Behind Closed Doors B.a. Paris Novels & Stories

, I exit the Interior of the building displaying a bracelet that is not worth half a penny because it is a cheap imitation. “ Great! I also found the key.”, she locks the door,“ A cab is already waiting for us.” We walk side by side to the road where the car is waiting. “ Bonjour! Take us where no one wants to be found, s'il vous plaît.”, she asks the driver, “ Please, don't be scared! It is not exactly what you must have seen in the movies about the city of Paris.” “ I am sure it is exactly what I am looking for.” A place where no one can find me…

Ariana Vance agrees to a paper marriage to Damon Sterling — the ruthless, untouchable billionaire — to save her family’s collapsing empire. The deal is simple: two years as his perfect, obedient wife, then a quiet divorce. No feelings. No expectations. No love. But Damon isn’t the cold, heartless man the world sees. Behind his icy armor lies a man scarred by loneliness and burdened by a dangerous legacy. As Ariana slowly unravels the layers of the man beneath the mask, the line between pretense and reality begins to blur. Late-night conversations, quiet glances, and moments of unexpected tenderness awaken something in both of them — a connection neither can deny, nor afford to keep. Ju

Monsieur Diouf marched across the large entrance hall and made for a high arched door on the left. Emma kept close at his heels. A pair of double doors, made of tall dark panelled wood, stood to the left of the grand staircase. The french butler opened them, "This way, miss." The heavy doors swung inward to reveal the west gallery. Emma's face lit up as she walked in. "Wow!" She whispered. Monsieur Diouf turned to Emma who was looking closely at one of the canvases on the wall.

Completely unbothered in the way of someone who has done something deliberate and decided it doesn't require discussion. I let it go. Filed it. Went back to my notes. We got through the week's schedule in twenty minutes. Then the schedule ran out and neither of us immediately reached for the next item. Outside the window Paris was doing what it does at this hour — lights coming up, the sky going from grey to the blue that comes just before full dark. I could hear the city faintly through the glass. Everything in this room was quiet. He said: "Tell me about Lyon."

The luxurious penthouse overlooking the glittering Eiffel Tower was bathed in soft golden light from crystal chandeliers. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the iconic monument sparkling against the Paris night sky. The air carried the faint scent of expensive perfume, polished marble, and the distant aroma of rain on Parisian rooftops. Genevieve Laurent, a 24-year-old French heiress, stood trembling in the center of the living room wearing only a sheer black negligee, her heart hammering with dark, shameful anticipation.

“Would you stop, please? I mean… What are you going to do next? What are you going to do now that you’ve got your life back?” He shrugged, even as his thoughts flew to the apartment he’d rented in the Marais district across the river, the most fashionable district in Paris, famous for old-world charm, narrow cobblestone streets, hidden courtyards, and tranquil gardens, a multitude of mansions called ‘hôtels particuliers’, and a thriving gallery and cafe culture. His sister hadn’t seen it yet. It had been hell holding her off, and he would have to tell her his plans soon, but Fabien wasn’t ready for her disapproval yet. He was still coming to terms with his own audacity himself.

Marcus didn’t waste any time as he took me back into the room and whirled me around to reach for my zipper at the back. Closing the transparent glass door in front of me, I placed my palms on its cold surface for support as his hands wandered. Within seconds, I felt my back exposed to his eyes, the thick fabric slipping past my skin. When I was in nothing but my black lace panties that I’d specifically picked for the occasion, I felt him move my hair to one side.

How could Mary possibly handle that? Suddenly, I felt a piercing stare directed right at me—it was the Black man! He was looking straight toward my direction! His eyes were so sharp, it felt like he could tear someone apart with just his gaze! “Is something wrong, George?” Mary’s question shifted his attention away. I quickly shut the door. So, his name was George. Pressing my ear to the door, I listened to the sounds outside. Thankfully, George didn’t expose my presence. “Nothing, I’m just going to take a shower, Ms. Mary. I’ve worked up quite a sweat.”

Yes, it's time we hear some good news. In Paris, the late afternoon air was quiet. Chloe moved quickly, a scarf covering her head, her eyes watching every face and shadow. She followed the address she had memorized to a narrow alley in Montmartre, where the buildings appeared old and timeworn, the air heavy. She stopped in front of a worn-down apartment building, its paint chipped, windows cracked. The place seemed lifeless.

Unfortunately, the service in the elevator was not the best so the call didn’t go through. Suddenly, I heard banging on the elevator door, I banged back making my presence known to whoever at the other side of the door. The doors slid open to reveal a tall, dark and handsome figure in black suit, he stretched out his hand towards me. I couldn’t see his face because i was sitting with my head down at the conner of the elevator. But as I lifted my head, ready to meet his eyes, I heard someone shout my name. “Cierra! Cierra!”.