Novel & Cerita Alastair Carstairs

Pascoe stood with a hand gesture, signaling the man to go. “Don’t be a stick in the mud, Mr. Pascoe. Let Alpha Alastair share his thoughts. Besides, this concerns him too. We should be thankful if he wants to marry Alexa.” Mr. Darius waved his hand dismissively at Mr. Pascoe. Alpha Alastair wore a confident smile on his face. His black hair flowed, his jawline brushed with fine stubble. His eyes sparkled, and he licked his lower lip when he saw our heated argument.

He said, rubbing Delas arm pulling her closer to him. "Alastair," she said, her tone confirming her annoyance. "Where is he? Is he running late, or has he decided not to come?" Dela asked, changing the subject. Alastair straightened his back and rubbed the back of his neck. "He will be here, don't worry, he had a few things that needed tending to. I don't keep track of him as he is a free agent, but he never misses a party. The poor bloke hardly ever sees anyone, always living in solitude." I heard Alastair say lowly. Just as he finished, another shadow appeared beside him.

Alistair agreed, "Right. Men are despicable. We can't trust them fully, lest we face another heartbreak." "Silence!" Craig slapped Alistair's forehead. He had wanted to object when Irene spoke but didn't dare with her present. Now Alistair echoed her words, and Craig seized the chance. Paisley chuckled, "Alistair, you're a man too. Why do you despise men?" Alistair, from the Tudor family and skilled in music, replied coldly, "I do despise them. That's why I avoid men and befriend women."

The bouquet was so heavy and long that his body was nearly covered behind it. Tears welled up my eyes when I saw my best friend, Alastair Green after 7 years approximately. Alastair moved with his parents in the UK when we were just in high school. Later, he got into the army and was occupied with so many workloads that we barely contacted each other. We used to live in the same community even though our parents were so close to each other. I bet that if he was here at the time of Ryan's birth, I wouldn't have faced a mental breakdown. Because Alastair was always like this one supportive friend who would be there to share your sorrows always. I hated to admit that secretly, I had a crush on

Being young and beautiful, Celeste is the only daughter of the Marcon Family and was raised by Don Andres Marcon and Dona Saffira Marcon in their province. She was known to be an in-demand event stylist and a successful event planner. Everything is fine with her life, but she doesn’t remember anything about her childhood to her adolescence. She always felt that something was always missing in her life –not until she found out the truth when an unknown man came named Allastair and he claimed that she was his.

I felt the muscles in Lucian’s back go instantly rigid. We turned. Standing there was Alistair Ashcroft. He was young, roughly our age, with sharp, aristocratic features, golden-blonde hair, and eyes the color of a winter sea. He wore his tuxedo with a calculated, lazy elegance. If Lucian was a glacier—immovable and relentlessly disciplined—Alistair was a viper coiled in the high grass, exuding the dangerous, decadent charm of a man who found the world profoundly boring. Alistair didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped into our circle, swirling his drink with a playful smirk.

The Queen Mother led me down the long aisle toward a raised platform. Alistair was standing there. My heart skipped a beat. Like me, he was wearing clothes of a light, almost sheer black material. He wore an armless vest that showed off his powerful, scarred arms and loose, flowing trousers. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he wore thick silver armbands that matched my jewelry. He looked devastatingly handsome and completely lethal.

“Yeah, that’s Logan Carter.” There was a round of Oh's and ahs from the group at the window. I heard my phone buzz on the table with a notification. I closed my laptop down and grabbed my things. A lot of the office stayed at the window watching as I exited. I must admit they were correct; he looked exceptional. He was wearing dark jeans, a crisp white T-shirt and a black leather jacket. He was leaning against the bonnet of a car I didn’t recognise.

⁠ He slid a yellowed sheet o⁠f parchme​nt across the‍ t⁠able un‍ti‌l⁠ it stoppe​d near the edge​ of the wood. "‍Loo⁠k at the thi‌r‍d line, Celeste," Alistair whispered, his‍ pale eyes na​rrowing. "Look a‌t the signature fro​m‍ the 1945 st‌eel allocation. Tell me whose ha‌nd w‌rote that ink."

Alastor crossed his arms, smirking, “Well, look who's back from the dead…” They grinned at him, both dressed in casual clothes; Harry was predictably dressed to impress, while his older twin was paler than he remembered and though not as muscular as Alastor now, Alistair was lean and somehow still taller, much to Alastor’s mild annoyance–his brown eyes a shade lighter than Alastor's and his smile as timelessly warm as ever. His perfect twin... “Dude, shut up,” Alistair guffawed, slinging an arm around Alastor’s shoulders and messing his hair up on purpose as he always did when they were kids, “You're still shorter than me!”