Claire Booth Novels & Stories

Cal moved three times as much as anyone else and said nothing. By evening the rooms were settled enough. Claire put her books on the windowsill shelf — three healer manuals, two she had bought at a shop on the way through town, one she had found in the pack house library and asked Rowan if she could borrow. She hung one photograph on the wall above the desk. Her parents, her father's arm around her mother's shoulder, both of them squinting into summer sun. Her mother young in it, twenty-something, before Claire was born, in a field that Claire now suspected was North Ridge land.

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.

Some reporters who were attending the gala like friends, pulled out their phones and instantly started capturing every single thing. While Carlos and his father quickly moved to confront him, a sharp yell echoed in the hall, "What the fuck is wrong with these people?" It was Claire. Standing in the middle of the room, dressed in a baby pink ball gown as if she were the princess of innocence. "Here's the drama," Valentina giggled. "Why do people keep coming in the way of my happiness?" Claire yelled, "Throw money. Do whatever it takes. But I want to marry Steven only!"

he added I arched my eyebrow, my eyes darting around in confusion . I merely sighed, a little too eager for a maid ! And dangerous too …. The television flickered on, shutter sounds stormed my eardrums. Light flickering as cameras rolled . A woman wearing a satin-blue dress walked towards the paparazzi, her shoulders held high. My eyes widened as I read the caption , “Claire Jackson , the future of entertainment” She was being accompanied by …by my previous manager , Maxwell Brookes.

Not in the warm, familiar way. In the internet deep-dive-at-2am way. In the way you recognize people you shouldn’t be curious about, but can’t help Googling anyway. Margot Sterling. Damian’s mother. The political philanthropist. The queen of auction galas and legacy brunches. Vogue profile, two TED Talks, and a curated list of enemies longer than most resumes. She didn’t need to introduce herself. Still, she did. “You’re Brielle.” Not a question. More like a diagnosis.

Because the boy we had raised was gone long before the bullet came. A knock. Then silence. I stood, brushing glass off my shoe. "Come in." The door creaked open. My assistant, pale and shaking, held out a device. "Sir, you should see this." The screen lit up, playing footage of Claire’s newest statement. No tears. No fury. Just calm defiance as she spoke to the world about what had happened. About the lies Liam spun. About how she fought. How she endured. How the world turned a blind eye.

I paused my statement , aggressively removed the drips connected to my body , stood up from the bed, turned to leave then paused . " Mr Mayor" . I concluded and walked to the door and immediately I opened the door , Claire was standing in front of me , shock evident in her eyes . Why is she always there in my most embarrassing moments? TBC ©️Pen Nikky

In the Rothschild Mansion, It was a bright afternoon, Some maids were busy tidying up the whole living room yet some were seen hanging around the house and having some discussion, it was peaceful yet lonely at the same time, Mrs. June carried a tray along with Mika behind her and they walked directly towards Nolan's room, Mrs.June had placed a knock on his door and the next minutes she slowly pushed it opened, The two walked deeper into the room sighting Nolan who was laying helplessly on his king sized bed, He had been like that for some days After Claire had been caught, she had been sent to prison for attempted murder, The whole house had found peace because Claire was yet it was lonely s

One of the rare people that made me comfortable, that I could trust, the building blocks to what I was. Claire. Everything about her was perfection, from her rare snow blond hair to her dimpled smile. She was Claire Wright, one of the highest paid models in the world at the moment but to me she was just Claire Hayley Wright, the Chicago girl I’ve known all my life. Dad cleared his throat getting up, “C’mon Chris,” he began taking his cane, ‘we have that uh…thing to get to.” “What thing?” Chris asked leaning back as he looked back at Dad.