Elise Sinclair Novels & Stories

Josephine POV. My life in this prison cell I call a house is a never-ending nightmare. A constant reminder of the shackles of Iron that binds me to a man I despised. Since after the marriage, I have received slaps for nothing. It's as though Thwane Clark derives joy from hurting women. He rarely touches me, the last time he did, he didn't last for two minutes. I mean how can he, when all he does is to eat junk that only harms his sexual well-being?

It wasn’t a kiss; it was a spectacle. It was deliberate. The woman moaned softly against his mouth, her long fingers tangling in his dark hair. She arched into him, loving the attention. Eloise knew her name Amelia Javis. One of the Scarlet Heart's top escorts. Tall, statuesque, with legs that went on forever, and a face so sculpted it looked unreal. She oozed sex and poison in equal measure. Her beauty was the sharp, cold kind, the kind that didn’t warm when she smiled. Because she never smiled. She smirked. She owned every room she entered.

She was here to reclaim space that had once been stolen from her. "Natalie Evans. I almost didn’t recognize you," purred Elise Langford, wife of a tech billionaire and queen of the social elite. Natalie offered a cool smile. "Elise. Still hosting Botox brunches and selling insider tips for charity auctions?" Elise stiffened, then forced a laugh. "You haven’t changed." "Oh, I have. You just haven’t caught up yet." As she turned away, Clara appeared at her side, whispering, "He’s watching you."

Jennifer My thumb hovered over the screen, refreshing Eloise’s I*******m page for what felt like the thousandth time today. Every refresh brought a new wave of bile rising up my throat. “Eloise Sinclair stuns the industry with emotional Ironheart collection.” “A mother’s heartbreak turned into sculptural brilliance.” “Upcoming face of resilience and feminist expression.” I threw my phone across the marble kitchen counter. It skidded and slammed into the ceramic vase at the edge. The vase wobbled but didn’t fall. I clenched my jaw in irritation.

Hearing Mrs Harrison angry voice, she went out of the room. Sinclair was the first person she saw amongst every other person there. As always Sinclair was dressed perfectly and he exuded a certain kind of charisma and charm in the clothes he was putting on. Sinclair smiled and cheered the photography crew but when he saw her from a distance, his smile disappeared and changed to an angry look.

Cliché, but effective for private conversations. Margaret waited inside, expensive coat over designer clothes, looking like she belonged at a gallery opening rather than a warehouse. "Blake Thompson. Thank you for coming." "What do you know about Sinclair?" "Direct. I appreciate that. Harrison Sinclair has a daughter. Isabella. She's twenty-nine, runs a luxury lifestyle brand, and she's spoiled, beautiful, and has a hobby." "What kind of hobby?" "Collecting married men. Specifically, faithful married men she seduces as ego validation.

I tell her, my voice soft. Her eyes widen, and she crosses her arms. “If anything, it should be me who apologizes.” She looks away for a moment. “I’m sorry for leaving early when you’d ordered me to attend as your date. I failed in my duties.” She looks back at me and forces a smile. “You were right. I forgot my place. I’d gotten so comfortable in the social situation, that I forgot that I don’t belong in your world. I never will. I’ll never be more than a replaceable employee, someone who would only ever be your mistress, but never a wife. That’s what you accused me of, isn’t it? Wanting to be Zane’s mistress, despite him having neither a girlfriend nor a wife? And I do apologize, Mr. Sincl

The horse nearest her reared up on his hind legs nearly throwing his rider off his back. “Bloody hell! Identical brothers, trees that burn on a clear, cool evening, and women who appear from thin air! MacInnis is as cursed as the stories say!” “I be Sinclair,” Isobel said, unable to hide the chatter of her teeth, “where be Eleanor now?” Gair scowled at Izzy’s rejection of his clan name. What did Sinclair have to offer her that she would prefer it to his name? She said it was not her home, but she still called herself by that name.

Part 4 That afternoon, the kitchen of the Barack family home was filled with the aroma of freshly brewed herbal tea. Elise was busy carrying a tray with a cup of tea for Mr. Abraham. Her appearance was simple yet captivating. Standing at 160 cm, her petite frame appeared graceful. Her shoulder-length black hair was always neatly styled, even though her face was rarely adorned with makeup. Her gaze was gentle, suggesting a patient personality, though her heart often harbored feelings of unease.

“They might be scared of you, Oswald, but I’m not!” “You really should be!” Isabelle shook her head and looked very sympathetic. “You just don’t understand do you, Oswald. I’m not just any old member of the Brethren. I’m the main man…if you’ll pardon the expression.” She ran her hands down her body and gave the most horrible leer that Alice had ever seen in her life. David ignored it. David took another step forward and Belinda saw Isabelle lift a foot, as if about to take a step backward. The foot was placed back down on the surface and she knew then that he/she/it had wanted to retreat but didn’t want to lose face.