Stefan Salvatore Elena Gilbert Novelas e Histórias

Not again. So she smiled. Leaning up, she whispered against his lips, “And I know exactly how to destroy you.” Then, with a smirk, she stepped past him—leaving him standing alone in the dark. *** Victor DeLuca watched from the shadows, a wicked smile curling on his lips. So, it was true. Elena Romano was back. And she wasn’t just here for revenge—she was toying with Killian Graves. This was going to be fun.

He sidled up to her, flashing a toothy grin that probably worked on less discerning women. Elena’s smile was polite. "I'm flattered," she replied, taking a sip from her champagne flute. "But I'm not interested." He chuckled, unfazed. “Come now, don’t be coy. It’s a party. You should loosen up a bit.” Elena's gaze flicked past him, her fingers grazing the rim of her champagne flute. And that’s when she saw him. She swallowed hard. Lorenzo Salvatore had a way of drawing attention without even trying. His perfectly tailored suit clung to his broad frame, accentuating his muscular build, while his simple, elegant mask added an air of mystery. His gait spotted a slight limp that was easy to miss.

But before I could move another inch, I heard his low voice. “Elena.” He sounded deadly calm and it gave me the chills. I froze. Jesus, what a big mess! Salvatore stood ten feet away, still in his black pants and open shirt, his morning hair messy. Two of his men were behind him, ready to advance at his command. His eyes burned with fury… and something that was even scarier. Hunger. “You really thought you could run from me?” he said, stepping closer. I backed up until my back hit the wall. “Please… I can’t do this. You’re using me. I’m just a pawn to you.”

over and over again. ************ Estefan Penthouse Estefan sits behind the table in his study, reviewing some contracts. A small lamp provides a soft light over his desk. The door opened quietly, and one of his trusted bodyguards stepped inside with a stern face. “Sir,” the bodyguard began, “there’s something you should know about Mrs. Salvatore’s day.” Estefan’s eyes look up, his attention captured instantly. “What is it?” “She had an unexpected run-in with Michael Walker,” the bodyguard revealed, his voice low and serious. “It was tense, but she handled it well. He... seemed desperate, but she didn’t let him affect her.”

"Six months? But you were married to George then." I faltered, realizing the timeline discrepancy. "We were just friends at first. Nothing happened until after George and I separated." "Of course." Elena said, though her expression suggested she didn't believe me. "Well, you certainly landed on your feet. Damien Salvatore... he's quite the catch. Intimidating as hell, though." "He can be," I admitted, thinking of the surprising gentleness he sometimes revealed beneath that intimidating exterior. Elena checked her makeup, then gave me another appraising look. "Listen, we should get coffee sometime. Catch up properly. I'm working at Knight Gallery now, Richard's giving me a chance to curate my

Salvatore stands up and, to my surprise, gives me a smile—one that couldn’t be more fake. “A lot of traffic?” he inquires while pulling out my chair for me. In his language, that means: Can’t you move your ass faster? “Actually, I was quite tied up with work.” He doesn't look happy with my answer, but I care very little. “She is my wife, Helena,” he announces to the couple. “They are Manson and his wife Devon Roberts.” I extend my hand to each of them with a friendly smile before taking a seat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I apologize for the delay,” I say, slightly flustered. I knew something was up—Salvatore is a sneak.

Salvatore’s voice called sharply: “Damien. To my study. Now.” Damien stiffened. Something in the old man’s voice… made fear coil inside him. He entered the study. And stopped cold. Across the desk were files, photos, documents — and at the very center, a birth certificate. His eyes landed on the name written beside “Mother.” Elena Salvatore. Damien’s heart stopped. “What… what is this?” he asked, his voice barely audible. Old Mr. Salvatore looked at him without mercy.

he blurted out and Killian's brows raised. "Who says we are going to fight her?" Killian huffed. "Well, if you want to survive, then you have to fight her," he said, and I chuckled, then turned towards the car. I stopped and turned to face Salvador with questions in my eyes. "If Gilbert is the puppet, then who is the man behind him?" I asked. Salvador's head shot back and he shrugged. "I am yet to find that out," he replied. I licked my lower lip and nodded my head then slipped into the car.

Lana greeted me as soon as I walked in. “Hi Lana, where are the kids?” "Oh, they just got here, they are up with Beatrice,” she said, I nodded and almost walked up the stairs, but Gilbert's voice stopped me. “Is everything okay?” He came from the kitchen–in an apron, so I knew he was cooking. Gilbert used to be the CEO of Wine and Dine; remember, that's how I met him? Well, it turns out he was a great cook too. “Yeah,” I said, clearing my throat. “Everything is fine,” I lied. I couldn't tell him about the strange man, as he would scold me for going to the cafe without guards.

In all of this chaos, Salvatore sat near the mini bar stand taking everything in and nursing his glass of alcohol. The guts of this man. He wasn’t even troubled. I caught sight of mother rushing to safety. Father was shaken but stood tall, with his guns in both hands. The people who dared do this were no other than the Giuseppe’s. Matteo’s father was not involved but I caught a glimpse of the man I had been betrothed to. He was the one leading his dogs, they turned the once clean and well arranged venue to a pile of shattered glasses and wasted food.