Claire Harvey Hundred Novels & Stories

I fixed my glare on her as I walked up to the group. "Aunt didn't tell me you would come," Clive said, but I wasn't listening. The only thing my head could wrap around now was what on earth she was doing here. I noticed the two of them had their arms linked and almost scoffed in anger. I couldn't believe she was clutching my cousin as soon as she got the chance. "When did you two get so close?" I asked her. Clive answered instead, believing I was talking to him. "Harper is going to Harvard. We became friends talking about our interests," he said.

He didn't think he'd ever seen a woman with such long legs and also such large breasts in one perfect package. "Oh, hello, I'm Claire from Funky Lady. I've got an appointment with Belinda Phillips?" Claire said, surprised that Belinda's husband would be around. She'd thought that Belinda had wanted to make her purchases in privacy. After all, a lot of them would be for his benefit.

“How sure are you it was work that kept Adrian away on that day? Tell me, what kind of work keeps a man from attending the event of the daughter he claims to love? Huh?” “You wouldn’t understand,” Mrs. Harlow countered firmly. “You have never had piles of documents and files stacked on your desk. You have never had men waiting for you to make decisions that could change entire businesses. All you do is lavish and squander what your father built with sweat and tears.” Claire rolled her eyes. “There you go again. Digressing. I was asking, how sure are you that your most loved Adrian, your perfect son-in-law, doesn’t have something up his sleeves? A skeleton in his cupboard? How sure are you? D

The prescription would cost at least forty. Got it. How was the calc test? Aced it! MIT here I come! Claire smiled despite her exhaustion. Clara was going to MIT. No matter what it took. That night, lying in the bed she shared with Clara, Claire pulled out Damian Cole's business card. She'd looked him up during break. Thirty-two. Self-made billionaire. Photos showed him at galas with beautiful women, always perfect, always untouchable. And she'd dumped coffee on him. Clara peered over her shoulder. "Who's that?"

He assumed that there is probably another artiste that she will manage that he has not been informed yet. "Oh! Aren't you Jay Boone, the newly debuted actor?", A crispy voice asked him. The lady was wearing a peach coloured top and as she stood up, he saw that she was wearing a skirt of the same colour and she looked very professional. " Wow, you look more handsome in person", She said. "You are....", He asked. " Oh! Don't mind me. I'm Cynthia Bradford ", She said.And added, stretching her hand. "I will be your manager starting now", She said.

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.

At the center stood several well-known painters from Silverton. "Unbelievable. Everything was already arranged. Why do I even need to come out here myself?" Still irritated, Clara walked over. People were already discussing the paintings. "That's it. That's exactly the feeling. It's like I'm seeing the past again." "The composition, the structure. This has to be his work. I never thought the Chamberlains had enough influence to exhibit one of his paintings." "I want this painting!" The speaker was none other than Harvey. Clara felt dizzy. 'So Amara asked Harvey to act as a plant. No wonder she was so attentive to him earlier. If that was the arrangement all along, why did no one tell her soo

But more than that, they cried for the childhoods they never had, for the pain they carried for too long, and for the pieces of their hearts that had never truly healed. Harold’s funeral service took place a week after his passing. It was a quiet event held at the family’s ancestral chapel. Claire was not invited or allowed to come. Had this been a normal time, Claire would have made a grand scene. She would have argued for her place at the center, demanding the spotlight, even at a funeral. But the situation had changed drastically. Her own daughter had been arrested, facing serious charges of sexual harassment and a string of disturbing allegations that surfaced seemingly overnight. Claire

Hunter smirked as he breathed across from her face. Tbc... To those thinking how come Claire's a CE at such a young age. Come on, when a 5 yr old can hack into his billionaire father's company systems and make him almost go bankrupt, then my FL is still more mature than that 🤣

But before either of us can say a word, a deep, commanding voice cuts through the applause. “Rex Patterson.” The crowd parts slightly, and a man strides toward us. His presence demands attention, his tailored suit exuding wealth and power. My stomach churns. I know this face, but I can’t place it. Rex’s hand tightens on my waist, his fingers curling into a fist. “Harold,” he says, his tone guarded. The name clicks in my mind. Harold Shaw. Claire’s father. The CEO of Shaw Dynasty. Patterson Empire’s biggest competitor.