Elena Gallagher Lopez Novels & Stories

She chose the clinic letters and the ordinary abundance and the invisibility of a woman who built a life that looked like nothing extraordinary. She protected me by becoming ordinary on purpose. And I arrived at the extraordinary anyway. "Tell me about Paz," I say. Elena's voice changes. The warmth of it deepens. "She's twenty-four," she says. "She's studying environmental law. She has my mother's jaw and your mother's hands. She's been drawing since she was three." She keeps saying ever so passionately and then a pause. "She was the one who carved the second stone. She's been angry about Mira Seca her whole life. Not destructively. Productively. She channels it into the law work." Another p

Chapter 20 Meanwhile, Nathan sat in his chair, his eyes not leaving the laptop screen that displayed several articles and a person's track record. His face looked serious, occasionally squinting, making sure that the information he was reading was correct. In front of him, Samon—his personal assistant—stood with an expressionless face, waiting for a reaction from his superior. "So, are you sure about this information?" Nathan's voice sounded deep and tense. Samon nodded. "Yes, sir. I've checked from various sources. Miss Elena is indeed the person behind the name Queen Elisabeth. She is the legendary designer who has been so mysterious."

He followed his words with a charming smile, and she relaxed. “Oh, I’m sorry. It caught me off guard.” She straightened in her chair. “I studied at Oxford and am preparing for school.” Conor choked on his beer. “No way. What the fuck are you doin’ here sortin’ our shit out for?” “Bad Dadda!” Milka gasped, pointing her finger at Conor. “Bad!” Elena’s smile widened, just a little. “I needed a change of scenery.” Dirty little liar.

TARGET CONFIRMED. THE GIRL KNOWS NOTHING YET. The man typed a reply. Continue monitoring. Do not engage. We need her alive. Elena felt the prickle on her neck— the instinctive warning of someone being watched. She turned. But the figure had already vanished. As Elena opened the car door, her phone buzzed again. Another message. Unknown number. She frowned and opened it. One sentence. You are not Elena Xia. Your real name is Elara. Her breath stopped.

“She was genuinely surprised to see me that first day, and looking back now she actually tried to keep her distance from me. I’m the one who kept approaching her and kept talking to her.” Lilly’s face tightens. “Did she ever say anything suspicious?” I shake my head slowly, “No. Most of the time I was the one talking. The only time she really opened up was when we met for coffee, but now, I think she was just acting.” Before anyone can respond, one of Noah’s men suddenly looks up from the laptop. “Boss.” He calls and everyone turns toward him immediately. “The number Sierra saved under Elena belongs to Elena Gomez... But Elena Gomez died three years ago.”

"What am I even saying? Of course, she's the one." At the mention of Luciana, Alexa felt her heart skip a beat and she immediately darted her gaze towards the TV screen. Her heart sank further when she locked eyes with the redhead on screen, who was smiling radiantly at the cameras as they kept taking several shots of her. The redhead was no other person than Luciana. Alexa felt a wave of jealousy wash over her as she accessed Luciana's features through the screen. "This is crazy, Lex. She's just been elected as the new member of the ELITE MILLIONAIRE WOMEN's Club... She isn't even all that rich, the fuck?" Elena remarked, her expression filled with disbelief and annoyance.

She arrived on a Wednesday. No press. No fanfare. No announcement. Just stepped off a 4:15 p.m. regional train at Westbridge Central Station, wearing a slate coat, sunglasses, and a duffel bag slung over one shoulder. Her name was Elena Cross. Age: 34. Occupation: Private compliance contractor. Last known city: Detroit. Last known affiliation: None that mattered. And ten years ago, she’d worked with Julian Ward at Southwest FreightLink.

“It’s vital to the investigation.” Selena laughed—really laughed. It surprised her. For a minute, the tension loosened. Morning arrived way too quickly. The house was chaos—suitcases by the door, papers everywhere, Selena darting from task to task, barely awake. Daniel worked fast: booked flights, sorted transport, found a place to stay, gathered details about Elara Quinn. Selena skimmed through the file while Keller lugged bags outside. Elara Quinn. Thirty-four. Born in Galway. Lives by the coast, hours from Dublin. Clean record, normal finances, not a single tie to the embryo program. On paper she was just… average. Which made everything that much stranger.

It’s about two blocks from here. Elena put the gadget back into her bag and decided to cancel her shopping schedule for having errands. She walked to the place where she had parked her sporty motor. Pulling in the helmet and zipped up the jacket, she started to ignite the motor. She rode it slowly to get out from the place. Her mind was filled with some curious questions. ‘What should I say if she will say Edward Philippe is her lover? Can I handle my emotion? To find about it…’ she pulled in the helmet shield.

Zara had never once been prideful for her heritage even when I didn’t know she was a Princess so I was glad that her family were the same. Elena was telling me about the time she was in FBI and how she caught the biggest cartel drug ring leader because I wanted to know more about her but my knees buckled and a shiver of pleasure rolled over my entire body feeling the vibrations. I nodded along, clenching my knuckles on the glass of arak, the sweet white colored alcohol.