Novelas y relatos de Isabelle

Albert managed to gather what little strength he had left and barely whispered: “Magdalena… I’m… not Alex. I never did anything wrong to you.” Magdalena, who had been standing with her back to him, immediately turned around. Her face was filled with fury. “Albert? Hahaha! What difference does it make? You were both made from the same rotten seed. I hate you both. You both took my daughter away from me, so now you’ll both burn together in the fires of hell."

“Your highness, it’s Trinity. Ma'am Eve said that there was an injured servant in this cell…” Isabelle hisses again before leaning down and sealing her bite, standing opening the cell door and then walking out, allowing Trinity to enter. Isabelle turned to Trinity and said, “I want her patched up and in my chambers by the evening, understood?” “Yes, your highness.” Queen Isabelle then walked away from the cell, smiling. Lexis was right. She is an Alpha Werewolf and a very powerful one, but not only that, she is her son's true beloved. Queen Isabelle didn’t miss her

A moment later, a logo popped up, along with the words “The Island.” A British male voice started speaking, but the camera didn’t show the narrator. Instead, it showed scenes that looked like something out of a hunting show to start with. As I listened to the narrator recapping the last episode, one of the images featured a slightly overweight man grappling with a shorter black woman. He held her down, forcing her onto all fours before climbing on top of her.

Their shared experiences created lasting memories that Cassia treasured, despite their father’s disapproval. Isabelle, Cassia's mother, was a woman of gentle disposition and boundless kindness. She possessed a heart that radiated warmth and compassion, a stark contrast to her husband's stern demeanour. Isabelle's role within the family was marked by her soft-spoken nature and her inclination to maintain harmony within their household. She had a calming presence that was felt by all who knew her. Her soft and soothing voice often served as a balm in times of conflict or tension within the family.

"Why would she sabotage her own lover?" Isabelle hesitated. "Because she isn't in love with him. She never was. She loves power—and she believes the only way to achieve it is to destroy anyone who stands in her way.". Aria folded her arms. "And Daniel is in the way?" "No," Isabelle replied. "You are. And the only way you can lay hands on what you've built is through him." Aria panted. Isabelle stepped closer, speaking very quietly "She's been digging into your personal files, gaining access to locked firm documents through Daniel's admin clearance."

The hum of the engines was steady, almost hypnotic, and the window beside me showed nothing but black sky and the foggy view of the clouds. I had been trying to read the thin file Gavin had compiled on the Zurich facility, but my mind kept wandering back to the photo. That face. My face. “Tell me about her,” I said suddenly. Elias glanced at me. “Isabelle?” I nodded. “She doesn’t improvise. She doesn’t act without reason. She’s patient. Every move she makes is part of a larger plan, and she always knows the cost before she pays it.” I hesitated. “And me?”

"You've changed. Since you met him, you're... different. Braver. Less worried about what people think." "Isabelle certainly thinks the worst of me." "Isabelle is an aristocratic witch who desperately needs one night of wild sex," Annabelle declared, making me choke on my champagne. "That woman is so uptight she probably cracks glass when she smiles." I couldn't stop laughing, the mental image was just too good. "She hates me." "She hates anything she can't control. And you, my dear sister, are not controllable." Annabelle raised her glass in another toast. "Unlike her son."

She gives me the once over before the first image starts flashing in my mind. I was in an unfamiliar kitchen. I was under some sort of table when I saw a small Isabelle. She couldn't have been more than five at the time. A woman peeked her head under the table. She looked like Isabelle but with brown eyes instead of green and no freckles. "Stay where you are." She whispered kindly. As the door slammed open. You heard the sound of hands being smaked and small whimpers. "You deserve this." I heard David say, small Isabelle had her hands cover her hears and shaking in fear.

The tension was suffocating. They sat at his large conference table, an ocean of polished mahogany between them. The only sound was the rustle of papers and the soft clicks of their pens. Isabelle was a machine. She would point to a line in a document, her finger a precise tool, and state, “This clause needs to be reworded to protect against future litigation.” She would not explain why. She would not offer an opinion on the company’s moral responsibility. She was a professional, an instrument of his will, nothing more.

Her eyes move over me once, quick and complete, the way you assess a room for exits. "Hello," she says. Her voice is warm the way marble is warm when you've been pressing your hand against it long enough. "You must be the replacement." A pause just long enough to make sure it lands. "I'm Isabelle. Dominic's real fiancée. We need to talk.”