روايات وقصص ضمن Yelena Belova Pfp

Elaine was surprised. "What did you just say?" "Everyone's so eager to see those bed pictures, huh? Well, no need for you to bother. I'll share them myself." I whipped out my phone, fired up a live stream, and started peeling off layers for the camera. "Hey, folks, I'm Yara. Lately, I've been hassled by this woman, Elaine, who's been blackmailing me with some intimate shots of her best friend and me."

"She was never yours to save." And attached was another photo. A photo of Elena. Taken just a few hours ago. But she was already dead. Or wasn’t she? Or at least—she was supposed to be. Because in this photo... She was smiling.

Elena or the dragon? A/N

“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.

“We need to go there, El. As soon as possible.” “Yes, we need to bring Olivia home.” Elsewhere, Damian was sitting with Tamara, discussing invitation deliveries when a notification popped up on his phone. “Tamara… look at this,” Damian called softly. Tamara glanced at Damian’s screen, which showed a repost of Olivia’s photo with a tag to Queen Elisabeth’s account. “Wow... a lot of people recognize her. One of the top contributors to Elena’s fan account even tagged ‘Queen Elisabeth,’” Tamara pointed at the screen.

She went quiet for a long moment, looking at Evania with new curiosity. "Don't get your hopes too high," Sophia said, standing up to leave._ "I'll text you if I change my mind." Back in the city center, the atmosphere was far from peaceful. Mr. Starkov had summoned his daughter, Yelena, to the small balcony of her suite. Vlad and Andre stood like statues in the background, their presence adding to the suffocating weight of the room. Starkov had discovered Yelena’s secret pursuit of his enemy’s son. He turned to her, his voice a low, terrifying growl.

She was days from delivery, propped up on pillows, scrolling her phone while he fed her orange slices, her cravings in full swing. “Mmm, these are perfect,” she said, chewing lavishly, her free hand on her belly. He smiled faintly, focused on peeling a pear next, his mind elsewhere—Elena’s trip, his promises on the plane. Sophia glanced at him, then back to her screen. A post popped up: photos of Elena and Damien at the launch, dancing close, another of him helping with her heels, and them entering the hotel. The caption screamed: “CEO of Vanguard Gallery Auction House and Lady Boss of Rossi Designs Seen Acting All Lovey-Dovey. Is This a Sign of a Possible Heaven-Made Match?”