Novel & Cerita Clove Isabelle Fuhrman

I asked, peeking at the screen again. "The Cyber team has been on it and..." He trailed off. "And?" I urged, not familiar with the uncertain look on his face. This unsettled me even more. I had never seen Damian like this. "Oddly, there isn't much about her out there. Sure, the basics can be found. Her name's Isabelle Storme. She's twenty-four and from one of the local packs. She works for the pack's administration, and that's all. Nothing more..." He trailed off, staring at the screen grimly.

When the elevator doors opened on the top floor, she saw a woman standing there in the middle of the living room. The woman was tall and beautiful, with perfect blonde hair and a designer dress. She looked like she belonged on the cover of a magazine. She was looking at the bedroom door, and then her eyes flicked to Clara, taking in her disheveled red dress and the state she was in. A look of pure, cold hatred flashed in the woman's eyes. “Hello,” the woman said, her voice dripping with sweet poison. “I’m Isabella. You must be the new maid. Damien and I have an unfinished matter to discuss.”

"You're nine hours late, Isabella." ​Cynthia didn't turn around from the marble island. She was wearing a cream silk blouse without a single wrinkle, her silver hair pinned back with a tortoiseshell comb that matched the tone of the cabinetry. Her long, pale fingers were busy with a silver paring knife, slicing a yellow lemon into translucent discs with an intense, mechanical rhythm. The sharp, clean scent of citrus cut through the heavy, stagnant air of the townhouse kitchen, a scent that had nothing to do with the wet spruce and wood smoke Bella had carried down from the mountain.

My hands shaking. Then I saw it. Her. Isabella. There she stood on the screen, flawless in an elegant cream dress, her curls pinned back in soft waves that framed her delicate face. And beside her was him. Xavier Gustavo. Hand placed on the small of her back like he owned her. Like she belonged to him. My jaw clenched as I leaned forward, my gaze locked on the television. The press swarmed them, shoving microphones in their faces like bloodthirsty hounds. Then Isabella spoke, her voice soft, calm, sure.

She ignored the waiters who had already started moving my wheelchair and Miles, who was preparing to leave. Instead, she stepped directly in front of us. "Mr. Wynn, my cousin just turned twenty this year. She studied abroad and recently returned. “She’s about to apply for a position at the largest law firm in the city. Her name is Isabelle Fox. Would you like to see her photo? She’s very sweet and charming." She glanced at me, a flicker of disdain and arrogance in her eyes. "Mr. Wynn, I spoke to your aunt last time, and she was quite pleased with her."

She looked like money, but not the kind that needed to prove it. Her name, for this job, was Isobel Hart—a boutique art dealer from Tribeca with a taste for rare Bordeaux and unavailable men. She’d spent weeks crafting the identity: a fake gallery website, a burner phone with curated texts, even a LinkedIn profile with just enough ambiguity to be intriguing.

I ask, nodding to the female Alpha respectfully. “It is.” Isabella confirms. She was no longer in the ballgown from before. Instead, she wore a pair of black fitted jeans and a simple cream blouse. Liam was dressed in black slacks and a blue turtleneck, his hand possessively placed at the small of Isabella’s back. “When you asked me to help you take over Frost Moon, I did not expect it to involve Damon’s death.” She says quietly, stepping away from Liam and coming to stand before me. Her blue eyes hold no sadness, just empathy as Isabella takes my hand in hers.

Feeling satisfied with herself, a smug smile appeared on Isabelle's lips. She had been able to do what asked of her According to Dane, she would be able to eliminate Claire once and for all. All she had to do was to sit back and watch her demise. She could not contain the joy any longer. She needed someone to join in her celebration. Having no one in mind, she decided to call her maid. At least, she had helped her in her mission. The door was pushed open and her maid walked in with a confused expression on her face. "You called for me ma'am." She said her head bent low.

She pulled the luggage over and gently called out, "Jane." Jane smiled. "Isadora, let me introduce someone to you. This is Alex's nephew's fiancee, Ruth Mann. We just call her Ruth." Isadora looked at Ruth with a faint smile. "Nice to meet you, Miss Mann." Isadora was very polite and she was a little reserved. Ruth was also able to tell that Isadora's self-esteem was a little low. Ruth immediately felt as if she had found a kindred spirit and had a sense of familiar friendliness on Isadora. "So, you're Isadora?"