Bene Crossword Clue Novels & Stories

Bernard pressed a switch on the wall close by, and white light floored the door, revealing a staircase that went down into what looked like a basement at first glance, but in fact was the beginning of a tunnel that ran through the pack and ends at one of its borderlines. “It's time.” He said in a solemn voice. “Daddy!” Ashley suddenly wailed and flung herself into her father's arms. “Everything will be okay. Just follow your mother's orders. I will soon send for you all, okay.” He looked at his sons intently to let them know he was talking to them too. “Yes, Dad.” They nodded. “Ben, protect your mother and sister.” Bernard said to his eldest son. “I will, Dad.” Bernard and his son exchanged

Ara concurred. "I bet you won't mind getting a house here, then." "I already did. It's a beautiful one." "What? You did?" She stopped for a second, shocked. "I did. You should see it." Ara smiled. She must love the place indeed. Well, who wouldn't? It was a small lovely town at the side of a city. Destiny just looked at her while they walked. She could see the perfect short but straight line that cut between Arabella's scalp to separate her lovely dark hair into straight equal halves that fell at either side of her beautiful oval face.

The drive to Channary’s house was thick with a silence so charged, it buzzed in the air between Colton and Claire. The late afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the narrow country road. Claire stared out the window, her fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the worn denim of her jeans. Her mind spun with unanswered questions.

She muttered something under her breath and continued reading. “So… what does it say? I tried figuring it out, but I couldn’t make out a single word.” “It says Paris,” she said with a spark in her eyes. “We’re going to Paris!” “Paris?” I frowned. “The place with the big-ass tower?” “Yes! Isn’t it amazing?” “That’s a vacation country. What the hell is he doing living there? I don’t like Paris.” “Maybe he’s from Paris.” “No. His name is Alexander Volkov. That’s clearly Russian.”

The hallway outside Lucien Moretti’s private archive felt off. Too quiet, too spotless—almost like someone had scrubbed away every hint of life. Lila stood there, gripping the access card Lucien had handed her earlier. “Just for research purposes,” he’d said. His words had been steady, almost rehearsed. But his eyes—she couldn’t forget how tired they’d looked. That wasn’t like him. Lucien always seemed like the kind of man who slept deeply and woke up ready. Yet this morning, those dark circles under his eyes looked permanent.

I don't even know the first step at being a Dad , I walked over to his room and rubbed my neck nervously I turned and bump into Massimo who had Aldo in his arms . " You scared me " I said whilst trying to wrap my head around the fact that he had Aldo in his Arms then I heard another cry . " Massimo come and carry your son I'm so not doing this " Sergio said standing behind Massimo with a crying Axel . " Have you seen Grace ? He asked me . " Nope ... I'm actually looking for Red" I said and Sergio frowned . " Mas I can't bear the stench of this poop anymore I feel like I'd fvcking faint soon " Sergio said dramatically .

in elegant gold script, and beneath that, smaller text that I couldn't quite make out from this distance. The moment we stepped out onto the sidewalk, the air changed completely. Cool night breeze carried the scent of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke, mixing with the aroma of street food from vendors stationed strategically around the club district. Neon glow reflected off the glossy surfaces of luxury cars parked along the curb—BMWs, Mercedes, the occasional Tesla that hummed silently among its gasoline-powered companions. The rhythmic thump of music pulsed from inside the building, so deep and insistent that I could feel it in my chest, synchronizing with my already rapid heartbeat.

But I’m too tired, too broke, and too desperate to care. So I click. Because what’s the worst that could happen? I stare at the listing for a solid minute, my thumb hovering over the screen. Private Chef Needed. Discreet. High Pay. Immediate Start. Discreet? That’s sketchy, right? That’s code for illegal, or prepare to cook for a cult, or maybe don’t ask too many questions if someone comes in bleeding. I should swipe away. I really should. But then my bank app pings, reminding me that my balance is exactly $12.47, and my landlord already gave me the look last week. The one that says, “I’m giving you till Friday, sweetheart, and then you’re out.”

It belonged to Arthur—Zeke’s lifelong best friend and the current, internationally famous face of the Z Luxury fragrance empire. ​"Arthur," Xielle said the exact second the call connected, not giving him a chance to breathe. "I need you to go to that specific boutique bakery near the production office right now. Buy me a whole mango cheesecake. Not a single slice, Art. A whole one." ​There was a sudden, stunned silence on the other end of the line.

Once the elevator stopped, Desiree sighed in relief, but it was short-lived as she heard him call her. "Follow me." Without uttering another word, Desiree followed Elijah into the hallway. Just like yesterday, a pin drop silence prevailed on Elijah's arrival. He walked past everyone, radiating the aura of confidence and self-assurance, commanding their respect and attention. Unknowingly, Desiree's eyes settled on his back. His dark hair was slicked back with perfection. His well-built muscles strained against the white long sleeves, appearing incredibly firm to the touch. Finally, her eyes rested on his calloused hands, the size of which matched his face.