Eleanor Chipettes Novels & Stories

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.

However, Eleanor was not too concerned about these rebellious elements because her stepmother had loyal followers who would confront and deal with those planning to rebel. Therefore, her current focus was on one specific action: to kill Ivanka. This was her ultimate goal. But now, Chiara and her family seemed so incompetent that Eleanor questioned whether she had chosen the wrong pawn. She narrowed her eyes and fiddled with her phone, trying to stay composed. Standing beside her was a tall, handsome man named Alexander Valentine. He was her trusted confidant and lover. Seeing her expression, he could not help but ask, “Your Grace, we actually have ways to help. Why did you turn them down?”

“Of course! After all, it’s our boss’s seed. I’m not just stealing his woman… I’m stealing his kid too. Just to piss him off!” She chuckled, choosing not to respond to that last bit. “Come on, let’s go inside first.” “Alright!” Inside, she introduced me to Eleanor. “Alicia, Everett’s high-paid, top-tier bodyguard.” Then she turned to me. “My childhood friend and personal assistant, Eleanor Smith.” I extended my hand and shook Eleanor’s with ease. “Hello.” “Hello, you can call me Ellie. Scarlett mentioned you… she said you are not only skilled but also a master photographer.”

“Damian.” The sound of that voice—firm, feminine, and far too calm for the moment—sliced through the haze like a bucket of ice water. His mother. Damian froze. So did Isabella. They turned, slowly, as if moving faster might shatter what little dignity they had left. Mrs. Eleanor Knight stood at the open door of the office. Elegant. Composed. Amused. She wore a navy Chanel suit, pearls at her ears and throat, her silver hair swept into a sleek chignon. In her hands: a white porcelain tray stacked with homemade chocolate chip cookies.

His face fills the screen, tie loosened, whiskey in hand. “. You owe me a yacht for killing Celeste’s video.” Ethan smirks. “You sank one in Paris. We’re even.” Dante laughs. “Fair. Lila, you look smug.” I hold up the tablet, its Eleanor’s portrait, her eyes are narrowed. “Working on her villain arc.” Dante whistles. “Frame it. Hang it in the nursery.” I throw a pillow at the screen. “Out.” **** Eleanor’s Townhouse.

He might pop over for some quick chit-chat, then promptly return to his duties. However, this year was different. Eleanor didn't come alone, nor was she accompanied by Sebastian or Alex. Instead, she was joined by a very elegant woman, Michelle Xia, seated right next to her. This was Michelle's second appearance at Ye Corporation. Though many didn't know her, some recognized her as the woman who had once shown up on Alex's 30th birthday, causing the notorious workaholic to knock off early.

“I knew you would come around.” Eleanor had taken a shower. She was wearing a black maxi and had no shoes on. “I bumped into one of the girls working here. I wandered and lost my way. I couldn’t locate the kitchen so when I asked her for directions, she snubbed me like a plaque and walked past me.” Eleanor supplied with her hands resting on the counter. Sylvia sighed and grabbed the cookie board. “She’s chubby and has red curly hair I guess.” “Yes.” Sylvia shook her head. “It’s Shane. She’s always moody.”

The pain rippled through me but it was nothing compared to the pain in my chest. Marcus sat in his CEO chair, with Vivienne flanked behind him, her lips still curled into that triumphant smile that leaves me wondering where our sisterhood went wrong. I understand that we were never as close like sisters should but I have never imagined that she would be against me either. Even if she was, not in this manner. Not like this. “Elena has committed treason against me and the entire Hartwell Group.” I heard Marcus say—cold and authoritative—echoing through the conference hall.

As Helen's face reddened, Eleanor took another sip of her tea and continued casually, "I've never been one to interfere in other people's family matters, but Rafael is my nephew. After his great service to the country, why should he be forced to marry Carissa when there are so many noble young women in the capital? If you had invited Carissa today, I wouldn't have come. A woman like her, who can't even tolerate a husband taking a concubine, is too narrow-minded for my taste." Eleanor lifted her gaze to scan the other noble ladies present. "Remember my words. Some people are worth associating with, while others should be avoided to prevent catching their petty airs and ending up with a reputa

Right before the syndicate's power handover, I flew back to New York after a year of studying jewelry design in Europe. But the night before the ceremony, my secret boyfriend of three years—the Rossi family's new second-in-command—sent me a text: [Sorry, Chloe. I lost a card game, and you were my chip. You're his problem now.] Before I could even breathe, I got tagged in the family's encrypted dark-web channel. The top thread was blowing up: [The Mafia Boss Just Won a Fat Pig for a Girlfriend!] Pinned right at the top was an old photo of me from a few years ago. Back when I was 180 pounds. The comment section was ruthless: [If the Boss knew what he actually won, he'd regret making that bet.]