Fleur Delacour Novels & Stories

McKinnon to ever storm into this house again as if he owns it. Mrs. Lachlan nodded thoughtfully, her determination unwavering. "I will handle my brother," she stated firmly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. Turning to the woman assisting us, she instructed, "Please, show us your most beautiful collection of wedding dresses." The woman hesitated for a moment, but under Mrs. Lachlan's authoritative gaze, she nodded and began to lead us to the stunning array of dresses. With a slight pause, the woman assisting us gently asked, 'What are your preferences?' Her inquiry prompted Mrs. Lachlan to turn her expectant gaze towards me.

The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, startling Victoria and the Duke. They both turned, their bodies tense, as a woman entered the room, her presence undeniable. There, standing in the threshold, was Isabella’s sister, Elena Deveaurux. Victoria’s breath hitched as she took in the sight of her. Elena was everything Isabella wasn’t: composed, calm, with a quiet power that emanated from her like a shroud. Her dark eyes flickered over the room, assessing the situation with a sharpness that made Victoria uneasy. She was dressed in a simple black dress, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. But the coldness in her gaze was unmistakable.

Celeste asked looking up at the stars. "No, he only told me to pack up for this…" " I see, you must love your husband a lot" Celeste reasoned, " I do and I Know you also have an eye for the Lord, Moreau I mean" Delphine phrased out as Celeste chuckled, everyone here knew how much Moreau loves and cherished Estelle La Fey, she's the only woman whom he holds in his heart, but seems like he chose power over his love, for reasons best known to him, and also how Celeste was always seen around him, because she had special feelings for him, though he never baits an eye at her, the fact she was Estelle La Fey's maid left people thinking.

Zita said to them. "Where is her mother? Has she mysteriously fallen ill?" Fiona said mockingly. Tracey sniggered. "I'm right here." A voice said boldly from the staircase. All eyes were at that direction-the staircase. Rebecca was at the landing, close to a step and held the handrail. Her curly hair fell on her shoulder; her dress was an off-the-shoulder dress with three steps designed on it. The jewel on her pendant glinted as the light from bulb reflected on it. Fiona rolled her eyes when she saw her.

“But ma’am—” “I said, get out!” Flora Amor stared, unsure whether the woman was angry—or jealous. 'Unbelievable. How many women does that man have?' She remembered her manager’s advice: Never argue with the fiancée—or the Finance Director. So she swallowed her pride and stepped out. “Where’s Dixal?” Another voice echoed from the door. Flora Amor turned—and froze again. Another woman had entered. Tall—perhaps five-four, but her four-inch heels made her even taller. She wore a sleeveless jersey dress that hugged every curve, its deep V-neck leaving little to the imagination.

Smooth, controlled, laced with the quiet authority of someone who had spent years bending systems to her will. "Maya Voss." The voice of Margaux Delisle sliced through the loft's silence. "I believe you have something of mine. A young woman named Colette. I would like her back."

Adele's POV "I don't know why you keep insisting I'm your wife," I said, forcing each word past the tightness in my chest. "Does she look like me? Maybe I resemble her—wolves say many humans share the same bones, the same eyes, a similar scent event—but that doesn't make me her. I'm Fleur Swann. You need to accept that." I held his gaze, refusing to be the first to look away.

I inquired, smiling. "I'm Fleur," she introduced, her voice soft and melodious. "Sorry to ask, but what's the meaning of your name?" I asked, intrigued. "Flower," she replied, a gentle smile spreading across her face. "What a beautiful name," I exclaimed, genuinely impressed. Fleur's eyes lit up. "May I?" she requested, gesturing to the heel in my hand. I handed it over to her, and she took it with a gracious smile. “Did you have any activities you'd like to do, food you'd like to eat, or anything?” Fleur inquired, her tone warm and welcoming.

Naturally, it’s Damien. I answer with a smirk. “You have impeccable timing.” His voice hums through the speaker, smooth as melted chocolate. “You must have just gotten the flowers.” “I did,” I confirm. “You sent me irises.” “I did,” he answers confidently, and I can hear the chuckle in his voice. “Iris is the flower of France,” I add pointedly. “You’re far too clever for your own good, mon amour.” McKenzie makes a swooning motion in the background and collapses onto the couch dramatically. I flick a crumpled napkin at her and turn away, lowering my voice.

It was a very comfortable space, with tables and chairs in various places. My eyes immediately fell on a group of girls sitting on the sectional. “That’s her!” one of them whispered. I recognized her immediately. It was Fleur, the ex-Luna’s granddaughter. She was sitting with a couple of girls I recognized but didn’t know. And, of course, Lucinda was with them. “What the hell is she wearing?” one of them scoffed. “I can’t believe she’s actually in the packhouse.” “She’s dressed for a fucking ball.” I lifted my chin as they snickered.