Moore Sisters Novels & Stories

Nova raised her eyebrows and said disdainfully, "Oh, there's such a proud male escort? I want to see him!" To put it bluntly, he was here to sell himself. Did he think he was all that? The other women present were contemptuous too. They started sneering and jeering. "Well, how expensive can he be? Is there anything that Miss Davis can't afford? Find out if he's here. We want him!" The woman who spoke out had heavy makeup and an enchanting figure. She was the eldest daughter of the Moore family, Rita Moore. Her family was in the jewelry business and had millions to their name.

At the moment, I know we have gone past that stage and I really like what we have but being caught will take us right back into that phase. I tap on contact and search for the name "Mr Moore" There is nothing like Mr. Moore. Instead, four different name suggestions popped down. The first is just Moore The second is Christine Moore The third is Vanessa Moore and the last is Andre Moore. I need no soothsayer to tell me this is what I am looking for. Since Andre is here too, then it means Christine is her father's name while Vanessa is her mother's.

I said. Hazel Moore's face twisted in shock. "Audrey Smith, even if Ethan ran away from the wedding, he still left you with the title of Mrs. Moore. You've been living a life of luxury in the Moore family. How could you shamelessly get pregnant with someone else's child?" I glanced at her. "You're the adopted daughter of the Moore family, and you had the nerve to seduce your own brother. If we're talking about being shameless, who could possibly beat the two of you?"

"Old man, I told you before that I am not your miss. You must have the wrong person." The old man was Chris Moore, who claimed to be the Moore family's butler, and the Moore family was well-known in the business circle on the Yellow Sea Continent. They were in various industries, covering more than a dozen cities on the Yellow Sea Continent, and they were rather powerful.

The hold itself stood tall at the heart of the village, a formidable structure of gray stone crowned with banners bearing the MacLeod crest. Moira’s presence stirred curiosity and whispers, but her gentle demeanor and readiness to help soon endeared her to many. She spent her mornings with the women of the clan, weaving through the bustling kitchens and gardens. Moira took careful note of names, alliances, and subtle dynamics between the women—who was bonded to whom, who held sway over the group, and who was most respected. Her black gown set her apart from their earthy wool dresses, but her golden eyes, filled with warmth and intrigue, made her approachable despite her otherworldly beauty.

Had he not found Kaliegh when he did, Sirius doubted that his brother would have survived the death of his twin. Shaking his head to dispel the memories, Sirius once again looked at the list of those who were going. Halfway down the first page were the two names he did not want to see, Aurora Moore and Danika Moore, his identical twin sisters — both named for the times they were born: Dawn and the morning star.

Even through a renewed burst of howling she could hear his gasp. There was nothing to do but look. It took maybe a couple of seconds to walk to the edge, but each second expanded into hours’ worth of memory. Mama and Dad; Granny Olga; her schoolroom with a scratched blackboard and chalk dust on the floor; the ceremony of three candles; the lost notebook; Tattie . . . Yes, Tattie as she had seen her last. Eyeless. With a bleeding hole in her chest. She looked down. The pit was filled with corpses.

Veronica was severely burned, and in her desperation, she took James down with her. By the time everything was over, Monica and I had already moved on to our next destination. The view ahead was even better.

In Harford City, the sky was overcast—a dull, heavy gray that mirrored the solemnity of the day. The air carried the scent of incense and fresh flowers, clinging to everything like a memory refusing to fade. The Moore family stood before the twin graves of Benjamin and Vivianne Moore. The marble headstones were tall, pristine, unyielding. Their names carved into stone remained untouched by time, yet they had shaped every second of Grayson’s life.