Novel & Cerita Eleanor Rose Clothing

Before I could settle, he has started the engine. I lean back and pull Eleanor's live feed. She's feeding pigeons. Still kind after being hurt. Is she not sweaty under it? My mind roar with a need to hug her. Dress. I pick up my phone and text my PA Me: Connect me with Rita, the creative designer at HOUSE OF FLAME. In less than a minute, the call is put through. "I've sent you a file. I need an exclusive custom-tailored dress for an evening luncheon"

I lied. Opening my wardrobe, it was still the same clothes mother and father had gotten me over three years ago. They were all worn out. I gulped. This wasn’t right, why would I take Eleanor’s dress? “Because you have nothing “ my wolf almost grunted. It seemed Eleanor had the dress with her already because when I turned to her smiling sheepishly, she quickly brought it out of her apron. It was a sleeveless lacy black dress that flowed to the ground with tiny nude straps. It looked simple yet sophisticated.

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.

She also showed us a trunk of her grandmother’s old clothes, carefully stored away. “Take what you need,” she’d said, though her expression was reluctant, like each garment held a piece of her grandmother she wasn’t quite ready to part with. Now, as we gather in the main hall, Eleanor adjusts the sleeve of a blouse she picked out, a faint scowl on her face. “I never imagined I’d wear a dead person’s clothes,” she mutters. “But here we are." Raina stiffens across the room, her face tightening. Greta notices and speaks quickly, smoothing the tension with a smile. “Well, it’s better than what we had yesterday. And honestly, they’re surprisingly sturdy."

"We found Ms. Smith's clothes and phone in the soil beneath the black roses… along with a human skeleton!" The entire room was suddenly deathly silent, until John sprang to his feet in shock, "What?!"

"Wren, that is a simple problem to fix. Allow me to take you shopping after class today. I would be more than happy to purchase a designer gown for you." "No!" I blurted out instantly, holding my hand up. "No, thank you, Dr. Reeves. I really cannot let you buy me clothes." He looked surprised by how quickly I shut him down, but he gracefully accepted the rejection with a nod. "I understand completely. But let me offer a practical alternative." He pulled an elegant cream business card from his desk drawer and handed it to me. "This is the address of The Velvet Archive downtown. A close associate of mine, Eleanor, runs it. She specializes in authentic, luxury vintage gowns from past decades at

But if she did, she would’ve seen Jane sharply staring at her. — HOURS LATER — Eleanor sat in front of her vanity, her eyes narrowed as she flipped through hangers in her open wardrobe. Her space, once filled with pastel hues and delicate floral patterns, suddenly felt foreign to her. Too soft. Too naive. She frowned at a frilly lavender blouse and shoved it aside. Eleanor's done with lace and bows. She's done with looking like the girl everyone expected her to be. The sweet, tame, and breakable girl. That girl died with the last version of her. Eleanor decided to go shopping. A full closet purge. Darker colors. Cleaner lines. Clothes that don't beg for approval.

“And you are?” I forced a smile, hoping that my voice won't shake. “Ruby Philips. One of the managers at Vixen Couture.” I followed the statement by showing them my ID, lucky that it hadn't been written on the card that I was a receptionist. Eleanor smiled. “Interesting. It means you know Sandra a lot.” “I do. I've even worked with her. She's extremely good with her designs. She even designed this.” I lied, standing up for them to see the dress which I wore.

Drakken was the only person who would send her such a gift with red and white roses. She opened the box, and her eyes widened as she saw a gorgeous red dress. She carefully lifted it out of the box and held it up to the light. It was a Tulie designer, soft and flowy, and the colour was a rich, deep red that would look stunning on her. Eleanor felt a flutter of excitement in her chest as she realized what the gift meant. Drakken was inviting her out on another date tonight, and he was picking her up himself this time. At least that was what the card read.

Andrea shrugged, but she was already pulling out her phone to text Eleanor the boutique address. By mid-morning, they were all standing outside the first boutique. The storefront was elegant—white and gold lettering on a black background, the windows dressed with flowing white gowns that looked like clouds. Eleanor arrived in a town car, dressed impeccably in a tailored navy coat and a cream-colored scarf. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup flawless. She looked like the kind of woman who had never been uncertain about anything in her life. "Miss Eleanor," Andrea said, genuinely surprised but keeping her voice polite. "I didn't think you'd actually come."