Yelena Belova Icons Novels & Stories

I finally said that I would and now we were on our way to Paris, to meet up with her at her condo. She was my grandfather's sister, Eliza Brinx, she was a fashion icon and the most adnired family member in the Brinx line of work, she was the prettiest woman I've ever seen in all my life, even at the age of fifty, Eliza was a remarkable being, she was a model and also an entrepreneur. She was my favorite person in the entire world. "Why do I allow you to take me out of the US?" Elijah asks, scanning the busy streets once we got out of the car, outside of Eliza's condo building.

When I awoke I was no longer Anastasia, I was Anastasia but I wasn't, I looked around to see a completely different place, as if I had teleported to a different body, and a different place, but as well as my own memories I had a different set of memories, I was no longer in control of my body or mouth "Annabell, come quick, Isabella is having the baby" Damon told me, I, as Anastasia, wanted to ask him what he was doing there, and who Isabella was, but Annabell already knew the answers, Damon was a good friend to Annabell, and Isabella is Annabells daughter, Annabell has three children, two boys, David, who is named after his late father, and Frederick, whom she loves dearly, and she has one

Although to call him shorty language will not turn. Beautiful face, big blue eyes the color of ice. Not transparent, but closer to turquoise. She observed such beauty only once - on Baikal. Dark lashes, straight nose and perfect lips. Absolutely perfect. With a clear, even contour - the lower one is a little fuller and more appetizing. "Vampires," the girl thought doomedly, "they are always perfect." Elya ran her eyes over the snow-white shirt straightened out of black trousers, and finished her inspection with black patent leather boots with slightly tapered toes.

She may have had a baby a year ago, but there's no sign of it. But it's her face that catches me off guard. Beautiful, yes, but... wrong, somehow. Too smooth, too symmetrical. The work is expensive— probably the best plastic surgeons money can buy— but I can see the subtle signs. The slight tightness around her eyes, the way her forehead doesn't move when she smiles. "Tamara! So wonderful to meet you in person. I'm Elena Vorobeva." She glides toward me with outstretched hands, her smile perfect and empty. "Please, sit. Can Mrs. Dubois bring you anything? Coffee? Sparkling water?"

Elena (hugging her tight): “Don’t say a word until I’ve had caffeine.” (She drops her designer bag on the couch, kicks off her heels, and studies Bella’s face.) Elena: “Okay. That’s the ‘Jason-is-a-paranoid-control-freak’ look. I’d recognize it anywhere. The one that costs you three hours of sleep and at least ten years of your life.” Bella (trying to smile, failing): “You’re not wrong. It’s worse this time.” Elena (pouring espresso from the machine like she owns the place): “Define worse.”

“You’ll take care of them yourself, Lenochka! You’re not dying!” “Liars go to hell, Evelina,” she smiled, her eyes growing hazy. “And one more thing. Ya. Yamelyan. He’s a fool. He has flaws the size of the Kremlin. But he loves you in a way that makes me sick with envy. Reunite with him. Make me the happiest person in the grave by letting that man be happy for once. He’s earned it.” Her hand went limp in mine. Her chest gave one final, stuttering heave, and then… silence.

Bella looked at Elena. “She’s lying,” Bella said. “Elena, why are you doing this to me?” Zara turned and faced her fully and for just a moment, something in her eyes was not Elena at all. Something older and colder and far more certain looked out from behind Elena’s composed face. “Because,” she said quietly, “I don’t like people who hurt others and feel nothing about it. And I make it my business to ensure they are dealt with accordingly.” She reached into her bag and produced her phone. “And if no one believes me”

I grinned, "I'll have to catch up with her energy later." Elena is a perfect combination of both Zyra and Nicolas. She has green eyes like her mother but sharp pointed nose like her father. It makes me feel like a proud aunt to even look at her. Elena Faith Russo is one absolute miracle in the life of my older brother and my best friend.

“You’re Valeria.” I closed the door behind me. “And you are?” “Elena.” The name landed like a stone. I felt something sour in my chest before I could place it. Elena. Viktor’s daughter. The way she said it made me dislike her immediately. I stayed near the door. “Does Elena have a last name?” “Viktor’s daughter,” she said, as if that explained everything. “Our beta,” Elena stood, and I found myself feeling somewhat intimidated by her presence as she raised an eyebrow. She was beautiful, tall, elegant and confident in a way that suggested she had always known exactly where she belonged inside the Romanov household.

Only her chest expanded slightly deeper, compensating for the oxygen that had suddenly grown thin. Behind his mother, Victor didn’t shift his gaze even a fraction. “Pardon?” Elena’s voice emerged in a tone of confusion—constructed with extraordinary precision. Svetlana took one step forward. Her hands—veined, adorned with inherited rings, but still formidable—rose and touched Elena’s cheek with care. “The most elegant woman I’ve ever encountered, and those eyes—” her voice dropped, catching somewhere in her throat, “—no one who has ever seen them has truly been able to forget them.”