Novel & Cerita A Caribbean Heiress In Paris

He probably didn’t want to go alone so he asked her to go with him. That was okay, right? He could do whatever he wanted. It wasn’t like he owed me his full commitment anyway. Who was this woman anyway?! My teeth clenched. *If you think I’m lying, browse about Daphne Laurent and you’ll get your answers* That line ran through my mind. I shouldn’t. But I found myself typing “Daphne Laurent” on the search engine. Woah. She wasn’t an ordinary person. She was 28, a billionaire heiress from France. Her family owned the largest conglomerate in France and she was the Vice President of LM Group until last year when her father retired and she took over as president.

Amanda was very intelligent, all she needed was one look and it's over. “My name for the night,” she continued, sliding a finger over the embossed letters, “is Cassandra Veyron. Heiress to an obscure European shipping fortune, conveniently reclusive, conveniently untouchable. No one in that house has ever seen her, only heard whispers. And whispers are easier to impersonate than reality.”

He just got in the car with her. They arrived outside an abandoned mansion on the outskirts of Paris. Hidden beneath layers of marble and rot, it was once a fashion house. Now? It was Noir’s resurrected ghost. Zara’s heels echoed across cracked tiles as she stepped inside. Bianca was waiting. Leaning against a crumbling pillar. Smiling like the devil in couture. “I knew you’d come,” Bianca purred. Zara didn’t hesitate. “You’re wearing my original. The unreleased bloodline piece.”

It seemed nothing had changed here in the last five years that she’d been away! “We’ve reached,” announced Marcus and Cara looked at the huge luxurious condominium with the name engraved on the grand entranceway, Parc Windsor Towers. It was the grandest residence in the entire vicinity and Cara’s heart constricted seeing the opulence. How would she fit in here? She could feel the sneering looks being cast in her direction as Marcus led her to the elevator. Suddenly, she wanted to go back to his Southampton beach home where no one was there to judge her, and she could hide from the prying eyes.

Dad wants me to familiarize everything. I drove my corvette on my way to the office. Everyone in the office is looking at me. I am wearing an emerald green backless dress with pumps. The employee's eyes seem confused about why I'm here. Don't worry guys, I'm confused too - I fixed my office and called an interior designer to design it to my taste. I ordered some furniture to make it classy. While fixing everything, Sheena, my dad's secretary came in. "Ma'am, you'll be attending a meeting with Mr. Laurier," Sheena said

“Smart girl. Don’t worry — I’m not interested in your little love story. I have bigger plans.” He walked to the desk and handed me an envelope — thick, unmarked. “This will cover the exact amount. No more, no less. Deliver it to Heather, and she’ll have no excuse to linger.” I took it, my hands shaking. It was heavier than I expected, like it carried more than just money. “And the favor?” I asked quietly. “When?” His gaze turned cold and his mouth curved into a grin before he said, “It wouldn't be fun if I tell you now, would it, princess?"

In the large mansion, the masters were outnumbered by the helpers. It was crazy for Danie because she didn't need them at all. At least, just a few would do. It wasn't like many people knew that she was the only heiress to the massive wealth of the Williams. She could walk alone at night and no one would guess that she's a billionaire. But for sure she'd turn heads. Danielle was beautiful. She had always been told how perfect she looked. Her skin alone uses the most expensive set of skin care. Her hair was glowing. Everything that every girl could dream of was within her reach.

I stopped fighting a long time ago. My name — tonight — is Isabelle Renaud. Heiress. Paris-born. Currently between ventures. I have a French passport that cost forty thousand euros and three favors, a fabricated social footprint that extends back seven years with sufficient density to survive casual inspection, and a dress that cost more than most people's rent — all courtesy of Adrian Wolfe's very generous operational budget.

God, he looks so sexy, so masculine and all I want is to run back up to him, place my legs around his waist and have him carry me back into the warm bed that is still unmade from us last night. Alas I cannot. I am an heiress to a fortune, a billionairess now in my own right and I have responsibilities. Which I wish I didn’t. The thought of living in a small apartment in Paris, with just croissants and coffee for breakfast sounds rather appealing right now. Perhaps I will book a special romantic trip for Dante and I when this tour is over.

Vivienne Laurent had learned long ago how to disappear in plain sight. She stood at the far end of the ballroom, beneath a crystal chandelier that glittered like a frozen constellation, holding a champagne flute she had no intention of drinking. The glass tower of Laurent International loomed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, its mirrored surface reflecting the city lights below. From a distance, she looked like exactly what she was supposed to be: a poised billionaire heiress, draped in silk, her dark hair swept into an elegant twist.