Do I Look Like Eren Yeager Novels & Stories

"All these influencers look the same. They probably all came from the same plastic surgery clinic, so of course they look alike!" Layla's expression turned serious, "I'm talking about the girl in black, the tall one." Elias thought for a moment. "Mom, now that you mention it, she does look familiar! But who does she look like? I can't quite place it…" Elias tried hard to think, glancing at Layla. Suddenly, he froze. "Oh my god! I remember who she looks like! She looks a bit like Mom!" Ellie was shocked, and her head turned, looking at Layla in disbelief.

After that, they exchanged a glance and suddenly shoved me to the front. Yvette looked me up and down. "Then it seems it must be you, since you do resemble Mrs. Cox a little. You should come back with me right now." A chill ran down my spine. Was it too late to ruin my face? In my previous life, when I found out I looked like Orson's wife, Gillian Cox, I was actually proud of it. I thought no matter how hard the three other girls tried to fake being the heiress, nothing worked better than simply showing my face.

How could she look so ethereal even though she was just sleeping? “Could you not look at my girlfriend like that,” Eren’s voice jolted me out of my thoughts and I closed my eyes for a second before opening it directly at him. I was looking at him but I didn’t as little as lifted my head, he wasn’t worth that much effort. My blood pounded in my veins, his presence was suffocating but not in the kind of way that made men bow. It was in the kind of way that makes me want to dig my nails into his throat and pull his oesophagus out.

The most beautiful man I have ever seen, a breathtaking young man dressed in a suit by name Eren Yeager, owner of Yeager group of companies. His face, his voice, the way he moves, everything about him hits me like a punch to the chest. Every detail is seared into my mind, strange memory flowing into my mind. I can’t look away. It’s as if the world has narrowed to that single image, and nothing else exists. My chest tightens, and I feel my hands clench in my lap. I can’t explain it, but seeing him there stricks a cord in my soul. It’s not just recognition. It’s connection. A pull straight to the core of me.

I ask, “What did she look like?” He looks at me now, a myriad of emotions flashing through his eyes and he answers, “Kind of like you.” I frown, unsure of how that makes me feel. He tells me, “Her hair was more blonde than yours, her eyes blue and not green, and she doesn’t have the freckles that you do. But your facial structure is alarmingly similar.”