Ella Frost Novels & Stories

The chief gulped as he adjusted his collar, sweat forming on his forehead. “I… uh… I’ll just check the records, sir. What was the name again?” Easton’s eyes narrowed dangerously. His tone was sharp, like a blade slicing through the room. “Scarlet Frost.” The chief blinked, caught off guard. “Scarlet Frost?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly in confusion. “As in... a woman?” Easton’s jaw tightened, and his gaze darkened further. “Yes, Chief. A woman. Do you have a problem with that?”

~WILLIAM~ “Mrs. Frost is not pregnant.” “What?” I grabbed the document from his hands to see for myself. “She might have had a lot of carbs for the past months; that’s—” “So you’re telling me it’s body fat?” “Yes, Mr. Rogers, Mrs. Frost—” “Stop calling her that!” I yelled as the ‘Mrs. Frost’s title was irritating me—it’s like he was purposely reminding me that Anastasia wasn’t my wife anymore.

I stopped at the door and waited calmly for her to finish. After a long wait, Jaime finally stepped out, straightening her clothes. Derek followed behind her. She paused when she saw me and tugged at her collar to hide the marks on her neck. The reporters she had arranged were already present, and the broadcast was live. Her expression returned to normal. She glanced at me and spoke in a cold voice. “Joseph, you need to understand your situation. Your mother’s life is still in my hands. If you do not want her to die, you had better admit your mistake properly in front of the media.”

she muttered. "Indeed it is. So, what do you say we go celebrate your new job?" Frost asked showing an evil smirk. Chassy really thinks that this Frost is a mist. From the way he is to the way he would sneak in her room. She's not to doubt him, he is the mist.Chassy raised a brow at Frost. "You can't trick me. If I were you I'd just disappear," she said, taking her stuffs and walked away from Frost. But he followed her.

Cynthia stepped out of the elevator and stood in the hallway marveling at the exquisite glass layout of the entire floor, hearing quick footsteps from behind her, she turned to meet a beautiful brunette dressed up in an expensive grey formal office suit exuding elegance with her face adorned in delicate make up. "Mrs Frost?" "Yes"

POV: Aria Monroe The Frost Vale was colder than Aria remembered. Not just in temperature, but in spirit. The trees were skeletal, stripped of bark and life, their branches reaching like claws toward a sky that refused to shine. Snow fell in slow spirals, but it wasn’t pure—it was ash. The ground beneath her boots crunched with bone and ice, the remnants of flame-bearers who had come before. Luna walked beside her, silent, her mark glowing like a beacon in the dark.

Waddled up to the door of the Victorian on the bend. Their life seemed perfect. I suppose I was wrong. In any case, the Fosters were inseparable—even when she got older. They would waltz around town laughing; sit at cafes looking like someone ought to be photographing them for a perfume campaign. And it stayed that way for a while, mind you. Until Chloe climbed out from a Taxi—and this I saw through my kitchen window.

“Hi, Mr. Frost! My name is Harper Sinclair, and I’m calling to see if your company is currently looking for new representation?” “New representation?” he repeats. His voice dances with a sudden, rich amusement. “What is it that you believe you can do for me, Miss Sinclair?” The playful banter catches me off guard. James Frost is the legendary, ruthless billionaire CEO of Frost Industries. I expected an abrasive, intimidating old man, but this voice sounds shockingly young, vibrant, and undeniably flirtatious. “Well, I'd love to show you,” I say, crossing my fingers tightly under the desk. “Would you be interested in meeting with me to discuss this in person?”

"He chose to come here. Chose to work the fields. Chose freedom. That choice had risks. He accepted them." "Did he? Did he know that accepting freedom meant dying in a field at thirty-two?" "No one knows what accepting anything means. We just choose and hope." Elena covered James's face. "You gave him six months of choice. That's more than Victor gave him in two years." Forty-eighth stone for Hope's Garden. Maya carved it herself. The third winter was worse than the models predicted. Minus-thirty sustained. Minus-forty during storms. Minus-fifty for three days straight when polar vortex descended.

She said. "Oh no...umm I am here to meet Ms. Petrova," I replied. "I am Sofia. Sofia Sayles," "Ah, right," She smiled. "You are expected," "Sofiaa!" We both turned to see Alicia marching towards us, wearing a big warm smile. She looked her usual boho chic self in a crisp white shirt with perfectly fitted jeans, a big chunky gold neckpiece, and huge hoop earrings. To my utter surprise, today she was flaunting perfect dreadlocks.