215 Lexington Ave Novels & Stories

Slow and shaky, she was able to dial the number and in less than a minute, the call connected. “911 what's your emergency?” She heard a feminine voice on the other end of the line. A slight glance at Emily's cold, lifeless body was enough to burst into tears and panic set in as she tried to gather the words. Firstly, it was her phone, now she could not even find the right words. “7- 789, Lexington Avenue,” she stammered, wiping off the catarrh that she could feel rolling into her mouth. “Apartment 48, 10065.”

"We're a traditional family." "I need to think about this." "No, you don't." Sophia nodded toward the window. "We're here." The Escalade had stopped in front of an imposing Art Deco building in Manhattan's Financial District, the kind of place where hedge fund managers and tech moguls kept offices with views worth more than most people's lifetime earnings.

he chuckled. “Aren’t you overreacting now? Why would I be in love with you?” I scoffed, although I wasn’t so sure now. Was this love? No, I didn’t think so. He smiled, loving my reaction. “Just joking, Daniella.” He drove through the gates of an iconic architectural masterpiece in Manhattan's most sought-after residential neighborhood. The name engraved on the entranceway of the luxurious condominium read Elysium Hudson Towers! With a private porte-cochère and a landscaped garden complex spanning five towers, this place was grander than the one he took me to a few days back.

Vivian I pulled up my silver Audi at the parking lot, took a few deep breaths, and checked my make-up in the rear mirror. Thank heavens, I didn’t put mascaras on, otherwise my face would be mottled. I got off the car and blend in the sea of business men and women in formal attire or trendy designer dress. DanLes was located in Barnet, one of the tallest buildings downtown, occupying ten floors from the sixtieth to the top. I wiggled my way through the crowd and slipped through the turnstile with my pass. People in the lobby were piling themselves into the elevators like sardines in a can; no one wanted to be late.

We pull into the basement parking of Sofia's apartment complex, the concrete walls enclosing us in a dimly lit cavern. Following her lead, we ascend to the second floor, traversing a corridor adorned with nondescript doors until we reach the one at the far end. Nestled in the upper echelons of London's East Side, the apartment complex exudes an air of sophistication and exclusivity.

The lobby had a marble floor and a doorman who greeted her by name, which meant Caiden's assistant had called ahead, which meant this was actually happening. The apartment was on the twenty-second floor. The assistant, Ji-yeon, met her at the elevator — small, precise, with the organized energy of someone who managed multiple impossible things simultaneously and had made peace with it. She gave Lena a brief tour in ten efficient minutes: kitchen stocked, wardrobe partly filled with items in her approximate size pending proper measurements, gym on the floor below, house rules in a folder on the counter. "House rules," Lena said.

Eugene replied calmly. Mirena gave a small nod as she accepted her keys from the valet and slid into her car, offering him a brief, appreciative smile as he shut the door for her. “Alright. And what about the property search?” she asked, starting the engine. “I found one. A five-bedroom penthouse with a rooftop infinity pool and a private garden,” Eugene answered. “It’s located in Manhattan, Upper East Side, and the listed value is thirty-five million. I’ve already sent the documents to you.”