Erin Moriarty Ruined Her Face Novels & Stories

The only sound was the low hum of the jet engines. “If you fail…” the man began. “I don’t,” Victoria interrupted. “And if you die?” he asked softly. She turned, her face fierce and composed. “Then let the world whisper that a storm came in stilettos and left the Mafia trembling.” She returned to her seat, crossing her legs elegantly. The cigarette burned in the tray. Her whiskey was nearly gone. She opened her phone and stared at a photo — Leonard Morano, in a sharp suit, frozen in a candid moment.

Once the doors shut behind them, Morris leaned back in his chair, eyeing me with that infuriating grin, the one he used when he was trying to lighten the mood. “Well,” he said, “to what do I owe the pleasure? Did you miss me that much?” I stared at him. Deadpan. Unamused. His smile faltered. “Sharon?” I inhaled slowly, trying to steady the rage in my chest, but the image of that crying maid, the bruises, the terror, everything burned hotter. “Morris,” I said through clenched teeth, “this is not a joke. Something happened. Something serious.” His expression shifted, though not enough.

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. "She crashed the party," he realized. Emilia blinked. "What?" "She has no idea where she is." "You're smiling." "I know." "That's vaguely concerning." For the first time all evening, Luca wasn't bored anymore. He watched her pause near the lower bar, adjusting the strap of her camera bag with visible irritation. She wasn't polished Monaco pretty. She was really beautiful. It was dangerous and she had no idea.

When I started college, I wanted a normal college experience, so I refused to use the black card my parents gave me. My roommate, Peggy Slade, was on need-based financial aid. Every day, she did two things. First, she'd sweet-talk her rich, hot online boyfriend and brag about him. Second, she'd make fun of me, the small-town nobody who couldn't even recognize designer brands. All my clothes back home were custom-made, so I honestly didn't know a single logo. I never bothered explaining. Her online romance was more entertaining than reality TV. Then one day, a screenshot of a money transfer popped up on her phone, and I caught a glimpse. 'Wait. She's using my photos for online dating?'

Morris replied gesturing to the woman whose face changed immediately at the comment. Amelia badly wanted to get out.. badly! But she couldn't. Instead,she stood there like a tree. "Morrison!!" Roared the man as he put out his cigarette." I won't have you insult Darla! She's my woman! Morris snorted."You and I knows who yourself real woman is and that is my mom. Standing before you right now is just a side chick." Morris said looking at the Darla woman who reached forward and smacked Morris's face with her solid hand.

The room seemed to still as her unaltered features came into view—a striking beauty that had once turned heads, untainted by surgical tweaks. "You— You've gone back to your original face, Charlotte?" Someone else muttered in awe, "She was gorgeous before. The surgery ruined her proportions. Since Eric isn't interested in her anyway, perhaps we could have a go at her." The words grew bolder, more suggestive, as the group leered at her. Before she could slip away, one of them shoved her toward the grand, towering birthday cake. She stumbled, falling against it with enough force to topple the ornate confection.

Fur as white as a mountain peak erupted from her skin, and her muscles expanded with the force of a coiled spring. Instead of a broken woman hitting the floor, a massive, snow-white wolf slammed into the stones on four powerful paws. The impact cracked the pavement beneath her, but she felt no pain, only an explosive, predatory energy. She did not wait for the guards to recover from their shock. Upper windows in the pack house flew open. Silas appeared at the jagged hole she had just made, his face contorted in a mask of pure hatred.

Her waist-length curls had been cut short, and her light-colored clothes had been replaced with a vibrant red. As Cline struggled to distinguish reality from illusion, Russell snapped back to reality and said, "Mr. Moriarty, I just thought I saw Miss Hammond..." Hearing this, Cline's heart clenched, and his towering figure froze on the spot.

The men around them laughed and exchanged opinions as if witnessing something novel. Emma looked at the woman. The woman curled up, her clothes torn and barely covering her body. Her face displayed bruises and wounds of various shades, some still bleeding. Sensing someone staring at her, she raised her head. Her face was disfigured, with a swollen eye, a broken nose, bruised cheeks, and a bleeding mouth. She was utterly unrecognizable. Anyone seeing such a terrifying face would run away in horror. Emma remained composed, gazing quietly at the wounds on the woman's face, a growing anger growing inside her.

When she saw that I had been alive while my eyes had been gouged and my tongue had been ripped out, she couldn't take it anymore and broke down. She fell to the ground, wailing in agony. Her perfectly styled hair became disheveled as she clawed at it. She dragged her neatly trimmed nails across the floor, leaving ten bloody streaks. "Ms. Heinrich." Gavin Ward, Mom's butler, had finally arrived. He helped her to her feet and handed her a document. I caught a glimpse of the words "private investigator" on the cover. The elderly butler glanced at my horrific remains and gritted his teeth. "I'll bring Morrigan here and make her pay for Ms. Sienna's death with her life."