Behind Closed Doors B.a. Paris Novels & Stories

The window is open from the inside. After Geneva.

I was to pretend this affair didn't exist and do nothing to stop them. Something wrapped its arm around my throat. I tore the contract into shreds. Nathaniel had kept the affair a secret for five whole years. That was something I didn't see coming. … It happened one night when I came home—three months had passed since our wedding. The first thing that greeted my eyes was a house turned upside-down. I saw torn clothes, undergarments, and questionable stains all over the ground. I walked into my bedroom. That was where I found Nathaniel in bed, naked with another woman. The scene hit me like a sledgehammer.

Professionals have places to be, preparations to make, identities to construct. Outside, the Paris night is cold and smells like rain — that particular Parisian rain that seems to carry the weight of centuries, that feels less like weather and more like atmosphere. I walk three blocks before I allow myself to open the envelope, stepping under a streetlamp that casts a pool of yellow light onto the wet cobblestones. The photograph of Celeste Laurent is on top again — a second copy, slightly different angle, same expression of utterly unreadable composure.

The enormous library stood empty when she slipped inside. Rain tapped quietly against tall windows while thunder rolled faintly outside. At the far end of the room stood an enormous painting of an older Francesco ancestor. Something about it looked wrong. Elena stepped closer slowly. The whispers became louder. Behind. Her pulse quickened. Carefully she reached toward the painting— and nearly jumped when it shifted beneath her touch. A hidden door. Cold air rushed outward immediately. The smell hit her first. Dust. Mold. And something older beneath it.

She paused, leaning closer to me through the table, "Dear child, it isn't right for one to leave their parent at old age, huh?" I nodded making moves to walk away. One thing about Ms Jam was that she could be as nosy as she is sweet. It was best to enjoy the flare and move on as quickly as possible. Walking at a quicker pace, I got to the familiar brown door, taking a deep breath and trying hard to keep my emotions at bay. I knocked, nibbling on my lower lips. "Come in," a voice welcomed me from behind. I pushed the door open to see the studious man who had his head bowed and his eyes dancing through a file while his hands jumped on keypads in front of his computer.

BENEATH THE FACADE Behind the façade of wealth and power, a web of secrets awaits. CHAPTER 82 Emily’s POV: The gate creaked open. My fingers gripped the steering wheel harder than they needed to, my palms damp, knuckles pale. We were finally home, and yet my heart hadn’t stopped pounding since we left the safe house. Every bump on the road had felt like it might shatter this fragile moment, like something might still go wrong before we reached the front door.

"You're still walking too fast," William muttered, half-jogging to catch up with Evelyn along the narrow sidewalk. Evelyn turned her head, half-smiling. "You were the one who invited me, and now you're falling behind." The Parisian sky that afternoon was gray but dry. A cool breeze slipped through the falling leaves. They stopped in front of an old building with large windows and a classic wooden door. Evelyn paused, her gaze falling on the small sign above the door: Galerie Lumière.

Then the distant rumble of traffic out on the road. Then heels drumming over the stage. “Quickly.” I pull out with a wince and put Camillia down. I barely have time to snatch up her clothes and push her naked body behind a drape, to tuck myself away condom and all, before Madame Ophelia calls out my name. “Monsieur Paris! There you are.” She eyes the empty alcove closely as she walks near. “I’ve been looking for you.” I stride out to meet her, away from the smell of sex lingering in the air. Away from Camillia, hidden and vulnerable.

He grabbed her hand and started walking, making her confused. "Where are you taking-----" "To buy you a dress." He turned around and answered her with a wink, making her blush like a fool. ___________ The ride arrived at Rue des Rosiers, in the Le Marais District. It was a narrow street lying in one of Paris’s oldest and most vibrant districts. The street was full of tiny bakeries, falafel stands, vintage shops, and hidden courtyards. There was so much street food; people were lined up for falafel, laughter bouncing off the stone walls.

Chloe exhaled softly, pressing the diary against her chest for a second before shaking her head at herself. “God… women really are dangerous when we start associating intensity with desire,” she muttered under her breath. Then, after another lingering pause, she opened the diary again, turning the page carefully to read the next confession. ______ Episode 63 – The Frenchman’s Flat The City of Light was a symphony of late-summer dusk, the sky a bruised violet over slate rooftops as Claire’s taxi navigated the narrow, cobbled streets of the 7th arrondissement. Jet-lagged and pleasantly adrift, she watched the Parisian world blur past, elegant women with baguettes tucked under their arms, the w