Eloise Bridgerton Novels & Stories

Now they were professionally mounted, highlighted by golden lighting, her name elegantly printed at the bottom of each frame. My throat tightened. I had missed all of this. Every step of her growth. Time passed slowly. The assistant brought me a glass of water, which I barely touched. Then, at last, I heard the soft clack of heels against the tiled floor. My head shot up. Eloise walked in with a tablet in one hand and her phone in the other. She wore wide-legged ivory trousers and a black silk blouse tucked neatly at the waist, her curly hair pulled back in a sleek bun. She looked… god, she looked like a diva.

But then I saw her. Eloise. She walked in with Noel by her side, the smug bastard looking far too comfortable in her presence. And trailing just behind them was Edmund, the man who seemed to take pride in orchestrating everyone’s lives, including hers. But it wasn’t just the company she kept that had my blood boiling—it was her. The way she moved, confident and poised, as if she owned the entire room. Her dress was breathtaking, perfectly tailored to hug every curve, showcasing not just her beauty but her strength. The fabric clung to her like a second skin, but what truly caught everyone’s attention was the art etched into her flesh. Her tattoos, usually hidden, were now on full display, a

she said. "Yup," I replied. "She's an heiress. And it turned out that she looks exactly like me." "Omigosh, really?" she exclaimed with wide eyes. "Yeah…" I said. "One thing led to another, and now I have to be Isabella Domitia while she runs off to happily ever after with her boyfriend." 'Actually, I doubt it's going to be happily ever after,' I thought, thinking of how untrustworthy Elijah was. "But that's where it gets crazy," I added.

I said to him with a look of playful disappointment. "I love my job," he said and looked up to check the surroundings. My eyes fell on the waiters that held trays of champagne and wine. "I want one," I said to Igor. He nodded and flagged down one of the waiters. I happily took a glass of champagne and thanked the waiter before downing it and returning the empty glass. "Igor!" A beautiful woman approached us. She was slim but healthy slim not Victoria secret slim. She was dressed in a gold sequin dress that stopped at her knees and accentuated her figures. The dress matched her eyes that held sparks of gold and complimented and light brown hair.

“I’ve known Finch for years. If what you’re saying is true...” Eloise touches his arm lightly, her eyes full of sincerity. “I wouldn’t mention it if I weren’t genuinely concerned. Our reputation is everything, and associating with someone whose integrity is in question could be disastrous.” The men nod slowly, clearly considering her words. Stanley watches Eloise, mesmerized by how effortlessly she plays her role. Her beauty and intellect shine brightly, captivating the entire table. Even he, knowing it’s an act, finds himself drawn to her in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

I had already lost count of how many dresses she had worn. Every single one had a problem. “This looks cheap.” “Nah too basic.” “The lace is ugly.” “I said elegant not old money grandmother. Even my granny won’t wear this.” The complaints never ended. Even the attendants were starting to look exhausted. Meanwhile, Dexter had collected his laptop from me and was busy working on it. A few times Cassie called for his attention and he would look up briefly to tell her what he thought before going back to work. I didn’t need anyone to tell me Dexter clearly didn’t care much about wedding things.

It was the same look one might give a ridiculous clown. "Well, well," Madison said with a faint laugh. "Isn't this the little cat Mr. Becker keeps on a leash? Looks like you've still got some fight in you." Eloise recognized Madison instantly. This was the same woman she had once publicly insulted at a gala, emboldened by the belief that I would always protect her. Back then, she thought she could do whatever she wanted in Kensington. Only now did she finally understand why Madison had always looked at her like she was already dead.

A little girl with long dark hair, standing in front of the Abram estate, a ribbon tied at her wrist. Isabella stared at it for so long I thought she had stopped breathing. Then she shoved it back across the table, her voice breaking. “Stop it! Stop trying to make me someone I’m not! I’m not her. I’m not Marisol Abram. I’m Isabella, and that’s all I can survive being.” Her shout echoed, shattering the fragile quiet. She pressed her hands to her temples, shaking her head as if she could erase the images, the words, the weight pressing down.

I growled, flashing her a fang, my eyes practically throwing daggers her way. “Aunt Aurelia,” Keyleth clasped her hands in front of her, walking slowly towards us. She squinted her eyes at me, when she noticed my expression. And then, ignored me, facing Aunt Aurelia completely. “I’m trying to get Oliver here to talk to his betrothed.” My aunt's eyebrows pulled together, then leveled. She tilted her neck to look at me, barely the same eye level. “That's not such a bad thing,” her hand darted out to smooth pieces of hair from my face. “Is it?”

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