Eleanor Noble Novels & Stories

"I've been worried sick about you since you called and told us about Margaret. Such a tragedy. How could she do that to you? What on earth was she thinking? She is only but a child. How are you holding up?" "It's been difficult," Eleanor replied sorrowfully, holding back tears. My parents watched her with so much sadness, even Annabelle looked like she had joined the Eleanor fan club. "Oh, my poor baby," Mother said and gave her a hug again. "Thank you for coming." Eleanor sobbed into her embrace. Annabelle stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on Eleanor's shoulder. "We had to," she said, her polished British accent. "Your family, Eleanor. And Margaret... She was family too. We had to come

I muttered. “Alright, man. See you later,” then he hung up. *** The VP’s daughter’s wedding was nothing short of extravagant. Every corner glittered with carefully arranged flowers, and the waiters moved with such grace it was almost unnatural. This was the world of the rich—where perfection was mandatory. “Hello everyone,” a calm voice rang from the front. I turned—and for a brief moment, I was caught off guard. It was Elena. She stood radiant in a white off-shoulder gown, a delicate gold chain glimmering against her skin. Her hair was styled flawlessly, with a bright smile.

"I'm Nora Santoso, In case you planned to look me up later." She chose the nearest café table without asking — not invasively close, but close enough that standing If I stayed at the counter, I'd be making a scene. So I crossed the room instead. She put her gloves on the table. The gloves were cream, which Nora noted because most people wore dark gloves to funerals and Eleanor had apparently decided that. Eleanor had always looked like someone who quietly edited rules to fit herself. I took my coffee over and sat across from her. She folded her hands neatly before asking. "How long have you known Leon?" Eleanor asked. Pleasantly. The way she said most things, with the warmth of someone who h

It looked protective. “Oh, you sweet, naïve boy,” Eleanor mocked, a cruel smile spreading across her lips as she stopped pacing and stared at me. “That woman has completely one-upped you. She played the long game, and she did it right under your pathetic, arrogant nose. You don’t even know what she was doing behind your back while you were playing the big, powerful CEO.” “She didn’t even know Sebastian before the gala—”

Elena’s tits bounced wildly with every savage thrust, her hard nipples brushing against his chest. Just as she teetered on the edge of another shattering climax, Damon suddenly reached over to the nearby nightstand with one hand, still buried deep inside her and still choking her lightly. He grabbed a thick black silk blindfold and quickly slipped it over her eyes, tying it securely behind her head. The world went completely dark for Elena, heightening every sensation tenfold.

The girl who was always confident and brave, who never backed down from a fight, even from the worst bullies in my pack, like Barbara and her friends for example. I shot a pointed look at Diana, and smirked. Diana is nothing but just another bully. "I am Eleanor Raven, the true and only fated mate of Alexander Wade. The one the moon goddess destined to become Alexander's luna, before any of us were even born." I say, making sure I provided much emphasis on my name and the matter of being his mate because it is my name that I want her to remember for the rest of her life. The name of the person destined for Alexander, and forever will be, rather than her.

She didn’t touch anything cheap, only the rarest, most expensive pieces. The kind of items that had to be specially requested. She was flipping through an emerald silk gown, deciding whether it was extravagant enough, when she spotted her. Eleanor Sinclair. Scarlett’s smirk was instant. Of course, she was here. Eleanor was a vulture in Chanel, a woman who fed on gossip and thrived on social destruction. Whatever happened in this boutique today would be all over the elite social circles by nightfall. Scarlett already knew she’d be attacked, and she was more than ready.

I turned, hoping maybe it was a nurse. It wasn’t. Eleanor stood in the doorway, arms folded in that expensive-looking, tailored black coat, her hair pulled into a precise bun that didn’t dare move. Her lipstick was too perfect. She wore a pair of sunglasses that covered almost half of her face. And next to her stood another woman. Blonde, poised, expensive from head to heel. She held a modest clutch like it were a statement. Her smile was soft, eyes dripping with false concern. She looked like she was trying so hard to look angelic, but was failing at it.