Amouage Memoir Man Novels & Stories

"You don't miss me? I just came back from Milan a week ago.” Rafe glanced at all the expensive items attached to Amora's body. If she wasn't a great lawyer, she wouldn't be able to travel abroad five times a year and spend thousands of dollars on all the clothes, bags, shoes, accessories, and all the expensive food served on big plates in tiny portions. "There's no time to miss you. Go back to your place." “Why don't we talk while looking at the courtyard of your beautiful mansion? It seems more intimate and romantic.” Amora blinked one eye coquettishly.

“You just broke off the merger without any warning!” Mr. Silvester leaned back in his chair, “I had to, Miss Richardson,” he said evenly. “My son wasn’t fond of the decision.” Amy let out a derisive laugh. “Oh, please! Don’t try to pin this on your homo son. You were okay with the merger, regardless of how much he opposed it. This was your decision, not his.” "Stop calling him, Homo. Lady, I'm being generous to let you here or I would've called the security when you entered."

The future Don of his family, Evan Jenco, suffered from a strange ailment. He would get amnesia every three years, but the only person he would forget was his childhood love, Nancy Sartori. Nancy was 18 the first time it happened to Evan. They had promised to spend their entire lives together under the beautiful fireworks in the night sky, but Evan forgot everything about them after one night and even fell in love with another woman.

Anna speared a piece of meat and smiled sweetly at me. “Thank you, Amora. The baby loves it.’ When the maid set a plate of foie gras down in front of me, the rich smell of the pâté hit me, and I couldn’t help but retch. Under their stunned gaze, I made a mad dash to the bathroom and threw my guts up into the toilet, my hands clinging to the bowl. It was a while before Alessandro returned to our bedroom and found me reading a book in bed. Sitting by the bed, he spoke critically, “Amora, there you are again with your temper. Are you refusing dinner out of spite?”

"Chester, I'm sorry. I lied to you. I'm your real fiancee, not Janet." The moment Tiffany finished, Janet tightened her hold on my hand. I stayed quiet and looked up at Tiffany, her eyes brimming with tears. After a long beat, I smirked. "Is that so?" I threaded my fingers through Janet's and said, "I've got amnesia. I don't remember anything from before, so why would I take your word for it just because you said so?"

“Of course, Grandmother.” The room fell into an uneasy quiet again — the sound of silverware, the faint clinking of glasses. Eden’s soft giggles with Grandma were the only light in the atmosphere. Until the man across the table spoke. “I had amnesia once,” he said smoothly, his voice deep but calm, “I was so scared, and yes, I did recover my memories but I know it's never easy to live without them. So, I'm proud of you for trying." My head lifted before I could stop myself. His eyes met mine again — deep and warm — like he was looking through me, not at me.

I side-eyed the man with the curly, dirty blonde hair who was wearing sunglasses, but I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head. A smirk crept upon his lips, and I rolled my eyes, what a fucking weirdo. I turned my attention back to Elle; we were walking to a café when there was a tap on my shoulder. I looked back to see Mr. Sunglasses behind me. He had moved at an inhuman pace. “Il mío legato de sangue,” he whispered as he removed his sunglasses, and his obsidian eyes bore into my gray ones. “Pardon?” I questioned him.

Her body seemed to welcome the gentle touch of the man once more. The musky aroma emanating from the man's body drove her wild, further clouding her mind, and she found herself reaching out to touch his face with the back of her hand uncontrollably. Suddenly, the man's face appeared to resemble that of her fiancé's, causing Amora's lips to curve into a perfect smile. The illusion gave her newfound courage. "You're so handsome, Baby," Amora murmured, unable to contain the turmoil raging within her. Her fingers moved more wildly and boldly. Tracing the man's collarbone and then pausing at his broad chest, which had made her dizzy with desire.

"Yes, Doctor. The patient is asleep now. But as a precaution, her hands and feet are tied to the bed." Amora nodded, then went to her office. She suddenly remembered something as she was about to retrieve her jacket hanging behind the desk. Her hand reached for the drawer handle and pulled open the desk drawer. She took out a magazine from inside the drawer. A magazine from three years ago had always been kept in her desk drawer. The magazine featured a man standing while holding his jacket. The man had a handsome face, thick eyebrows that resembled marching ants, and a confident smile. The tagline below reads, YOUNG CEO CREATOR OF VIRAL GAMES. And below that, in smaller font, Special Interv

Pregnant. Monroe leaned back in her chair, eyebrows raised. “Now we’re getting somewhere,” she whispered, already outlining a feature in her mind. ‘The Muse and the Mogul: A Tale of Power, Passion, and Paint.’ --- Liam’s penthouse was too quiet. He poured a drink, sat by the fireplace, and stared at the flickering flames. He remembered the first time Amara laughed in his arms. The first time she challenged him in a room full of yes-men. The way her voice steadied him when his father died.