those two weeks you thought I was using to watch you closely and pick the perfect time to steal the book, I was actually using it to write a novel. And you were featured in it." Vivian breathes out as she came to a stop. "You should also know the book ends with you dying." Vivian added with ease.

I was a ghost with no name, no money, and a face that felt foreign to the touch. I worked odd jobs under the table while taking online courses. I barely ate. I barely slept. I invested every cent I earned into the stock market, using the aggressive, high-risk strategies I was too scared to use when I was the "good" Elara. I wasn't good anymore. Elara Vance—the sweet, trusting heiress who wanted to save broken men—died in the flames of that warehouse. The woman who rose from the ashes was something else entirely. Three years passed.

And I was in here — in this glass tower full of people who were very competent and very complicated and who had, for reasons I did not yet fully understand, decided that I was worth protecting. I finished the toast. Outside, the city sharpened as the morning burned off its grey. Somewhere below, in the offices and the law firms and the gossip columns and the hushed boardrooms where men decided what other men were worth, the story of Evelyn Vance was being written and rewritten by hands that were not mine. *Not for much longer,* I thought. I picked up my coffee. I looked at the blue diamond. I looked at the city. *Not for much longer.*

POV: Vivian Ashford The Vanity Fair piece is not the profile Ethan was writing. That piece is still in progress, still being shaped into the Sterling family history that Ethan has been building for months. This is something different: a first-person exclusive, offered by me directly, to the same publication that ran Ethan's profile of me six months ago, which means it will be read by everyone who read that piece and will land in the specific context of the woman in those photographs choosing now to speak.

Seraphina, Dean, and a few relatives who had stayed behind after the earlier meeting exchanged glances, all seemingly impressed, and taken in by the grandeur of Marvin's stories. The lavish tales of the Sinclair fortune weren’t exactly new, because it was no secret, but Marvin’s insistence on how important it was for Vanessa to marry him, and for them to make it happen , seemed to sway them. Now more than ever, Seraphina wanted to get rid of Jason. She wanted him gone immediately. Not just out of Vanessa’s life, he should be erased completely.

“Have you met the bride? Pretty enough. But no class. I don’t know where Arthur found her, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll be Mrs. Reynolds soon—and with my guidance, she’ll look the part. She’ll be good for business.” Something inside me twisted. The way she spoke—reducing people to mannequins, to ornaments—it grated like sandpaper. But even as the distaste curdled in my chest, I couldn’t ignore the facts. Vivian had managed what most couldn’t: in a matter of weeks, Maison Vivra was everywhere. Pre-orders had skyrocketed, socialites were flaunting her designs, and now she’d tied York International to a headline-grabbing event. She was still Vivian—charming, elegant, unrelenting. Born with more connections than most people would ever make in a lifetime.

I watched from the couch, confused, my mug of tea untouched and cold in my hand. The Woman who stepped in looked like someone who belonged on the cover of a luxury Magazine. Clipboard. Pearls. Glossy red Lips that curved with effortless command. “Good Afternoon,Mrs Johnson. I'm Vanessa, service manager of the Vogue gallery”. Mrs Johnson. The name still sounded foreign, like someone else's fairytale. Like something I had borrowed, not earned. Before I could react, She gave a polite nod and turned slightly towards the door.

Valerie I was no longer interested in Lucas’s story. In tales of the prince, and love between beasts and humans. Vanilla was eager to keep blabbering on about the fairytale she’d painted in her mind, but I paid little attention to it. I was too frightened by the prospect of one day being trapped as a beast’s concubine. Of being slaughtered by his jealous wife.

Evan sighed softly and patted my shoulder, uncertain but determined to comfort me in the only way he knew. … Three days before the wedding, Callum had his assistant deliver my wedding dress. It was white, covered in glittering stones, beautiful in the extravagant, almost gaudy way only money could buy. His assistant looked at it with open envy. "Mrs. Pierce, Mr. Pierce had this custom-made for you. There isn't another one like it in the world. He really does love you." Then she smiled. "You two are going to be so happy." I smiled back. "Just call me Natalie. We're not married yet."

