Dolores Claiborne Novel Novels & Stories

It was a tough stretch, but I was able to get it into my grip. I squinted against the bright light as I dialed the person I needed to speak to now. "Claire," I began in an accusing tone. "Rodrigo," she said in reply. "You never run out of escapades now, do you?" "By now, you should know that I don't need to tell you what to do before you do it," I seethed, wishing I had a smarter journalist in my control. "And what's that?" she asked innocently. I would have facepalmed if I could.

It was audio I retrieved from getting someone to bug her apartment. In the recording, she was chatting with her friends. "That Freya's an old hag. She's old, ugly, and still clinging to the title of Madre Corleone. So disgusting! Vincenzo is so good to me now. He listens to me so well. Once he divorces that old hag, I'd be the Donna of the Corleone famiglia. "I heard that Freya used to run with the underworld, so she has blood on her hands. That's really terrifying. How could Vincenzo ever want someone like that? I'm younger and purer, much better than her."

I had to take my mind off of Damien. There was a lot in the book, but it was just as Klaus said, there is nothing on White Cliffs, not even a mention of a home. Well not so far anyway. But it was interesting to learn Aldous’s thought process. The detail that he goes into is fascinating and yet somehow, he omits a lot of information.

When the elevator chimed and Clara stepped in, damp from rain, shoulders tense, Lyana opened her arms wide. “Clara,” she breathed, moving forward. “Oh, darling, look at you.” Clara froze in the doorway, hesitant, but Lyana swept her into a hug before she could resist. The embrace smelled of expensive perfume, warm and suffocating. “I’ve missed you,” Lyana murmured against her hair. “So much.” Clara’s body stiffened, but slowly, she let herself sink into it. Just for a moment. Just long enough to remember what it felt like to belong.

The navy suit looked poured onto him, the silver tie knotted like a weapon, and every step he took was slow, controlled, devastating. And beside him… her. Clara. The intern. The one with the perfect handwriting, the sweet, practiced smile, the quiet presence that never missed a thing. She walked like she belonged here, pink silk blouse tucked into a gray pencil skirt, eyes soft and unreadable, every inch of her whispering innocence. But innocence doesn’t walk next to a man like Blackwood. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the Head of HR stammered, nearly tripping over his own tongue, “please welcome… the President of Phoenix Group.”

That Damien had never truly stopped loving me. The thought brought comfort not because I was certain it was true because I needed it to be. I wasn't going to lose not to Claire Monroe and not after everything. I had come back for a reason. To reclaim my life, to reclaim my future and to reclaim Damien and if Claire thought she could stand in my way because she happened to be carrying his baby, she was mistaken. I closed the folder and the ultrasound disappeared from view for now there was no reason to rush. The best victories required patience and for the first time since returning to New York, I finally had something useful.

After that, she started running back to her black car parked on the crossing; when she got in the car, and took a sigh of relief, with sweat on her nose. “Well, Claire Morris, you gotta come with me!" a gun was pointed against the back of her head. Claire was shocked and screamed out, “What do you want? I have done everything as you said!” “I know that, and our men have got the money.” “What else do you want?” “Nothing, we are outlaws...” he chuckled.“You hired us, and certainly, you should witness it in person.” Claire was numb. The man grabbed her hair and pulled her into the backseat.

Thank you for selecting my story. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of my imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © Rituparna Darolia. All rights reserved. No part of this novel may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author.

On her way home, she was marching on like a soldier heading on to war, her eyes were turning red and she didn't stop to answer Abigail who was screaming out her name from afar, nor the market people stopping to wish her on her scheduled marriage. An older woman who had sight her coming from afar quickly got inside the shop to bring out the present she had prepare for her daily buyer. As Anna nearest her store, she stretched out the present, ready to give her already composed speech. "Anna, I wish you..." The present flew and fell to the ground, it's contents spilling out as Anna walked by, without stopping to say a word. Abigail who saw what happened, moved closer to the old woman who finds

"Okay, maybe a lot over our heads. But we just want you to be perfect and look really beautiful tonight. It's your first date after all." "With Chris that is," Dolores added quickly. "I get that you guys are looking out for me and I appreciate it but don't treat me like I'm invisible. It's what I hate most in this world well except..." I paused and sighed. They didn't know about my parent's murder. "We're sorry." They said pressing their head against my own making me sigh and then stretch out my arm hugging them. "So that dress is too revealing?" Elena asked pointing at the black A-shaped dress Dolores had picked out earlier.