Chloe Irvin Novels & Stories

They had come early, just to catch a glimpse of her. By now, Chloe Bishop's W******p following had surpassed eight million—a staggering number that had even outshone the once-red-hot Lana Rose.

Noah stammered, his scent souring with fear. “I invited her,” Chloe interrupted. Her crimson lipstick looked like fresh blood, and she had wrapped a matching silk ribbon into a perfect bow over the silver-blade scar on her wrist. At nearly six feet tall, she looked every bit the high-born Kinton heir. “Chloe, leave her out of our pack politics,” Noah hissed, trying to grab my hand. “Is this the Ryder Global mess hall, Noah? The meat looks exquisite,” I said, stepping back so his fingers missed my skin.

I opened the door. “Avina!” Chloe burst into the room before I could even greet her. She looked exactly as she always did—perfectly messy bleached blonde hair, “natural” makeup, and an expression of exaggerated concern that reached her eyebrows but never quite touched her eyes. She grabbed my shoulders, her hands squeezing tight. “Oh my god, honey! I saw the news! I’ve been calling and calling! Why didn't you answer? I was so worried you’d done something... you know, drastic.”

Savannah I jerk away so fast it’s as if Roman’s words have burned me, my hand tangling in my hair, tugging at it like the pain might ground me. “That’s not true!” My voice comes out too shrill, too fake. I try again, but softer, rehearsed, the way I’ve defended Chloe my whole life. “Chloe’s a yoga instructor. A ballet teacher. She gets flown to LA constantly because of the clients she trains, the gigs she books. Mom and Dad are proud of her because she chose a harder path, a less popular field, and still made a name for herself in it. She’s an upright individual. She’s… she’s a role model to many people.”

Claire was stubborn enough to pursue a task until it was done, and Selena had no desire to deal with Katie again just yet. “How did you get my licence approved so quickly?” Selena asked, even though she knew the answer. “My dad, my dad’s money, and me,” Claire replied, pouting. Selena nearly laughed at her expression, but instead stood and offered to make lunch. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow,” she said as she placed the food in front of Claire. “I know. I got the invitation. We all did.” Claire glanced at her. “Which design are you planning to show first?”

I was ready to kick her ass. “She's the new assistant Mr. Sinclair hired to help him out,” Grace jumped in and answered. “Hello, Mrs. Sinclair, my name is Chloe Kim from Korea, I'm a contract paralegal.” I pecked at her from head to toe. She was dressed in a short tight skirt and a shirt, she didn't button up. “Contract Paralegal, really?” I was disgusted. Tristan is a pervert. She is a seducer. “I can't say you're welcome but the dining is off limits, you are to stay in the living room and wait for your boss,” I told her, exercising authority.

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.

Chloe had dressed for a tragedy. She wore a delicate lavender gown that made her look fragile and small. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose, soft braid, and her blue eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had spent the last forty-eight hours weeping. Julian stood beside her, his eyes scanning the room with an angry energy. In her previous life, Evelyn remembered this exact strategy. Chloe had used her soft, tearful looks to paint Evelyn as a jealous, unstable monster who had driven Julian away with her insecurity. High society had pitied Chloe and shunned Evelyn.

Owen said, “with the window down. You yell, I’m in there in four seconds.” “I won’t yell.” “Everybody yells.” * * * Chloe opened the door in Rachel’s robe. Of course she did. The green one, again, belt tied tight. No makeup, hair in a claw clip. She looked about nineteen. And high on her left cheekbone, under a layer of concealer that was two shades too light, a red mark. Not a bruise yet. The size of a knuckle. “What,” Chloe said. Flat. No sugar in it at all this time.

But she was here. "It is time," I said. Chloe nodded. She took a deep breath. She walked into the room. Ivy stared at her. She looked at Chloe's confident posture. She looked at her expensive clothes. She looked at the cherry blossoms. Chloe walked to the bed. She set the flowers on the nightstand. She looked at Ivy. "Hi," Chloe said. Her voice was soft. "I am Chloe. I am your cousin. And I am not going anywhere."