Alessandra Gucci Novels & Stories

She knew he must be out there, somewhere. "I hope am not late?" Alexandra recognized the voice immediately, suddenly feeling hot, by the effect. She sluggishly looks up, only to meet the piercing look in Gerald's eyes. There was the way he looked at her, which made her feel like melting, right there and then. She was putting on a skimpy tight black gown, coupled with a black heels and a red bag, her outfit was just simply, and she practically had no heavy make up on, just her brown powder and a mascara.

she said, looking me over. “Thank you. So do you. I'm Alessandra, by the way.” “I'm Tattia,” she said, smiling. “Nice to meet you. I decided I needed a night away from work,” I said, laughing. “Well, this is the right place,” she said, grabbing a glass of champagne from the server and handing it to me. “These are extremely beautiful; did you design them?” “I did, and you get to choose anyone you want as an apology for me spilling wine on you,” she said.

The kind that said: I’m enough on my own. The diamonds Vane had given her caught the light as she moved. She looked at them in the mirror and made a decision: she’d wear them all. Every piece he’d given her. She’d wear them like trophies. She’d wear them like a woman who’d used a man’s obsession and come out on top. Her phone buzzed. A message from her personal shopper a woman named Alessandra who’d become something close to a friend over the last few weeks. Arrived: The new Valentino collection. Your size. All pieces.

In Sienna Hudson’s opinion, when opportunity came knocking dressed in a designer suit, worth five hundred billion euros, and bearing the name Alessandro Guidotti, there was only one sensible thing to do — grab it with both hands and never let go. Alessandro Guidotti was the man the tabloids could never get enough of — the billionaire whose name was synonymous with charm, danger, and decadence. The man who arrived at every gala with a different beauty on his arm: a model one month, an actress the next, and occasionally an heiress for variety.

The prize that turned designers into legends. The nominees flashed on the screen. Alessandro Michele for Gucci. Maria Grazia Chiuri for Dior. Liam Cross for Cross Empire. Ariane Rousseau for Maison AVA. A gasp went through the room. A collective intake of breath. David versus Goliath. The King versus the Ghost. Aurora’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked at the screen. At the image of her "Fortress" collection. At the image of Liam’s sleek, modern line.

her mother said softly, and before finally leaving her alone. Alessia took a deep breath and turned to her wardrobe. If she was going to face Luca, she would do it looking her best. Her fingers trailed over fabrics until she chose a silver silk gown that hugged her figure, giving her the soft, luminous glow of a sweet sixteen. Red heels and a matching bag added a sharp contrast, and she slicked on a gloss that caught the light every time she moved her lips. She didn't let herself hesitate. Minutes later, she was in a taxi, the city blurring past, her heart pounding with every mile that brought her closer to him.

Sienna asked. "Yes, I have been to her boutique several times, even though I have never met her in person. I really like her designs and the color combinations that soothe my eyes; all her designs seem to hypnotize me and make me fall in love," explained Alesha while showing her admiration for the design of the designer, who was none other than Sienna herself. "I am Alexa," Sienna said suddenly, making Alesha silent for a moment. "Is it true?" asked Alesha with a surprised face.

he corrected with a sharp tone. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, bowing before turning to me again. "Ma'am, we have several brands. Versace, Gucci, Dior and more. Even limited pieces from Dolce & Gabbana Alta Moda." "Designers?" I snapped my head toward Luciano. "She's talking about designers." "Okay?" "I mean." I pursed my lips. "It's nothing. Forget it." The attendant continued. "We also have handcrafted couture from emerging Italian houses—pieces designed for private clients only. Then—"

Very different from Valentino’s empire, built in stone and history. This one felt sharp. Calculated. Aria stepped out of the car wearing black. Not for mourning. For clarity. Inside, the receptionist froze when she gave her name. “She’s expecting me,” Aria said calmly. And somehow— She was. Alessandra stood in her office overlooking the city. No red dress this time. White silk. Minimal jewelry. Hair pulled back. She didn’t turn when Aria entered. “You’re either brave,” Alessandra said smoothly, “or reckless.”

I was only ten meters from my black sports car, pulling the keys from my pocket, when a scene broke my inertia completely. A yellow taxi slammed its brakes in front of the main steps. The back door burst open and a pair of infinite legs, perched on fifteen-centimeter red stiletto heels, touched the concrete. Alessandra stepped out of the vehicle. She was wearing a white silk dress so tight it looked like a second layer of skin, a cleavage that defied gravity, and a pair of dark designer sunglasses that she took off with a theatrical gesture. She fixed her dark hair, scanning the campus with a predatory steadiness, until her eyes landed directly on me.