Serena Van Der Woodsen Novels & Stories

She pressed the green button. “Hello, good evening madam.” The tiny female voice made her ears twitch for a second. She sat up and cleared her throat, “Hi. Good evening. How are you doing?” “I’m fine madam. I hope I’m speaking with the owner of The Glitz Fashion Home?” “Yes.” “I’m Adelina and I’m calling from KlasyRhodes fashion home, Luanda. We need you to create some designs ma. We want to put up a fashion show and we need new unusual foreign designs.”

he replied, heading out of the warehouse to his car, with Diana following. "Gabriella isn't an easy woman to catch, is she?" she snapped. "It won't be long until we have her," Wallace responded, starting the car as Diana gestured for him to take off. "Let's head back to the station, boys," she ordered, encapsulating the urgency of regrouping. Teca Company: A woman elegantly exited the elevator, clad in a long-sleeved blue shirt tucked into black pants, complemented by a jacket and blue heels. Her brunette hair was impeccably styled in a short cut, radiating both professionalism and sophistication.

Varric said Serena came forward, smiling happily, then another female I usually see her in the training grounds, she looked very beautiful with short black hair. Then another female who looked just like serena, both beautiful but with a rotting heart. She was among the females who bullied me in the kitchens. “Introduce yourselves,” Varric said “I am Matilda blue moon and I am contesting against Aria for the hand of the Alpha king” the warrior said I gulped “I am Serena Hale, contesting for the Hand of the Alpha king” she said

“We have plans. But you two go. Celebrate.” Serena looked relieved. “Are you sure?” “Positive. Go be eighteen.” Before we left, I went to the restroom. On my way back, I passed a woman standing in front of Serena’s sculpture. She wasn’t a parent. She was older, dressed in severe Issey Miyake pleats, holding a notepad. I recognized her. Evelyn Vance. One of the toughest critics for The New York Times. I froze. If she hated it… if she wrote something scathing… it would crush Serena.

Serena fumed angrily. “Mr. Nelson, the madam is refusing to have anything,” Monica announced, making everyone fall silent. “Which madam?” Serena questioned. “Mr. Beckham’s wife, Mrs. Karisa Henderson,” Monica said and the entire room fell into shock. “My wife?” I was the first to break the silence. “Karisa has been here?” Inaya asked as she stared at us for answers. “What do you mean Karisa is here? That’s a lie.” Serena's composure was already fading, and that was what I wanted to see.

Sure, not happily married but what had happened the other night should not happen again. “I am Vivienne,” the dark haired lady said with a smile as she slid into a seat. Adrea could not help but think with her pixie cut and big almond-shaped grey eyes, Vivienne looked like an absolute doll. Adrea smiled at the woman warmly, “Nice to meet you.” “You too,” Vivienne said. “I am Sanne Visser,” the copper-haired woman said, and Adrea’s eyes widened with appreciation. She’d heard of the woman. She was a big name in the poker world, although some people called her the Lady Viper.

Probably some guy gave her a fake number in the bar. "I know what it is. But who are you?" She again asks me anxiously. "I am secretary of the President of the Damison Group. My name is Ethan Stone." I reply to her irritatingly, as she is wasting my time. I need to go home and take a lavender bath with my rubber ducks.

Amanda said with an incredulous expression. “What do you know about my taste?” I tapped my index finger on the table, intentionally trying to mock her. “I know you. I trust you with Erna more than her.” Amanda smiled slightly and sipped her orange juice with a graceful gesture. Serena differed from Amanda and Erna. As well as the other women who had come into my life. It has always attracted me to elegant and gentle women like Amanda and Erna. Serena Voss? I can't even describe her properly.

Lena's POV. “Hello, ma'am,” the doctor waved his left hand, and felt my pulse with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Can I get a name? Can you speak?” He continued, not even giving me a chance to think or respond. He suddenly stopped and pointed a little fluorescent light in my eyes. I squinted and groaned inaudibly from lying stiff for far too long. “Four, My name is Lena, and I think I can… talk,” I replied in a second, gulping as the man behind him moved closer and fixed his gaze on me.

They had left their golden goose completely vulnerable, guarded only by a skeletal crew of unsuspecting soldiers. Two miles away, inside the soundproof, high-tech command center of the Volkov van, Serena stood before a wall of glowing monitors. Her ocean-blue eyes were sharp, calculating, and entirely devoid of remorse. She wore a simple, form-fitting black turtleneck and dark jeans, her hair pulled back into a high ponytail. Beside her stood Alexei, his fingers flying across a tactical keyboard as he monitored the live satellite feeds and heat-signature maps of the Moretti warehouse.