Jerusalem Moore Novel Novels & Stories

"I'm sure you must all be wondering what's going on, well, you see Miss Jenna here tried to rape Mr. Derrick Moore CEO of the Moore Cooperation. She drugged him during the ball and took him to her room to seduce him, but she was unsuccessful, thank God we came just in time. Mr Derrick is in a very critical state and we are taking him to the hospital, that's all for now, thank you. Zoey said and ran towards the car. She knew they might want to stop her and ask some questions and she didn't have the time for that. She got into the car and Jimmy drove to the hospital while some of the reporters followed suit, but Jimmy made sure he lost them. They didn't need reporters tailing them down to the

“Tu n’es plus cette femme. Tu es Serena Moore. La Serena Moore.” I’m not that woman anymore. I’m Serena Moore. THE Serena Moore. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. The plane stopped. The door opened. A black SUV waited on the tarmac, along with three more for my team. “Mademoiselle Moore.” The driver opened the door. “Welcome to New York.” I stepped out into the cold November air. The city stretched out beyond the airport. Manhattan’s skyline in the distance. The place where I’d been married. Given birth. Lost everything.

~ Amara ~ The silence of Moore Crest used to feel like a heavy blanket, but now it feels like a thin, cold mist. It follows me through the halls of the east wing and settles in the corners of the rooms I inhabit. Since the fitting room incident with Selene, I have learned a new level of quiet. I do not just speak less; I aim to exist less. I am becoming a shadow in my own home, a ghost that Gideon Moore paid millions of dollars to keep in a gilded cage.

Impossible. “I saw him just now. He’s here.” Hiro smiled at Nate. Nate turned his looks at me and I just shook my head. That’s impossible. It’s not happening again. Spencer Moore is not here. He’s in London. Everybody told me he was in London. There was proof. He’s not going to cross my path again like in high school, right?

Didn't reach out to anyone from my old life. I just sat in that apartment above the hardware store, one hand on my still-flat stomach, and tried to figure out how Nova Hart had become Elizabeth Moore. And how Elizabeth Moore was going to survive what came next. Alone.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be constructed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. Hold Me Close (A Heron’s Landing Novella) Published by Blue Violet Press LLC Seattle, Washington Copyright © 2016, 2017, 2020 by Iris Morland Cover design by Qamber Designs

Another who wanted to sue Blackberry because their phones didn't contain any actual berries. Jasmine, Garius and Heidi told funny stories involving Mister Moore, crazy meetings with crazy people, and then told of dozens of letters they'd dealt with from people claiming bizarre things, like a proclamation they received that Benjamin Moore was the new messiah, along with a completely updated bible about him from an obsessed housewife in Texas. Jasmine insisted it was on the Island somewhere.

“She made the right choice though, I would have never —“ “Can we not do this right now?” I breathed. “Sure, um, we can read a book?” Moore waved ‘Me before You’ in my face. “Why is this your favorite book anyway?” Moore quirked up his eyebrow. “Because it is the most realistic love story that I have ever read” I commented sharply. “Not every story ends up happily ever after and with everyone together,” I added and my eyes stung with tears. “Sometimes, there is so much distance, that you can barely breathe. That their presence begins to choke you and love is not enough, because you realize that the noise from outside can overpower the harmony within.”

I prayed before I let Hypnos cradle me in his arms. It was four in the morning when I woke up and exercised. After an hour, I took a bath and wore my worn-out clothes. It was an old black combat pants and beneath my old leather jacket was a white racerback tank top. I paired it with a pair of boots gifted by Mira when I turned eighteen. Since my hair was still wet, I let it flow behind my back and then decided to leave my room. Prepared for the duel. "Are you Vera Moore?" a brownish-haired woman asked. She was holding a tray of food. She looked so clean to be a slave. I wondered what was her role here.