Yelena Belova Comic นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I scrambled back, my legs skidding on the floor as I looked at the heavy bronze decoration I'd dropped during the time I hid behind the sofa. “The tape is gone because of you! I'll find that aide! And I'll kill him too! I kill everyone until the truth stays and remains buried!” “Nothing stays hidden for too long, child,” Yelena says, in that ‘oh poor, Rhea’ voice i hated so much she pulled herself up with her trembling, frail arms.

There's going to be a pleasant surprise that'll put Helena in an even tighter spot. On top of that, Yori is eager to reveal Helena's identity. Despite her seemingly innocent and simple demeanor, he believes she is not what she appears to be. Yori sees Helena as a cunning woman. She's good at positioning herself and using others to achieve her goals. When she thought about the photo of her lover chatting away with Helena, even though it was just a photo, Yori felt a rush of jealousy.

And then something unexpected happened. Yelena leaned in, and kissed her. Not soft. Not sweet. But like a challenge. Like a spark daring to become a wildfire. Nova pulled back, stunned. “What the hell was that?” Yelena smiled. “I wanted to taste the flame.” And then she jumped, off the roof. Nova screamed, but by the time she looked down, Yelena was gone. Vanished. Into the night. Back in the ballroom, Irena toasted her guests. But in her eyes, there was fury.

Straight to the center. Straight to Volkov. My blood turned to ice. She stopped ten feet from him. Looked at Anya first. Eyes softened for a second. Then to Volkov. “I’m here,” she said. Voice steady. Loud enough to carry. Volkov smiled. Slow. Cruel. “Elena Kovaleva. The true heir. Come to save the spare.” “Let her go.” He laughed once. Sharp. “You think it works like that? You walk in. I let her walk out. Then what? You think I let either of you live?”

Oksana said, “but those meetings always run long.” “They don’t need to admit it. We’ve both learned how to wait.” A small laugh. A quiet understanding passing between them—the unspoken art of living in orbit around dangerous men. They stood side by side under the garden lanterns as the sky deepened to purple-black. ✘ ✘ ✘ Four-year-old Vasiliya Rostova—perpetually disheveled blond hair, shoes always on the wrong feet—found Elena. She collided with Elena’s knees without warning. Looked up with a face of perfect innocence. In her small palm sat a plastic seashell liberated from a decorative vase.

And Natov was here to ensure Nikolai Volkov bled by the gallon. “I don’t want her to know,” Dante said, firm. “Not about this alliance. Not about you. And certainly not about the past.” Natov’s gaze darkened. “Because you think she won’t forgive you?” “Because she won’t understand.” Silence stretched between them. Outside, rain began to splatter softly against the high windows. It was late, nearly midnight, and still Dante’s stomach churned with unease. “You know,” Natov said slowly, his voice turning pensive, “Yelena screamed his name when she died. Nikolai. She thought he would save her. But he was a kid”

I was ready to fight for my love. The door to my room creaked open and I saw Viola standing by the post. Her eye widened with a smile with a smile which never got to her eyes. “Elena, sister,” she called with surprise and excitement. “We’ve all been searching for you. Are you alrifh?” She asked as she walked into my room. Her purple eyes flicked from me to the doctor, then back to me. I gave doctor Tancredi a sign to leave, then forced a smile, just like Viola did. “I am fine, Viola. Why’s everyone worried? Aren’t you the Luna now?” I responded, instinctively taking my hands off my stomach.