Rena Gordon Harold Moore Novels & Stories

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.

Rich people are strange. "It is, if you're conspiring against one of us," Grayson says, obvious referring to the Alpha's in here. By the look in his eyes, he doesn't want to believe the words he says, but he is totally correct in his assumptions. I am here for Alpha Noah of the Harmony Pack. I nod down to his hand on my arm. "I think you should let me go..." Looking at his hand, I suddenly notice something glint around his finger, through the thin fabric of his glove. Is that a ring? My eyes widened...silver.

I huffed “I hope Mr. Moore isn’t like him though.” I thought… maybe a bit too loudly “Don’t worry Miss Brooks, I can assure you that I’m nothing like Preston or his son.” I froze as I saw a very familiar face that entered the room, wearing a grey two piece suit, a tie, leather shoes and a very expensive watch and his hair was styled neatly I still remember tangling my fingers through it… Every kiss… every touch… Every thrust… “-Henry Alexander Moore, the Chief Executive Officer and owner of Moore Industries.” I snapped back to reality as Wilma introduced us to each other

“For starters, why don’t you tell me your full name?” Relieved at the simple question, she answered, “Estelle Andres. And you?” Moore is glad that she didn’t whisper or mumble like she always does. Seems like spending time with Miranda gave her a little confidence. But, Andres? Where has he heard that name before? Shaking his head, he’ll think about that later. “My name is Moore Corcoran. But you can call me just Moore.” His lips quivered into a smile at seeing Estelle’s brow scrunched upon hearing his name. Many have mentioned that it is a special name given to him during the moment his life changed.

My heart quickened as she noticed me and made her way toward me, weaving through the sea of people with practiced ease. Mrs. Moore wore her typical fur coat over an extravagant white power suit and dark sunglasses, even though it wasn’t sunny outside. She styled her peppered golden brown hair in a high ponytail, which stretched her features and made her look younger. She really was a beautiful woman. No wonder Kat was a stunning beauty.

She answers him, still holding my shirt and hiding behind me. “Hold up. Hold the fuck up.” Damian says. Looking very closely at Justin. “That can’t be right. Because if she’s who I think she is, then we are all dead.” “Who do you think she is?” I ask him. “The man who attacked us, killed my mother, and take Adrian.” Nobody answered him. We just exchanged glares. “Ohhh my fucking moon goddess. Are you fucking kidding me?” “You don’t say a curse word and call the Moon goddess in the same sentence,” I warn him.

“That is where our deal ends. I more than anyone wants that motherfuvker dead but I will wait until when the right time comes...He is all yours once he loses his authority.” “There is no such thing as the right time, Harold. I make the right time when I want.” “Very well then. I will take my leave now and meet with the elders. It has been such a long time...” Harold stood and crept away. >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It looked like a small, warning ember. "Good evening," Diane said, her voice shifting into a professional honey. "Tonight, we are joined by Gideon Moore. Until forty-eight hours ago, he was the Chairman of Moore Industries and the architect of the Ravenport skyline. But after a series of staggering scandals and a sudden resignation, the world is asking: what happened behind the closed doors of Moore Crest?"

The article was brutal. “It appears Mr Charles Moore was living a double life for years, one of luxury, one of frailty. Colleagues at Orevelle knew him as Frederick Gibbson: long hair, ducktail beard, thick eyebrows, heavy lashes. A disguise so effective, even his closest associates never suspected a thing.” “Wow,” I whispered, leaning back in my chair. “So people really do that? Two faces. One strong, one dying. Like they’re twenty seconds from the grave in one body, and running marathons in the other.”

Can’t he not remember me? “Aerah Moore… hmm. The name sounds familiar,” Landon uttered, squinting his eyes while looking at me from head to toe. I did not know if I should be happy by the way he was acting. Should I feel great because he still somehow remembered me or be fucking offended because how the hell could he not recall me? Excuse me, I am Aerah Moore! I was the only daughter of the late Gordon Moore who owned Moore Estates, the number one real estate business in most of United States’ land! “Oh, I remember now. I heard her name on the news recently. My employees kept talking about her, too. Nice to meet you, Ms. Aerah Moore…”