Yelena Belova Icons Novels & Stories

Looks like Cupid’s been busy. I eyeYelena over the rim of my wine glass. She’s got that look, the one that screams “I’m hiding something juicy.” Time to poke the bear. “Alright, spill it,” I say, setting down my glass with a dramatic clink. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” She hesitates, chewing her lip. “I don’t want to hurt Viktor, Ana.” Here it comes. “He’s just so hot!” she blurts out, and I almost choke on my drink. When I collect myself, I nod, smirking. I’ve never looked at Viktor that way, but it’s hard to argue with Yelena’s assessment.

Then the ice. Elena pressed a cube to one nipple and watched it harden impossibly tighter. She circled it slowly, then leaned in and sucked the cold flesh into her warm mouth. Valeria cried out, back arching. Elena trailed the melting ice down the center of her chest, over her stomach, lower. When she pressed it directly against Valeria’s clit, Valeria screamed, hips bucking helplessly. Elena let the ice melt there, water mixing with Valeria’s own slickness, dripping down her thighs. Only when Valeria was sobbing, begging incoherently, did Elena switch on the vibrator.

"So, who was in my penthouse, Marcus?" "Layla has a twin," Marcus said, swiping the screen to show a grainy DMV photo. "Elena Vance. She’s a freelance graphic designer. No criminal record, no debt to Silas Vane, and almost zero digital footprint. She doesn't attend galas. She doesn't do 'lifestyles of the rich and famous.' She lives in a studio apartment in the East Side." Julian leaned over the desk, his eyes fixated on the photo. It was a sterile, poorly lit shot, but the eyes were unmistakable. They were the same wide, expressive eyes that had looked at him with such raw honesty through the silver filigree.

“Yes? Not anymore but I was born in the Taro family. Why?” Yelena and Bolt looked at him strangely, and Zen felt self-conscious. Did he say something wrong? The panic in him only grew when Yelena dragged Bolt away to talk in Russian. Zen didn’t understand a word and only wished that Sasha was here to translate. The discussion ended briefly, and Yelena announced that they would tell him at dinner only if he accepted one of their requests. “R-request?” Bolt grinned. “Don’t reject Yelena’s kindness. She might be the youngest invigilator at only fourteen, but her skills are unrivalled. Not even the Death Princess can surpass her in an actual battle.”

“Or because I want to see how you handle information about the woman you replaced. Take your pick.” Either answer meant he was still testing me. I opened the folder anyway. Elena Voss stared back at me from a photograph clipped to the first page, and something ugly twisted in my chest before I could stop it. She was beautiful in a way that looked effortless—soft blonde waves, wide doe eyes, a composure that seemed bred into her rather than practiced. Everything about her looked like the kind of woman Romanov’s world was built for. Elegant. Controlled. Someone who belonged in rooms like his.

His hand near her waist, hers on his arm. Elena’s phone pinged again and again until she shut it off completely. She buried herself in spreadsheets, pretending not to hear the murmurs that slithered through the office corridors. Bella Voss appeared around lunch, armed with coffee and that knowing look only best friends could manage. “You’re all over social media, El.” “Great,” Elena muttered, not looking up. “Want me to spill my drink on Vivienne next time I see her?” A laugh escaped Elena before she could stop it. “Tempting.”

"You'd just die if you didn't see the looks of envy on everyone's face when they see me with you. You may have money, but it's me that makes you credible as a man." "Tolstoy wrote about you in War and Peace," Yuri said, his face reddening as he watched Zach's cock plunge in and out of Olga's pussy. "Her name was Princess Yelena Vasilyevna Kuragina. She, too, would fuck anyone with enough money."

“Alpha Kael won’t hold that against you. Not really. He’s not heartless. Just… guarded.” I swallowed hard. “Who was that woman? The one who stormed into his office?” “That,” Elena said with a grimace, “was Verya.” Wasn’t that the same girl those gossipy omegas were talking about? Verya. “She’s been around for a while. She’s nothing to Kael but a mistress, or should I say a bedroom woman, but she made everyone think she was something special to him because she sold her body to him. She’s beautiful, knows how to use it, and uses her closeness to him to bully others. A lot of people don’t like her.”

But she couldn't. "I know," Elara said. "Let's just get this over with." She turned back to the room. And then she saw her. Valentina Russo. She was standing in the center of the room, surrounded by admirers, laughing at something someone had said. She wore a black dress that caught the light, her dark hair swept over one shoulder. She was beautiful. She was terrifying. And she was the woman who had destroyed Elara's family. Elara's grip tightened on the glass. She could feel the anger rising in her chest, hot and sharp, and she forced herself to breathe. Not yet. Not here.

Jonathan fixed his gaze on her diminishing figure, her silver dress flapping against her glimmering skin. Evania's heels thudded against the marble,making light footed steps towards the hallway. Jonathan, absorbed in his own guilt, made no effort. “Where do you want to go, Yelena?” The tattooed man asked her, opening the passenger door of the black Mercedes. “Take me to Brompton.” She whispered, lowering her head as she gently settled in the car. Once they reached Brompton street, Yelena hopped out in dark sunglasses and a small red gucci handbag.