Novel & Cerita Alastair Carstairs

Mr Brooks' mansion, Alastair returned to Mr Brooks' mansion. The gates to the mansion were opened because Mr Brooks had just driven into the mansion. Just in time, Alastair drove in before the gates were shut. Mr. Brooks got out of his car and glared at the car that entered his mansion uninvited. Upon glaring, he noticed the Alvarez logo that was attached to the car and flinched. “What does the Alvarez family want with me this time?”. Mr Brooks muttered and ran into his house, but Alastair got out of his car quickly and ran after him.

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.

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.

She stared at Alistair for a long time before she finally forced out in disbelief, "What did you just call her?" Her next words sounded like they'd been scraped out of her throat. "Your wife?" Her eyes turned bloodshot, and her hands shook as she grabbed Alistair's shoulders. "Ali, don't scare me like this. Look at her—she's a one-eyed, crippled beggar. How could you possibly have married a woman like that? Don't do this to yourself just to spite me, okay?" Alistair had once been Jansburke High School's golden boy, a legend on campus who held his own against any of the rich heirs around him. How could he, the man Geri loved, have married a bedraggled, low-born, one-eyed homeless woman?

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!”