Penelope Yates Novels & Stories

Penelope sat in her high-backed leather chair, her posture flawlessly straight and regal . She had unbuttoned her charcoal wool coat, remaining in a simple, dark silk blouse. Her long silver hair fell past her waist in smooth, glossy waves . Her deep indigo eyes were intensely bright, focused entirely on the dust-caked leather journal she had pulled from Alpha Arthur's hidden mountain hollow vault the afternoon before.

Saint Lucia Convent, Southfeld. 4.30 PM. Penelope was wearing her tailored dress, putting up her make-up in the Rolls-Royce. Next to her was Saint Lucia’s assistant principal Donelle. “You’ve really helped a lot by signing the contract today, Ms. Penelope. I wanted to ask you something though...” Donelle was like a dog, wagging its tail trying to make Penelope happy. Penelope couldn’t even bother to look at her as she pursed her red lips.

Please stop commenting if you’re not sincere’ one of Anne Yates’ fan tagged her again. Before everyone can move on, MissCattleyBloom commented again. ‘@AnneYates, can you control your minions?’ she followed by a laughing emoji. Clearly looking down on the online users. When the MissCattleyBloom unabashedly tagged Anne Yates, the netizens were shocked. Is it possible that the two knew each other? If so, what is their relationship? ‘@MissCattleyBloom, go on. I’m enjoying my popcorn’ Anne Yates quickly commented out.

Before I came with a smart replay, as to why I don't apply makeup, I heard the loud and unmistakable voice of Penelope, who when our gaze came upon her, looks like a kid who found a lollipop. “Cassi!” Penelope came running towards us and engulfed me in a huge hug, which I returned because I needed it. "You look so good,” she said, smiling widely and revealing her white straight teeth. She always says good things like that to everyone. Penelope is a nerd, that's what comes to mind whenever I see her. She loves books - Too much. She is short 5’2, with ginger curls, freckles, green eyes, glasses, and she tops it all off with clothes that old house wives would wear. I don't think they would eve

It’s more like the generic hold music you get when you call customer service, pleasant enough, but you’re just waiting for it to end. My name is Penelope Jones. Everyone calls me Penny, probably because “Penelope” sounds like someone who owns a yacht and knows which fork to use for salad. I do not own a boat. I own approximately seven pairs of scrubs, a coffee maker that’s on its last legs, and a laptop that’s seen more werewolf smut than any piece of technology should have to endure.

“Say what you came to say and get out." Three years. That’s how long Penelope had been my father’s widow. Three years of her showing motherly concern, but I could see her desperate attempts to claw her way into power. At first, I let her live because she was harmless. Now? My claws unsheathed slightly, puncturing the armrest. Now she’s overstepping… "That creature doesn’t belong here Damon!" Penelope strode forward, slamming her palms on my desk. “Take the pup from her and throw her back to the gutter she crawled from!"

Penelope smiled at her, grabbing her hand and lead her over to a smaller sitting area in front of the changing rooms. "It should be me that should thank you." She said, an apologetic smile on her pink glossy lips. "Me?" Lily asked quizzically. A woman walked over with a tray holding two thin glasses of champagne. Penelope took both and passed one over to Lily. "To be honest, I was searching for a Mate for Jayce by the time I came across your ad." Penelope stated, sipping her drink. "He's at a crucial time in his life right now, and I worried for him."

"I'm saying that there is no way to track Miss. Penelope because she doesn't exist. No ID, no record. In fact, before 2 weeks ago, there was no such person as Penelope Brendan" It was exactly as I heard that statement that my world shattered instantly......

I retorted, clarifying that I was in charge. Morgan, however, crossed a line. "Well, it's just interesting, isn't it? Your assistant... I suppose she knows where the money is," he sneered, his insinuation explicit and offensive. That was enough for Penelope. She stood up, her body rigid with anger, and stepped up to Morgan, her face inches from his. "Good sir, you clearly don't know who I am," she said, her voice cold and sharp. "I am Penelope Pennington, the sole heir to the Pennington Resorts empire. I neither need his money nor your pitiful opinion. Now, please leave."

Once the dinner was cleared away, Penelope stood tall, her face glowing with smug satisfaction. The air around her seemed to pleasurable as she surveyed her prisoners—Brandon and Britney, both bound by her twisted desires. "I know you want Brandon happy," Penelope said, as if speaking to a dear friend, "I'm the one who can give him everything he deserves. Give us your blessing, Brit. You're like the sister I never had."