Vanna Grace Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Ten seconds.” Grace opened her eyes. The red light blinked on. “Good evening,” the anchor began smoothly, turning to face the camera. “Tonight, we speak with Grace Hayes—businesswoman, shareholder in the Hayes Group, and daughter of the late executive Mara Lin, whose legacy has recently come under public scrutiny.” Grace inhaled once—slow, deliberate—and then spoke. “My mother was not late,” she said calmly. “She was silenced.” The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

Liam was strumming a guitar, playing something quiet and folk-like. And Grace. Grace was nineteen. She was the youngest, the surprise, the miracle born after the war was supposedly over. She stood up. She was wearing a simple white dress, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She held a glass of sparkling water. "One more toast," Grace said. Her voice was soft, but it carried the same quiet authority that Aria had developed over decades. "We're out of cider," Theo noted sleepily from his chair. "I don't need cider," Grace said. "I just need you to listen."

Her voice followed, filled with seething rage, "We'll see about that, street rat!" Once in my room, my phone buzzed with a message from Marco. [We're settled in the west wing guest room. All's well.] [We've discovered it was Miss Victoria who had nails scattered on your path.] Victoria. I typed back, [Keep tabs on her.] I walked over to the window, gazing out at the sprawling estate swallowed by the night. Twinkling lights cast a luxurious glow, luring people in like bait in a trap. Who would be the prey?

All except one. A face that glared at me with a conceited smile. She had waited for this moment, she had waited to look me in the eyes with a calculative stare. Shania, drapes in a red polkadot gown and a black cashmere trenchcoat hanging over her shoulders. She let her ginger hair fall over shoulder with a braid at the two ends of her frontal. “Finally, we thought you were gonna have to cancel this meeting,” She smiled as though our argument yesterday never happened, like this was the first time we were speaking in months.

And even if I succeeded in rescuing her, I'd still be waiting for her to die and hoping he returns to me? I looked at Damon, my sister, and my parents. "You know what?" I bit out, my tone cold. "Congratulations." They were looking at me in dismay. They were expecting me to get this. To be nice. To be thoughtful. Not today. Just as I was sitting there, a familiar voice hit my mind. Ravina? Where are you? I've been trying to reach you. Anna. My best friend. Our pack's healer. I need you to take me for a ride, I told her.

Ananya pov. I was dressed up in a pink gown with my hair tied up in a low bun, a few strands of hair brushing my face that were left intentionally. The gown was floor length and it was a half meter extra long from behind clearly sweeping the floor. The top hugged my body beautifully it was a tight fit that made my curves visible, and the straps were a little thin so my tattoo was clearly visible. A bracelet adorned my wrist and I fiddled my pendant, it was actually the letter A. And no I was not one of those girls who were obssessed with their names, the A stood for Anahita, my birth mom. I knew she would have been so happy if she was here, but at least I could have something that made me f

It was good because no one would find out who she was soon. Grace worked so hard all her life as an editor, crawling all the way to the top as the chief editor of a glossy magazine firm. She had appeared in the magazine herself a lot of times, but she doubted anyone here w would engross their time in reading magazines like that. Even if a few of them did, they wouldn't recognize her with her hair dyed jet back from the natural blonde color she had, and from wavy to straight.

I sit on the bed next to her and she wraps her arms around my waist in a tight hug. “Grace, I know this is hard, but you need to be brave now. Can you tell us what happened?” Adrian asks gently as he sits down on Grace’s other side. Sitting between us, safe in her bed, Grace takes a breath as though fortifying herself. Then so softly I almost don’t hear it, she says, “The blonde lady from the pack, the mean one, Vanessa, she took me away.” Why am I not surprised? That woman knows no shame. I clutched Grace a little tighter.

The reporters were on the edge of their seats, eager to uncover the connection between GRACE and Hunter Brown. “Everything.” The cameras focused on Viaan as he smirked mysteriously, giving the reporter a meaningful look. “Mr. Hunter Brown has to do everything with GRACE.” His eyes shone with riddles, and he turned his attention to that one reporter. “Can you tell me when GRACE was founded? Which year?” Viaan asked, a sense of challenge reflected in his tone.