C.c X Gregory Novels & Stories

His smile widened, clearly enjoying his attempt to undermine Adrian’s confidence. I clenched my fists, anger simmering. Adrian’s grip on the armrest tightened, but he remained silent, his eyes fixed firmly on Gregory. I couldn’t let him stand there and take it. “You know, Gregory,” I said, stepping forward, my voice steady, “maybe you should be more concerned about your son’s actions than Adrian’s wheelchair.” Gregory’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “And who exactly are you to speak to me like that?” he sneered.

Bruce Gregor remained still, unable to utter a word. He recognized me. Euron walked up to Gregor and tapped his shoulder, “Don't just say like that. You should greet him properly.” “Dad,” Gregor muttered. “Who did you say that man is?” “The CEO of Stamford Group,” Euron replied. “What is wrong with you? Have you been drinking?” “Impossible,” Gregor muttered. “Your son must be flustered,” I said, addressing Euron.

"I am Alpha Ezekiel, this is the Bloodhound pack. And you are a rouge in my house, surrounded by my warriors, and my pack of 1500 men. You're not the one with the power here, I am. So when I ask a question I except it answered. Now. Who. Are. You?" I clenched my jaw in frustration, he was right. I had no power. No choice. He could do anything to me right now. And I wouldn't have any help or any way to stop him. I nearly reached at the thought. I was fucked. Royally. With that in mind I responded to his question; "Cecil." "And where did you came from? Are there any more like you?" He fired the questions in quick succession. "The East Coast, I travel alone and have not come across another fema

“If it’s about fashion, I can help.” The man—Gregor—turned to me with a wide grin that lit up his whole face. “I think we’re going to seal the deal after all.” He extended a hand toward me. “Gregor Smith. Mr. De Luca’s manager… and a friend. It’s really nice to meet you.”

Jacqueline said patting Vanessa's back. "He can't. He has been working late lately," Vanessa replied. Jacqueline turned to face her. "Well," she said smiling mischievously. "You could ask Mr Gorgeous," she winked. They bust out laughing. Mr Gorgeous was Greg Neville, Leonard's best friend who had moved to Houston from Las Vegas twelve years ago. He lived with Nana his great-grandaunt in a huge mansion in Newcastle Estate. He was the son of a wealthy businessman Sir Edward Neville and Vivian Neville. Greg at twenty-one was tall with broad shoulders. He had green deep-set eyes, a well-proportioned nose, full lips and a chiseled jaw. His ash blonde hair was highlighted subtly in a professional

Third Person POV "Mr. Knight, your flight will be boarding soon sir, can I offer you another glass of wine, while you wait?" Caleb looks up at the flight attendant, smiling at her as she holds the bottle of Bordeaux. "Please, call me Caleb," he answers, giving her a wink. He knew she was easily his oldest son's age, but that has never stopped him from messing with a pretty face and curvy body.

he barked at his assistants. Gregory moved to follow them, but the doctor stopped him, placing a firm hand on his chest. "You can’t go in." Gregory’s eyes flashed with desperation. "What do you mean I can’t go in? That’s my mate!" The doctor’s expression softened slightly, but his words were grave. "They’re performing an emergency C-section. And It’s a 50-50 chance between her and the child. You need to prepare yourself, Gregory. We may not be able to save both."

Gregory Riker Corgan is sweating as he shakes my hand. "I'd say you overpaid, but, uh—" He clears his throat. Corgan's a heavyset man, bald, middle-aged, wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants. "I suspect you already know."

Hunter: The road in was long and dumb quiet, the kind of quiet that tells you everything worth knowing has gone to ground. I kept the bike under the trees and moved on foot, boots chewing at the moss. Xavier’s words looped in my head: Find her before he does. Short, sharp, no room for mistakes. “Beta, are you sure that coming here is the right option?” One of the gammas, Brian, asked. “Are you going to question the Alpha, Brian?” I asked, and he shook his head.

I promptly responded, my voice steadier than I felt. "Very well. Mr. Wyatt, you may begin." Gregory Wyatt stood up, buttoning his suit as he did. He was tall, probably in his late twenties, with neatly styled dark hair. He radiated the confidence of a man who has never lost a battle in the courtroom.