Elena Gilbert Stefan Salvatore Novels & Stories

“I’m not. I just wanted to hear you say it. What she said does not matter to me. She's nothing more than a weakling who acts on her emotions. She does not serve to benefit me in any way.” “Marissa would have been proud of what you’ve become,” I said, letting myself feel the sting of her name. “She wanted you safe, hidden from the world that destroyed her. But now, I want vengeance. And you, my dear, are going to be the blade that cuts through it all.” Delilah’s smile faded just slightly, her voice lowering. “You told me she died saving a boy. Damon. That Evelyn and Kael stood there, letting her burn. You told me that they watched her without reacting.”

"It's Luca. Are you okay?" Nothing. Then a muffled sound. Like someone trying to speak through a gag. Luca kicked the door. It didn't budge. He kicked it again, harder, remembering everything Elena taught him about using his body weight. The third kick splintered the frame. He burst inside to find Dr. Patel tied to a chair, gagged, her face bruised. Standing behind her was the last person Luca expected to see. Lorenzo Salvatore. Dante's father. "Luca," Lorenzo said calmly, like they'd run into each other at a café. "I was hoping you'd come. Saves me the trouble of grabbing you later."

Eleana greeted everyone politely. "Is there anyone left?" Eleana asked while looking at Antonio. He paused for a second before nodding yes. "Yes. We have a huge family. Some of them are out for work. But don't worry, they will all be here by dinner." Antonio informed her, making her nod. "Okay. I know you all already know me, most probably. But still, let me do a formal introduction too." Eleana cleared her throat before speaking. "I'm Eleana Davis Campbell, daughter of Sid—I mean Astrea Santoro and Cole Davis." Eleana corrected herself in the last part.

“It was a beautiful event, and from what we’ve heard, it was largely planned by your granddaughter-in-law, Kaitlyn Salvatore. Can you tell us more about that?” Elena smiled warmly, her eyes lighting up with pride. “Kaitlyn did an extraordinary job. She poured her heart and soul into the event, and it showed in every detail. I couldn’t be more proud of her. She’s taken on the responsibilities of being a Salvatore with such grace, and this event was just the beginning of what she’s capable of.” The interviewer nodded, impressed by Elena’s words. “It’s clear that she’s become an integral part of your family. How would you describe her relationship with your grandson, Estefan? There’s been a lot

Seeing her. “And you strike me as a collector who loves Caravaggio not for the artistry,” Elena replied, her voice cool, “but for the way he rendered violence with such breathtaking aesthetics.” Dante let out a quiet laugh. “Touché. I’m Dante Salvatore.” “I know who you are.” She didn’t extend her hand. “Elena Lafayette.” They moved through the pleasantries like fencers circling. Paris. New York. Art consulting. His research. Aria’s paranoidly thorough fictional past. Elena throwing truths at his face like knives.

And for a moment, everyone went quiet. I turned just as the doors opened again. Dominic Salvatore entered first. Alpha. Commanding. Unmistakable. At his side walked Aria Salvatore, his Luna, his wife, and lover… she was also the mother of his child. Her head was held high, her presence effortless, as if she had always belonged at his side. Whispers followed them, some admiring, some resentful. Luna Isobel’s lips thinned. “The woman who was sold as a slave,” she muttered coolly, “now standing as Head Luna. A slave who became the Alpha’s wife.”

She padded to the door in her bare feet and peered through the peephole. A man stood in the hallway, and everything about him screamed wrong. His suit probably cost more than her annual salary. His posture was military precise. His eyes, even through the distorted glass of the peephole, were sharp and assessing. "Miss Moretti?" His voice was deep, cultured, and somehow familiar. "My name is Marcus Chen. I work for Dante Salvatore. He'd like to speak with you about your community center." Elena's breath caught. Dante Salvatore. Everyone in Chicago knew that name. Billionaire tech mogul. Philanthropist. The man whose face graced magazine covers and whose donations funded museums and universiti

he continued. Elena was silent, feeling anxious and imagining the situation that happened according to what Gerry had said. Ting ... Another elevator door opened. Elena and Gerry saw that the figure that came out of the elevator was Stefania who came straight up to them. "Hey, where are you guys from?" asked Stefania, feigning ignorance about what Elena just did. “Eh…” Elena was suddenly nervous. "We were just out for dinner with some of the models I've worked with," Gerry lied. "I thought I'd take you too but it turns out you've already gone alone," he continued.

He sidled up to her, flashing a toothy grin that probably worked on less discerning women. Elena’s smile was polite. "I'm flattered," she replied, taking a sip from her champagne flute. "But I'm not interested." He chuckled, unfazed. “Come now, don’t be coy. It’s a party. You should loosen up a bit.” Elena's gaze flicked past him, her fingers grazing the rim of her champagne flute. And that’s when she saw him. She swallowed hard. Lorenzo Salvatore had a way of drawing attention without even trying. His perfectly tailored suit clung to his broad frame, accentuating his muscular build, while his simple, elegant mask added an air of mystery. His gait spotted a slight limp that was easy to miss.

“So this is what you’re doing now?” Salvatore moved away from the table quickly. “It’s not what you think,” “Oh really?” Elena snapped. “You’re telling me this isn’t what it looks like?” Salvatore looked at Percy. Then back at Elena. “She came onto me!” he shouted. “I didn’t do anything!” Elena laughed bitterly. “You didn’t do anything? You didn’t push her away until I walked in!” “I was trying!” he said. “She was dancing like a snake! I couldn’t look away,”