Vanity Fair Novel Novels & Stories

In truth, with so much wealth in Victoria's hands, those people wouldn't dare to stay away completely. It was actually Jane who persuaded them all to back off, using the excuse that Victoria wanted some peace and quiet. Victoria was always the type of person who held grudges. After everything that had happened in the past few days, some people's shares of the inheritance would definitely shift in Jane's direction. On top of that, Summer, the thorn in her side, was finally about to be dealt with. Then, Violet would have a real chance at becoming the lady of the Hunt family. The Fridman family was bound to rise to glory.

Dawn's sky blue hue washed over the pompous mansions, majestically constructed chateaus and grand, imposing manors that distinguished the ever tranquil Estate – Fairford Overlook, from the ruckus New York City was famous for. Fairford was the paradise of New York, the safe haven for the lofty-minded honeybees to produce the financial honey in pacification before consumption from the insatiable city of New York. It was the estate said to be ever flowing with wealth as indispensable as the pacific. It was where I, Harvey Rhett, 19 year old undergraduate from the prestigious Starglint College and heir to BlueStream Advercomp lived – with my family… until things happened.

The camp had become a slaughter house, Sir Duggar’s men were the cattle, and well-armed knights with green tunics were the butchers. I moved from tent to tent doing my best to hide in the shadows. The Bravousians were duteous with their massacre. Every man they came across was killed without mercy and without hesitation. My luck must have been turning around because I could see the entrance and I had only encountered two skirmishes. One man had charged me with his sword out like a skewer. I spun out of his way and stabbed him in the back as he ran past. The second man tried to shove me into a tent so I kicked him in the nuts.

The evil one yelled impatiently, tired of Janice slow-reveal. Vivian face-palms herself sighing loudly... "She means. I didn't take the book. Instead I was making use of your pen." "Those two weeks you thought I was using to watch you closely and pick the perfect time to steal the book, I was actually using it to write a novel. And you were featured in it." Vivian breathes out as she came to a stop. "You should also know the book ends with you dying." Vivian added with ease.

I was a ghost with no name, no money, and a face that felt foreign to the touch. I worked odd jobs under the table while taking online courses. I barely ate. I barely slept. I invested every cent I earned into the stock market, using the aggressive, high-risk strategies I was too scared to use when I was the "good" Elara. I wasn't good anymore. Elara Vance—the sweet, trusting heiress who wanted to save broken men—died in the flames of that warehouse. The woman who rose from the ashes was something else entirely. Three years passed.

And I was in here — in this glass tower full of people who were very competent and very complicated and who had, for reasons I did not yet fully understand, decided that I was worth protecting. I finished the toast. Outside, the city sharpened as the morning burned off its grey. Somewhere below, in the offices and the law firms and the gossip columns and the hushed boardrooms where men decided what other men were worth, the story of Evelyn Vance was being written and rewritten by hands that were not mine. *Not for much longer,* I thought. I picked up my coffee. I looked at the blue diamond. I looked at the city. *Not for much longer.*

POV: Vivian Ashford The Vanity Fair piece is not the profile Ethan was writing. That piece is still in progress, still being shaped into the Sterling family history that Ethan has been building for months. This is something different: a first-person exclusive, offered by me directly, to the same publication that ran Ethan's profile of me six months ago, which means it will be read by everyone who read that piece and will land in the specific context of the woman in those photographs choosing now to speak.

Seraphina, Dean, and a few relatives who had stayed behind after the earlier meeting exchanged glances, all seemingly impressed, and taken in by the grandeur of Marvin's stories. The lavish tales of the Sinclair fortune weren’t exactly new, because it was no secret, but Marvin’s insistence on how important it was for Vanessa to marry him, and for them to make it happen , seemed to sway them. Now more than ever, Seraphina wanted to get rid of Jason. She wanted him gone immediately. Not just out of Vanessa’s life, he should be erased completely.

“Have you met the bride? Pretty enough. But no class. I don’t know where Arthur found her, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll be Mrs. Reynolds soon—and with my guidance, she’ll look the part. She’ll be good for business.” Something inside me twisted. The way she spoke—reducing people to mannequins, to ornaments—it grated like sandpaper. But even as the distaste curdled in my chest, I couldn’t ignore the facts. Vivian had managed what most couldn’t: in a matter of weeks, Maison Vivra was everywhere. Pre-orders had skyrocketed, socialites were flaunting her designs, and now she’d tied York International to a headline-grabbing event. She was still Vivian—charming, elegant, unrelenting. Born with mor

I watched from the couch, confused, my mug of tea untouched and cold in my hand. The Woman who stepped in looked like someone who belonged on the cover of a luxury Magazine. Clipboard. Pearls. Glossy red Lips that curved with effortless command. “Good Afternoon,Mrs Johnson. I'm Vanessa, service manager of the Vogue gallery”. Mrs Johnson. The name still sounded foreign, like someone else's fairytale. Like something I had borrowed, not earned. Before I could react, She gave a polite nod and turned slightly towards the door.