Chloe Beale Pitch Perfect Novels & Stories

Standing on the threshold was Chloe. She looked effortlessly gorgeous, wearing a cropped light-wash denim jacket, high-waisted white trousers, and a pair of oversized designer sunglasses pushed up into her bouncy, voluminous blonde hair. She was holding a brown paper bag from a high-end Upper West Side bakery in one hand and her sleek leather purse in the other. Chloe was Liam’s girlfriend—and she was one of only three people on the entire planet who knew that this high-profile sports romance was a completely fabricated, legally binding corporate facade.

“Don’t look.” I’m already moving. I hand Leo to Victoria, walk to the balcony doors. Julian grabs my arm. “Elena, no.” I yank free. “She wants a show? I’ll give her one.” I step outside. The morning sun is brutal. Below, the crowd swells. Phones up. Chloe in the center, screaming into her mic. I grip the railing, lean over. “Chloe!” I scream down thirty-six floors. Every head turns up.

"Oh my god! You are looking beautiful!" Bella and Katherine squealed at the same time as soon as Chloe came out of the changing room wearing the dress. "Thank you so much, girls! Do I look okay?" Chloe asked as she did a small twirl for them to see and they did a squeal again. "You look more than perfect! Ahh! So beautiful!" Bella squealed with a hand on her heart. "Wait, give me a pose! Let me click a picture and send it to Sebastian. He will be awestruck." Katherine said with a wink, making Chloe laugh.

She once practiced but never got it right. She turned her head slightly. Three women. Perfect hair. Dresses that were very much the only ones in the market and chanel bags. Janette Beaumont — Chloe’s college shadow and self-proclaimed gatekeeper of social hierarchies. Beside her, Mila and Sophie — the follow up chorus that never sang off-key. Zoe leaned close, her minty breathe tickling her ears. “You know them?” Isabella’s lips twitched. “Unfortunately.” "Oh," Zoe blinked, taking note of the tone. They didn’t like friends. "Well we should maybe avoid them."

she muttered beneath her breath before hesitatingly turning to face Chloe. Chloe Gayle, Fame Hall’s infamous princess, and her two minions were giggling from behind and looking down at her in the most condescending manner. Rehearsals for the hip-hop department must have ended four hours ago. Lola didn't exactly ‘expect’ to see them still at the agency.

The voice and face may belong to Becca, but the way she smiles is weird and didn’t suit Becca. “Okay, but please don’t kill me,” Chloe muttered while bringing her hands slowly. Please disappear Please disappear Please disappear Chloe muttered to herself and finally, she’s about to touch Becca’s hands......

As if we were telepathically connected, he took a step forward just when I did. Before he could put one foot over another, Chloe sauntered in. Her hair was perfectly tousled like she’d intentionally styled it for tragedy. Her eyes sparkled like someone had spritzed them with artificial tears, and she angled her phone like a seasoned soap actress mid-breakdown— portable ringlight already attached. “Oh my God,” she breathed dramatically, angling her face toward the light, “you guys, my little niece nearly drowned—” Her voice cracked in all the wrong places. “Please send prayers to Emily—my poor baby girl—”

“Touch yourself. Make me want you. If you can get me hard, then you can have whatever you want.” Chloe hesitated, her perfectly painted lips parting in surprise. Bet she wasn’t expecting that, for a moment, I saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. She wasn’t used to being told to perform like this and maybe she wasn’t interested anymore. I started to stand up. “If you can’t, then we’re done.” “Wait,” she said quickly, her hand catching my arm. “I’ll do it. Just… give me a second.” She stood up and slowly unzipped her dress, letting it slide down her body until it pooled at her feet. She was left in a black lace bra and matching panties. Her body was toned and beautiful, the kind most me

Chloe had gone all out ice sculptures, a live string quartet, a floating dance floor lit from beneath like glass over water. And at the center of it all stood Chloe herself. She wore white. Not innocent white weaponized white. A fitted gown with a plunging neckline, diamonds dripping from her ears like punctuation marks. She laughed loudly, one manicured hand resting possessively on her hip as she held court. Her eyes found Elena within seconds. The smile Chloe gave her was slow. Deliberate. Predatory. “Oh,” Chloe said, loud enough for the people around her to hear. “She came.”

Julian, overwhelmed by her spiraling outburst, had already started backing away. Chloe saw his fear and the way he recoiled. Her expression twisted into something almost gleeful. “Go on, all of you! Get lost!” she shrieked. “I’m Chloe Clarke! I’m the real winner! I’m the goddess—I beat Evelyn White! Hahahaha!” Then I stepped up. Right in front of me was a ledge, barely half a meter high, just wide enough to fit one foot. Dolly screamed behind me, lunging to grab me, but I had already stepped beyond her reach.