Claire Booth Novels & Stories

They hurt her family first. After an hour, Claire had showered and donned an elegant sage green bodycon dress that was just below her knees. She left her hair open and put on a pair of glass heels. Leaving Thalia with the nanny, Marie Johnson and her mother, Claire left for her dinner appointment with the Fords. When she got to the hotel, someone was already waiting for her. “Follow me, Miss Hamilton,” the elderly man said with a smile. He led her to the topmost floor and then went to a private room.

Better boring than trouble. She shook that idea out of her head as she made her way to her shower. She scrubbed away the sweat and grime and used her signature Lavender/Vanilla body wash to relax. Stepping out of the shower and looking towards her bathroom mirror, she compared her body to Steph’s. Claire was maybe 5’2” with her shoes on, fair complexion, freckles on her nose and shoulders, medium length red hair, and since she was still a teenager and human, curves that were appearing but not prominent yet.

I was just a man waiting for his partner. "This time it's right," Noah said. "Yeah." The music started. Not a march. Just a acoustic guitar played by one of our friends. Claire walked out. She wasn't wearing a princess gown. She was wearing a slip dress with a lace overlay, holding a bouquet of wildflowers she had picked herself. She walked toward me. She was smiling. Not for the cameras—there were none. For me. "Hi," she said when she reached me. "Hi," I said.

And grabbed a rag. She returned to the roast beef. Yes. Claire doesn't talk. But she points, nods, bows, grabs and shakes her limbs - or mine - during emergencies. So we got along pretty well and she has helped me a lot. She is much older than she looks. Still, she could easily pass off as one of those human biker women - black blouse, black jeans, black hair bun, black eyeliner and black lips. The only thing missing is the tattoos. And her eyebrows.

At this moment, Beatrice and Claire were on their way to her grandfather’s place, driving the BMW M8 that was given to Dorothy by Alex. Beatrice’s grandfather was Aidan Bardot. He has two daughters: Claire was the elder while the younger one was named Adrianna Bardot. Adrianna was much snobbish than Claire, she would always try to compare with Claire in every aspect. Ever since Claire’s husband, Henry Assex, went missing after a trip with his secretary, Adrianna insulted and looked down upon her every time they met.

Claire asked, stepping out of the bathroom after a shower. They had an interview scheduled at the top of the Eiffel Tower. Many wanted to meet the famous, kind-hearted family, but not everyone could fit inside, so most waited outside, expecting them to appear as they usually did for their supporters. “Zayne’s teasing her again. You know how they are,” Claire sighed, fixing herself up. She wore a formal red dress with a scarf around her neck, black boots, and a bun with a few loose strands. Then, she placed her crown on her head.

Claire said smoothly, "I don’t take orders from anyone. Not her, not Liam, not Adrian Blackwood." Adrian let out a low chuckle beside her. The media went wild. And just like that, Claire rewrote the narrative. She wasn’t a victim. She wasn’t a pawn. She was the one pulling the strings. And God help anyone who tried to stop her.

Even though all she had been doing was allowing him to practise his religion via the medium of her mouth and pussy, she realised that Danny might not quite understand the subtleties of why she had had both oral and fully penetrative sex with a man virtually old enough to be her grandfather. The next day, to make sure she didn't keep accidentally exposing her cunt and bum, Claire decided to wear a red dress which came all the way down to the middle of her thigh along with black hold-ups and black stiletto-heeled knee-high boots. She was working with the absent-minded Elsie who was an elderly lady with white permed hair and an equally permanent smile. The day went well with Claire getting a lo

It still oozed with pain. Cole's back stiffened. He gritted his teeth as he shook his head. "Zara!" He huffed while turning around to leave the ward. He met Claire's best friend outside, Penelope Baker. A brunette beauty with lush-hued gaze, little nose and pouty lips. She was out of the country when Claire's anniversary was there. As a fashion designer by profession, she often left Bloomcrest to conduct fashion weeks that featured her designs. It was only in the afternoon that she returned... Only to get the news of Claire being admitted to hospital last night.

“It's finally fifth! I thought we would have to wait the whole year!” Claire exclaimed while brushing her teeth. Mrs. Dill looked at her. “Be fast and come and assist us in getting things ready.” The girl pouted. “Although I'm not happy that Ma'am Rosa couldn't convince you enough, I'm still glad. She gave me some clothes, Mom! Like the type Beyonce wears.” Frances sighed, shaking her head. Who had Claire, had a bundle of trouble.