Eleanor Bonneville Novels & Stories

“As you wish, Charles.” Eleanor looked up to Fann and he nodded as if giving her permission to go with the woman. Her irritation must have shown in her eyes because he leaned down, pretending to kiss her on the cheek while he whispered “behave and hold your tongue she’s the king’s favourite mistress.” Eleanor’s eyes widened. She recovered by pretending to admire a painting of a dog in a hat that was half finished on an easel by the table.

I'm wearing a light blue sheer illusion blouse and white shorts. "I'm looking for Gavin Wyatt, they say he works here." I said and pointed to the building opposite. He raised an eyebrow, "You mean, Engineer Eleanor?" He asked so my eyes widened in delight. "Yes, yes!" I said and smiled. "Why?" He asked intriguingly so I lost my smile. "Ahm, is he here?" I asked again. "Why then?" He asked and looked at me again as if I hadn't been satisfied before. I regret that I simply wore it, I should have flipped my Dolce & Gabbana dress!

Anastasia hissed. “You will not talk to me in such a manner,” Eleanor spat, her eyes darkening as she glared at her. Anastasia chuckled, “What manner? Calling you out for being what you think I am?” “How dare you?” Eleanor hissed. Anastasia moved closer, a smirk on her face, “You can act all high and mighty as you will, but you will never be anything but a gold digger,” Eleanor raised her hand, ready to smack her on the face, but Anastasia was faster, grabbing Eleanor’s wrist and holding her back from hitting her face.

Then, softly, I whispered into the silence, “If it has to be Abu Dhabi… then fine. But I won’t go as her. Camilla is gone. Dead, burnt, and flushed away. I’ll go as Carla. As CJ Styles.” My reflection caught me in the darkened window. Stronger. Sharper. Colder. A woman carved from ashes. This wasn’t Camilla’s return. This was Carla Jepherson’s arrival. The weekend came quickly. As much as I wanted the award night to come, I dreaded meeting Maverick. All the days I lived in that house, I never actually knew where he worked but still, he was a freaking billionaire, for all I care, he may have been invited to the god damn award night. I closed early at noon and headed home to prepare for the ni

The sheer volume of the chaos made the air feel thin and sharp. Eleanor stood motionless near the gilded exit doors, a figure of calm geometry amidst the swirling panic. Her dark gown, chosen deliberately to blend into the shadows of the velvet drapery, made her virtually invisible to the frantic crowd and the swiveling cameras. She had watched every agonizing second of the disaster, from the moment Serena took the microphone to the final, chilling declaration of disownment by Mr. Hayes.

progressive-markdown_:is(p,blockquote,ul,ol,h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6)]:pr-8"> _*]:min-w-0 gap-3 standard-markdown"> Julia — First-Person POV Eleanor moved into the Bennett estate three months after the trial began. Not as a decision made quickly — we had talked about it for weeks, slowly, the two of us learning the careful choreography of two people who shared blood and history and almost nothing else. I had offered. She had hesitated. Then, one afternoon in late autumn, she had simply appeared at the gate with two suitcases and the specific expression of someone who had decided that hesitation had run its course.

The sickly, dependent woman you claimed was currently starving to death in a charity clinic. Cynthia let out a loud, mocking scoff, her defensive corporate arrogance returning with a vicious intensity. Vivienne? You think Vivienne was under a VIP escort at the most expensive boutique in the financial district? Eleanor, your secretary needs to have her eyes examined immediately! The facial dimensions are remarkably similar, Eleanor murmured.

She had a glass of champagne in front of her and the expression she wore when she was assessing something. Vivienne had arrived on time. This was notable—Vivienne was not known for punctuality, had built a career on being fashionably late, but she was making an effort tonight, and Elijah saw that and appreciated it. She sat next to Eleanor and ordered champagne and leaned in to say something that made Eleanor smile, which was not nothing.

​He slowly turned his head, his cold, grey eyes finally locking onto Ellie. ​"Eleanor Hart," Arthur murmured, his tone dripping with a calculated, public pity. "An opportunist from a bankrupt family. A woman who left London with a payout, spent four years hiding in Paris, and has now crawled back into my grandson's bed the exact moment his succession was guaranteed." ​A collective murmur rippled through the independent shareholders. Victoria smiled thinly, tapping her pen against her folder.

All that mattered was that she had her hands on wealth and would never let anyone, not even Mira, take it away from her. “Thank you, Eleanor,” Amanda whispered as she stood at the top of the grand staircase “Please remain dead or whatever. Don’t ever try to come back, or I will be forced to send you back. Permanently” She descended the stairs like a queen surveying her kingdom, her chin lifted high and a victorious smirk on her lips. She was giddy and wanted to scream in excitement, but she needed to control herself. Eleanor had grown up in luxury and was not fazed by this amount of wealth, and that was the image she needed to keep in public.