“Finals. Do you understand what that means for her?” Vanessa’s lips curved slightly. Cold. Sharp. “Maybe she should have thought about that before she decided to sleep with a married man.” The words hit hard. William froze. “That’s not fair,” he said. “Fair?” Vanessa echoed. A humorless laugh escaped her. “You want to talk to me about fair?” Her voice didn’t rise. But it deepened. Sharpened. “I lost my child, William,” she said. The room went still. “You don’t get to stand there and lecture me about fairness.”

# THE HUSBAND I IMAGINED ## Season Two: The Life We Chose *A steamy contemporary romance novel — sequel season* --- ## Chapter One: The Journalist Vivian Cross had been building her career for fifteen years on exactly one skill: finding the seam in a story that everyone else had already decided was finished.

"I do." My hands weren't quite steady when I took it. The pages smelled like lavender. The handwriting was elegant, quick, the writing of someone who had a lot to say and didn't want to lose any of it. The early entries were ordinary, good ordinary, the kind that made you understand who someone was before you learned what happened to them. Stories about the palace. Four children who tested every limit available to them. Damien refusing vegetables with the specific stubbornness only small children managed. A smile came out of me before I could stop it. Then the entries changed.

I walked to the window and stood there and looked out at the city without seeing it, my mind racing with the implications of trying to unravel the truth. The person must really be connected and dangerous. Vivian was investigating Raymond Enterprises. She had been getting close to something close enough that someone had decided she needed to be stopped. They had tampered with her car. And had expected her to die. I pressed my hand against the cold glass of the window. Why me? I have asked myself that question many times since coming back. Annabel's jealousy, the desire to remove the obstacle between her and Michael. Raymond Senior's thought about me being a liability. The financial arrangements with my family suggest I had been managed for years.

All because I wanted to get the better part of life that I thought was still left for me but where I earth has that gotten me right now? I have as many villas as I can perhaps remember but right now, I am relatively a hopeless nomad simply because I can not dare to pass the night in any of those villas without the truth haunting me for every second of my slumber. The fact that I practically stole someone's money to acquire all of those mansions. Mustafa's money. It only became understandable at the moment that all of the material things I endeavored to acquire was vanity. The Vainest of all Vanities.

“You’re not doing this for revenge. You’re doing this because you want what Arabella has. The man, the money, the perfect family.” “That’s not…” “It is. And you know what? It’s pathetic. Adrian Whitmore would never look at you. You’re nothing compared to Arabella.” Vanessa’s face flushed with rage. “Nothing compared to her? I’m the one who stood by while she had everything handed to her. The inheritance, the company, the attention. Poor orphaned Arabella, so tragic, so brave. Meanwhile my mother and I…” “Were trying to steal from her. Yes, I know the story.”

The title sent a cold shiver down her spine. Vivian stepped out onto the cobblestones, smoothing down the front of her tailored cream trench coat. She had spent the entire night reading Valerie’s meticulously typed journal, memorizing names of socialites, favorite high-end fashion brands, and her sister's specific behavioral quirks. But looking up at this fortress, she realized no amount of notes could prepare her for the reality of living under the same roof as Alexander Vance.

I would have to look into the eyes of the man who destroyed my life, less than forty-eight hours after escaping my cell. "Will he recognize me?" I asked, my voice trembling slightly before I caught myself and forced the Baroness's cold tone back into my words. "He won't," Silas said confidently. "Julian is an arrogant man. In his mind, Vivian Vance is rotting in a maximum-security cell, broken and helpless. He will see a beautiful, incredibly wealthy foreign woman with a hundred million dollars burning a hole in her pocket. He will see a lamb waiting to be slaughtered to save his empire."