Chronicles Of An Aristocrat Novels & Stories

was just another sub-plot in the masterpiece I had drafted in the dark of my study. Then, there was Alaric. He was waiting at the foot of the stairs, looking every bit the triumphant Prince Consort. He had traded his bumbling drunkard’s sweater for a bespoke Italian suit that probably cost more than a small house. He looked confident. He looked untouchable. He looked like a man who believed he had successfully blackmailed a Ghost and sidelined a Queen. As I reached the bottom step, I reached out. My hand slid into his, my fingers gripping his palm with a firmness that bordered on a threat. I leaned in, my perfume, something sharp and metallic filling his senses.

Lucette took down her hair, and Ariston felt a frisson of sensual pleasure as he watched her raise her slender arms, anticipating the sudden tumble of dark, wavy hair down to her waist. "What does that mean?" she asked as she reached for the satin nightdress she wore to bed and quickly undressed. Ariston had tantalising glimpses of her breasts and thighs, milky-pale and soft-looking, before she shrugged the nightdress on and slid under the covers, pillows propped behind her as she looked at him and waited for his answer. "We have ten years of hard history," Ariston said slowly. Even though we’ve talked about it and tried to put it behind us, I don’t think it’s that easy or simple.’

the ruler presented a chair. "Thanks." Archie pulled out his chair and sat down. "With your permission your Imperial Highness," he bowed. Archie nodded and the ruler left. Archie crossed his arms and started looking around. "Hell… I'm hungry…" he said, looking around. At the same moment, he saw a woman going towards him. "Genevieve!" Archie frowned. The woman was white, she was wearing a green silk dress with deep sleeves that showed off her breasts. "Archie Seanford…" she said, already in front of him.

“Christian loves you so much… You know you became his hero…” “I love him too,” Federico told Ava, looking into her eyes. “I can’t begin to tell you how much.” “I know very well what you’re talking about. I feel the same way too.” His hands moved from her waist. “I’m sorry, Ava… For not being around so much. But now… I want you to come with me… I have something to show you,” he said. “They arrived this afternoon.” Ava followed him downstairs to his study where he showed her how he had had all the photographs of Christian copied and reset into four leather-bound albums, each one with the gold crest of the Royal family on the cover.

"Fine, I don't know much about my family and what kind of business they do, but I know they aren't into entertainment." His mouth curled into a wry smile. "That's why I needed Jonathan's help. I had to get into their inner circle to understand them, right? I don't think crashing this party uninvited would earn their trust, but it's sure to grab their attention if I'm part of it. Your world still surprises me." He finally grinned. I scoffed. "Says the billionaire." "Aristocracy is different from being a billionaire, Eloise. Yours, I find rather complex."

"Today will be a preparation for the upcoming Gathering tomorrow, Are you ready?" Alkhun wasn't to say a thing he picks up the book and put it back on the shelves. "Luther." Alkhun started. "Yes?" "You're an Aristocrat too from the An family right?" Luther can see the sadness in Alkhun's eyes. "Yes, why?" "Do you... think that being born an aristocrat was far better than a commoner?" Luther was silent. "Of course It does." It was an answer with a serious tone. "What makes you ask such an obvious question?" Luther asked in

His. The gravity of realization struck with brutal force, unraveling the tidy seams of his carefully ordered life. Duke Cedric Fleming, heir to the noble house of Fleming, who had faced war, assassination attempts, and political betrayal without flinching, was now undone by a pair of tiny hands and a mother’s quiet, devastating truth.

Suddenly, the heavy iron lock on the oak doors clicked loudly. Zara instantly froze. She wiped the hot tears from her cheeks with the back of her trembling hand. She slowly pushed herself off the floor, rising to her feet just as the heavy doors swung open. Lord Aris stepped into the opulent chamber. The aristocratic patriarch carried his silver headed cane, his icy blue eyes completely devoid of human empathy. But he was not alone. Walking right beside him was a man who radiated a terrifying, deeply arrogant aura of old European money. He was incredibly handsome, with perfectly styled dark hair, sharp aristocratic features, and cold, emerald-green eyes. He wore a custom, military-style form

Dio confirmed his suspicions when the man mentioned his grandfather. “Of course. You are Arkin Dio von Romanov, right? You are the one and only heir of Archie von Romanov, my uncle who relinquished his noble status for a girl of unknown background.” The people who were listening from the corner of the room were shocked when they heard what the marquis said.

The arrogant heiress stopped her steps for a moment and then turned to Adelia, who was still shocked by Afgan's words. “Looks like I'll have to pay you once in a while!” After his words, Afgan closed the door roughly. The sound of the door slamming stunned Adelia. Tears successfully flowed down her lightly powdered face. Adelia looked back at herself in the mirror. Afgan's words were very clear, that he did not judge himself in the mirror. There was no reason for her to feel that Afgan, the arrogant heir, would love her. After fighting against her fragmented thoughts and filled with sadness. Adelia decided to call Edward to pick her up.