Genevieve Kelly Novels & Stories

Everything about the interior of the house was too detailed and precise. “You’re not the first widow whose husband died under suspicious circumstances,” Celeste said, voice low behind her. “And you won’t be the last.” Genevieve turned to face her. Celeste had changed into a sleek black jumpsuit, her glasses were tucked into the collar of the jumpsuit, and her hair was pulled up in a tight knot. She moved like someone who was sure that the ground would rise to meet her. “I want answers,” Genevieve said. “And you’ll get them. But first—there’s something you need to see.”

She wishes to attend university, but her father got sick, so she decided to help her mother work instead while her younger sister cared for their father at home. Genevieve's family is an immigrant. She's the first of her family to be born in Arcadia. She went to a beauty school instead of a regular high school because she wanted to become a makeup artist, but she heard of an opening to work in the palace, so she went here instead. She's only 19.

I decide to ask, but before Vance can answer, she beats him to it and holds out her hand for a handshake. “I'm Genevieve. Vance and I have known each other for a very long time, I never knew he has a sister who is a celebrity,” She grins and there's something outlandish about the way she smiles and the twinkle in her eyes isn't helping. She looks at me like she knows something I don't and I find that extremely irksome.

Genevieve Genevieve didn't bother making the bed. She crawled out from under the heavy duvet a few hours after the front door had clicked shut behind Julian, the silence of the penthouse finally settling into something she could use. She walked toward his massive walnut chest of drawers, her mind still snagged on that image she’d caught a glimpse of recently. Marcus Kane. The billionaire looked every bit the power player the media made him out to be, but it was the woman by his side that changed the math. Sarah. And the child.

She stares into my eyes and I nod before I speak in a scratchy voice, “I am fine. Get out of the water.” That is not what she does, though. Instead, she uses the back of her arm to wipe at my face, probably the blood, and sniffles. I wince when she touches the bruises her father left behind and that causes tears to slide down her cheeks. Ever since she was young, Genevieve was always the type who felt other people’s pain and discomfort before her own. When King noticed the signs, he stopped her from becoming a people pleaser early on, but he could’ve never tamed the wild emotions that run through her.

Anything to take the emphasis away from my sheer embarrassment. "I'm Genie". I can't even look him in the eye, let alone believe that he's sitting next to me and talking to me. "Nice name - what's it short for?". "It's Genevieve". I mumble. "Wow, not a name you hear often. I like it! So now we're acquainted can I buy you a drink?". He asks. Reluctantly I agree " Ok, a Guinness would be good. But just to clarify, It's not normally something I would do".

I tried to defend Kellan “Still too believing and trusting” Genevieve frowned. “Open your eyes and see the truth for yourself, Ashley. Where do you think Kellan was always travelling to? Business?” A loud, obnoxious laugh followed Genevieve's words. She leaned forward and whispered, “He was with other women.”

Her eyes were sharp, dark and calculating. “You think Tinsley's untouchable, Eden?” Genevieve murmured, her voice low and sinister. “She's panicking because of something, I think you know what that is,there have been rumors that she's not an Omega. She's a glorified Beta riding on forged papers.” I keep my expression normal and my spine flat against the wall, my voice cool. “Why are you telling me this, Genevieve?” “Because I need proof from her room, something to destroy her with, something!! she's always with me, and you are the only one desperate enough to steal it, after your stunt on the courtyard while receiving your punishment.”

“I just thought you should know that several reporters have contacted me for comment. About your failed engagement. About your pattern of losing men. About your inability to maintain relationships.” Ice flooded my veins. “You didn’t.” “Oh, I did. I gave a very thorough interview to a lovely reporter from Page Six. All about your shortcomings as a partner. Your boring personality. Your lack of passion.” Genevieve’s smile was audible. “I thought the public deserved the truth.” Maya grabbed the phone. “You vindictive—” But Genevieve had already hung up. I sat frozen while Maya immediately pulled up Page Six’s website. There it was. A video interview. Genevieve standing outside a coffee shop in

“Darling, we’re burning those. Today you’re being reintroduced to the world as a Hartford, and Hartfords do not hide in tour merch.” I opened my mouth to protest and she was already steering me toward the car, diamonds flashing, perfume trailing like a royal decree. Genevieve Hartford-Blackwood (Genny to exactly four people on earth) was Dad’s baby sister, the family legend who’d run off to London at nineteen, married a duke, divorced him with style, kept the title, and built a lifestyle empire that had Vogue on speed-dial. Every year on my birthday she’d written a card anyway, addressed “To my niece, wherever you are,” and stored them in a lacquered box in her London flat. Eli told me this.