Elena Gallagher Lopez Novels & Stories

"I'm Elena Navarro, aspirant seventeen. I’m asking for three minutes of your focus." Rafael studied me, his nostrils flaring as he caught my scent. "Your lineage wasn't recorded among the submissions." "There was a... territorial hiccup in the paperwork," I said, forcing a confident edge into my tone while my heart drummed like a war march. "So I’m here to manually correct the record." I drew in a lungful of air, grounding myself. "I’ve trained with the elite performance circle at the European Screen Awards program, and I’m here to claim what my training deserves."

A gray-eyed woman whose calculated stride always oriented itself toward the nearest exit. When the knife had touched her neck, her certainty had sat at eighty percent. Now that number had rounded cleanly to one hundred. A small smile appeared at the corner of the woman’s lips. Elena Lafayette. Elena Cross. Two different names for the same predator. This was starting to become a very entertaining game. ✘ ✘ ✘ The sound of bright, easy laughter stopped Dante’s stride at the third step from the bottom of the staircase.

As soon as he settled in his chair, Mikey ordered: - Report what you have investigated. Luck approached Mikey's desk with the cup of coffee his secretary had just brought him, his voice slow: - Miss Elena is twenty-four years old this year and graduated with a major in management and psychology in Italy. If Elena's family hadn't happened, she would probably still be in Italy for graduate school right now. Mikey stopped drinking coffee, momentarily surprised: - Does that mean she's in the middle of graduate school?

She looked at Jamira. “This is my daughter Layla, right?” Jamira looked seriously, and said yes. Lucifer got up from his seat, and walked to the woman. “Lilith, she’s been in the human world all this time. She probably doesn't know that she can breathe or not breathe and be fine.” He wrapped his arms around her, putting one hand right above her breast. He kissed her with a passion I had no clue could exist.

“And her next option was to flee? To trade the top home pack school for Los Angeles?” Dolphus hadn’t expected Raphael to keep such close watch on Elena. “She isn’t weak,” Dolphus replied. “She walks with emotion and holds honor tightly, so she bleeds more than others. But she doesn’t back down. She’s chosen the best path for her kind.” He paused. “Professor Gauis may not be in a high-rank territory, but he’s the leading scholar in genes biology. He only stays in Los Angeles out of love for his lost mate. If she’s to rise in the ranks, Gauis teachings will give her claws.”

The longer they were blind to her true identity, the easier it would be to dismantle their lives piece by piece. Elara turned away from the balcony and re-entered the ballroom, her movements graceful and controlled. The gown she wore—emerald green silk that flowed like water around her—caught the light as she moved, drawing the eyes of those around her. She could feel their gazes on her, the curiosity and speculation that had followed her since she first arrived in the city. Elena Grey had quickly become the subject of whispers, a mysterious figure who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, capturing the attention of society with her beauty and poise.

"Huh, should it seem as if they were killed by a serial killers? No too dark." Even though it wasn't her first kill, it felt different. The sensation that rushed through her spine when his blood splattered on her left cheek was exhilarating. The unrelated lives she took in her previous line of work never made her feel anything, no remorse, no closure, nothing. But she was now different, sort of reborn, driven by a vengeful thirst for blood. She was now Qiao Mo, the secretary to the President of of the Wushi Cooperation, and she was running late for work.

I sat down and continued where I had stopped earlier, scrolling through shipping details, checking over fifty containers one after the other. Everything had to be clean. No mistakes, and traces. Then my phone beeped. Once. Then again. I frowned and reached for it. Three messages. Three different names. Dagger. Dr. Rafael. Sebastian. I opened Dagger’s message first. “Boss, I found one piece of information about her. Elena Vega is Don Santiago’s daughter.” My heart skipped. So that’s who she was. I leaned back slowly. A slow, dangerous realization settling in my chest.

Elena’s hands moved quickly against the keyboard of her laptop. She kept her eyes narrowed to the screen, her focus sharp and unwavering. “Yes. Got it.” She squealed, her tone sharp. The name blinked back at her from the screen like it had been waiting all along. Liam Martin Las Vegas, Nevada. 53 Bridge Road. Boom! She finally got his address. He was alive, and closer than she ever imagined. Elena pushed back from her laptop, her heart thudding like a slow drum against her ribs.

Eliana said. She was sitting on the beige sofa, a makeup artist hovering over her, dusting powder onto her nose. She looked impeccable. She was wearing a midnight blue dress—a nod to the engagement party—that was modest but sharp. Armor. “I’m not pacing,” I lied. “I’m strategizing.” “You’re thinking about how many ways you can legally strangle Elena Costa on live television,” she corrected. “Elena Costa is a vulture,” I muttered. “She made a career out of tearing women down under the guise of ‘journalism.’ If she comes for you, Eliana…”