Smallville Chloe Sullivan Novels & Stories

She would always say. Chloe on the other hand was just a fifteen years old brunette; with shoulder-length wavy hair with green eyes. The only thing that fascinated people about her was her eyes. They said it always made her look beautiful especially when she is wearing a green shirt. It always made her stand out. Chloe was the nerd in their family. And ever since the death of their parents, she as the older sister has been holding the both of them up. Until the arrival of the Skull brothers of course. "Heard anything from Tyler?" Chloe asked Tara who was grabbing a toast from her hand and taking a bite, rushing to get ready for work.

He was an evil man and I had to run as far away from him as possible. Chloe came here ready to sacrifice herself. She knew she was going to die and there was nothing I could do to save her. She did what she knew was best with the little time she had to warn me about him. In a way I was thankful for the sacrifice she was making even though I didn’t want to lose her and hated that I was involved in this mess. “You better kill me now because you will never see it” Chloe mockingly replied to Mr. Sullivan. Oh My god, what was wrong with this girl? Can she just stop provoking the man? Then maybe she might be spared.

" ​The voice cut through the silent ballroom like a serrated blade. ​Chloe stepped out from the crowd of onlookers. Her dark sunglasses were gone, her eyes red, swollen, and filled with heavy, desperate tears. She looked completely small, trembling as she pressed her hands against her chest, playing the role of the terrified, guilt-ridden younger sister flawlessly. ​"Chloe?" I asked, a sudden, brutal pain slicing straight through my chest.

Their entire dynamic is completely broken and transactional in that specific format. Come Friday night, Chloe Sullivan executes a complete wardrobe transformation before leaving the corporate fortress of Luthor International. She had spent the operational hours in standard associate attire, but when she meets the two alphas near the armored Bentley parked deep within the secured subterranean garage, she is clad in a provocative, pink sleeveless wrap dress. The plunging V-neck splits her chest entirely, the thin halves secured solely by a leather belt at her waist, while the hem terminates at the extreme upper boundary of her thighs. It is instantly glaring that she has abandoned all undergar

Especially after what the old woman tells me in the backyard. “Show me the entrance camera,” I say. “Okay,” Kael replies, his hand moving to the mouse. He zooms in, and we both lean closer, our eyes glued to the screen, waiting. The footage plays. Chloe appears, walking calmly into the pack. What strikes me immediately is that no one stops her. “How often does she come here?” I ask, turning to Kael. His face drains even more of color. He rubs his hands over his face, shame and worry clear in his eyes.

“You should’ve seen her face. But he’s a good guy. Worships her. She’ll still be my princess. I just… lost it when he told me.” A sharp knock at the door broke the moment. Arran groaned, muttering a curse under his breath. Chloe quickly pulled her dress back on, smoothing it down as she moved to the door. She cracked it open just enough to see Salem standing there, looking uneasy. “Hey, Mom,” Salem said, her voice tight. “We need to talk. Now.” Chloe stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her. They hugged. “Alright, what’s going on?” Salem hesitated, then blurted it out. “I think I’m pregnant.”

"This is my house. You're trespassing and attempting assault. That's illegal. I'm calling the police!" The first wave of people who'd rushed forward scrambled back, swearing. "Crazy bitch and her tricks. Someone get me a bat. I'll deal with her myself." Before anyone could move, my childhood friend Maverick Kirk burst out from the kitchen. "No police, and no fighting. This is a misunderstanding." He smiled as he tried to calm everyone down, then walked toward me with a pointed look. "Chloe, what are you doing here? Come in, come in. Perfect timing. You're just in time for our family dinner."

Dana POV: Dana Travis Not Dana Witting Chloe Pennington is a plump, middle-aged woman who radiates a no-nonsense air. When we shake hands in the reception area of her firm, there is an instant warmth to her grip that tells me that she is a woman juggling a busy home life with a thriving career, undoubtedly married with children. "I like you already, Dana," Chloe says, her hazel eyes scanning me with approval. "You are exactly right on time. Wait . . . is that Sauvage? Your perfume?"

*[SFX: DOORBELL. THEN PANCAKES. THEN LAUGHTER.]* *11:32 AM. [SFX: DOORBELL. THEN CHLOE. THEN HOME.]* Doorbell. Not a knock. Doorbell. Chloe. Doorway. Jeans. _UCLA_ hoodie. Hair clean. Eyes clear. No IV. No hospital bracelet. _FEBRUARY_ doll in hand. “Hi,” Chloe said. To all of us. To 8. “I brought pancakes. Store-bought. Because I still can’t cook. But I can bring.”