Catherine Pinkerton Novels & Stories

“I want to avenge her.” He studied me. “Catherine… going against someone like Aleks Lagunov won't be easy.” “I know,” I admitted. “Especially since he's most likely the leader of the renegades.” Hunter stumbled back, his eyes widening. “What?!” I nervously bit my lip and led him back to the sofa. Then I told him about everything I had read in Katerina's diaries, including the entry about completing the Pink Opium. He listened in silence as if processing and analyzing every word I said. When I finished, he dragged his hand over his face. “What you've just told me… It can change everything…”

Her behavior and attitude could not be more provocative. Kason had worked as a police officer for years and had seen many offenders. Even so, Catherine's composure was still beyond his imagination. He planned to suppress Catherine in terms of aura. Unexpectedly, Paxton went back and said, "Wait..." Kason squinted at Paxton. "Who are you?" Paxton smiled coldly. "I'm Miss Swann's assistant. Nice to see you." "An assistant?" Before Kason could say it out loud, his phone rang.

My legs finally gave out and I slid down to sit on the floor. I pulled the folded papers out of my pocket, spread them out on the floor in front of me. The pages were brown with age. The edges were worn. Eleanor had kept these records for twenty-five years. I read through them again, carefully. "Catherine has become a liability. She has refused to follow my orders. She knows too much about the offshore accounts and threatens to go to the authorities. She cannot be reasoned with. Solution is required." My mother had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to expose Eleanor's crimes. And she had been killed for it.

At this moment, a strange man appeared, pressed close to her and reached out his dirty hand to touch her body. Her face turned pale and she turned around to catch the face of that pervert. The place where she stood was damn quiet and there was a lack of people at this time, so that man could dare to harass her. Opposed to that bastard thought, Catherine was not soft enough to act on. She immediately raised her hand to give him a slap. With a sudden act, that pervert man was surprised but could not do anything other than stand still and have a slap right on his cheek.

His mother did not turn around when the door clicked shut. Catherine Hawthorne was a woman carefully, precisely diminished. Once an heiress of immense sharp intelligence and sharp-tongued ambition, fifteen years of living inside Victor Hawthorne had systematically filed her opinions down to safe, harmless shapes. She had learned, through a series of quiet, devastating lessons, that having a distinct personality in Victor’s house was a luxury she couldn't afford. She survived by becoming part of the architecture—graceful, silent, and entirely predictable. She stood before a long stone trestle, holding a slender copper watering can, her movements slow and deliberate. Her silver-spun hair was p

“But Ariana, there is a version of this where you protecting him becomes you shutting him out, and that version does not end well. You know that.” I know that. I do not say so. I pick up my coffee and look at the screen and say, “What else did Noah find?” Sophia holds my gaze for one more second. Then she turns back to the laptop. “Patricia Hale’s younger sister,” she says. “Catherine. She worked at Blackwood Holdings six years ago. Left under an NDA.” She pauses. “Signed by Victor Blackwood himself.” I set my mug down very carefully. “Send me everything you have on Catherine Hale,” I say.

“The second one seems more probable. After all, Miss Jones has claimed that Catherine is brutal, even to the extent of killing her biological grandmother and plotting against her parents.” Matthew pursed his exquisite, thin lips. If he had learned this earlier, he would have believed it without a second thought. However, was Catherine such an evil woman? If she was evil, why did she save him yesterday? Could someone really hide themselves so well? Matthew continued to flip through the document. Once again, something caught him by surprise. “Catherine is the chief design officer of Hazle Group?” He had met the owner of Hazle Group, who was a talented man. The owner was also the one who person

As she spoke, her pearl bracelets jangled, glistering perfectly in the warm light that passed through the giant windows. Elegance was exuded in the very clothes she wore. With a confident yet gentle posture, she carries herself with poise, embodying the grace of privilege. “Speak,” she sized Catherine up. She was utterly irritated and had no intention of hiding it. “Rachel, this is Catherine Flora. She’s Nigel’s assistant,” Catherine let out a sigh of relief when she heard Kenny’s voice. “Catherine, this is Rachel, Donovan’s mother,” she wasn’t the least bit surprised. But how could she be so young?