Catherine Tramell Novels & Stories

Santos arrived at the loft the next morning with a thick file. "We know who Catherine Cross is now. Her current identity. What she's been doing all these years." He spread photos across the table. Woman in her late fifties. Elegant. Perfectly styled gray hair. Expensive clothes. Warm smile. She looked like someone's grandmother. Not a killer. "Catherine Cross is currently living as Catherine Whitmore. Philanthropist. Socialite. Board member of seven charities. Donor to hospitals, museums, children's organizations."

The rest of my words get cut when the doorbell rings and the butler opens it, letting in a woman that seems to be in a feral state. She comes running inside, looking around like a wild animal. Only when we lock eyes and her companion arrives that I realize who it is. It’s Catherine. Tristan’s mother.

“But a woman was rushed to the hospital last night,” My brows lifts, chest tightens, breath hitching in my throat. “Okay, thank you.” I managed. “Killian…?” I turn. It's Hilda. I dart toward her. “What's happening, Hilda? Who's at the hospital?” “Catherine, she collapsed last night,” “How's she?” “Still unconscious. I'm just here to grab a few stuff,” “And Tamara?” “She's there with her,” “We'll go with you,” I watch as she interacts with Jayna but I'm not listening.

"I remember what you did to Mel's family, and I didn't help her break you completely only because she caught you here and not in Bellwood. You've hurt very good people. You're immoral, vulgar, promiscuous, and despicable." "Who do you think you are to talk to me like that, you little servant?" Liz spat. "Don't insult me by calling me a servant," Catherine shot back without lowering her head. "I may not have a privileged life like yours, but I have character and dignity. Things you know nothing about. But you're right, I haven't introduced myself, let me correct that. I'm Catherine, soon to be Mrs. Miller, and friend - no, sister - of this hell's psychopath." Catherine put her arm around my w

Joanna shot back quickly. “Darling, the woman Cameron is with is a knockout. Not like you but pretty just the same,” Trevor said with a smile. That woman is practically wearing a mini skirt. I never seen Catherine in a skirt above her knees. Unless Catherine had some serious plastic surgery in a week and wearing a wig, it’s not her.” “I believe it is. As you know I am a bit experienced in disguises,” Joanna said. “All right. We’ll get Bruce to break the tie. He knows her better than either one of us,” Trevor said and stood. But he knew it wasn’t Catherine ‘No Tits or Ass’ Van Dyke

"Damon is a complete joke now. Three of Darkmoon's affiliated families are considering breaking away. If they leave, Darkmoon will lose forty percent of its territory. Damon can barely hold his own pack together." "He deserves it," I said. I had no sympathy for Damon. I hated cheating men, even if I hated Ava too. Then the fourth screen appeared. Catherine. I almost didn't recognize her. She wore a pale blue blouse buttoned all the way to the collar. Her hair was down, and she wasn't wearing any makeup. She was sitting in the back seat of a car, the streets moving past the window behind her. "Catherine?" Vivian put down her wineglass and leaned toward the screen. "Where are you? Whose car is

They were each so different yet both had such a profound effect on her. Amelia spent most of the evening with her mother, speaking with the other Salutaries. There luckily happened to be one her age. Her name was Catherine and she was absolutely beautiful. Flawless. And the beauty of it all was that she was blissfully unaware of it. She was quiet and kept mostly to herself, not wanting to be caught up in all of the ‘click’ pack business.

For closure. The doors at the back opened with a soft groan. Catherine walked in. No designer heels. No PR team. Just a plain navy suit that hung loose on her frame like she’d lost weight in the last month. No makeup. Hair pulled back tight. No lawyers walking ahead of her this time. She looked smaller than Elma remembered. Older. Catherine’s eyes swept the room. They didn’t stop on Elma. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she wouldn’t. “All rise,” the clerk said.

"Mmm, I'll wait for you okay? Just let me know when you're done and start coming alright?" "Yeah. I'll talk with you later, Michelle will be waiting, I need to go. Love ya." "Love ya." Felice responded. Catherine wiped the tears off her face, smiled at her reflection in the mirror and adjusted her dress before making her way out of the bathroom. She went back to where Ms. Bentley was, when Catherine went there, she met her laughing and chattering with the employee in charge of the Victoria secrets perfume area. Michelle turned to the left and saw Catherine approaching her, "Catherine dear, what took you do long? I picked out some options already, I just want to select anyone from the options

Everything was exactly as discussed. We didn't talk about it much after that. It was done and it worked and we moved on. August also brought an unexpected visitor. I was closing the gallery on a Thursday evening when a woman appeared at the door just as I was locking it. Late fifties, well dressed without being flashy, familiar in a way I couldn't immediately place. She said, "Elara. I don't know if you remember me. I'm Catherine Marsh. I was Victoria's friend." I remembered her. She'd attended several Cross family events, always peripheral, always watching more than participating.