Boulevard Libro นิยาย & เรื่องราว

There's a golden chandelier, everything is painted neatly in white, the furniture is like from abroad, everything is so elegant! "This condo is so big, right? You would think of it as a mansion," the girl beside me said. "Yeah, I've never seen a place like this before," I replied in awe. "Alright, there's sir already! Have a nice trip and stay safe!" She pushed me again to the exit door, and there I saw Sean standing with a black Porsche, wearing a blue polo and black trouser. Please help me. How can Sean be so hot and handsome at the same time? This is illegal.

The quiet librarian? The proxy bride? The girl who bleached her soul to save a library?

Time hadn’t touched this place, it had only made it colder. Dario Vescari stood in the library, a crystal glass of dark liquor in his hand, watching the fire burn low in the hearth. The scent of cedar and old books filled the room, wrapping around him like memory. Behind him, the Vulture paced, his silhouette sharp against the stained glass. “Your estate,” the Vulture said, voice flat, “still reeks of ghosts.” Dario took a sip. “Better ghosts than traitors.” The Vulture didn’t reply.

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Aiys gets up and returns to compile the book that Aiys will move. When the fourth book is in hand. Instantly, the focus of Aiys eyes was on the brown book, decorated with dried flowers and leaves. Roses and jasmine dominate, the lower right corner are roses, and the upper left corner there are jasmine flowers connected with leaves ; the bones of the leaves. Memories of the Blue City The first writing that Aiys read, the first sheet of this book. On the second sheet there is a photo of a man with a woman posing with his arms raised to head level. Two fingers, index and middle finger make up the letter V.

I randomly discovered these floors as really nice corners to study unlike the first floor where everyone goes to or the overcrowded Powell Library where all the tourists and all the UCLA kids go to. After I burned a few hours at the library I decided to go to B plate. Louis was still in his Game Theory class and I have Econometrics in the next hour. I got Pistachios, French toast, avocados, egg whites, hash browns, strawberries and kiwis. B plate is by far the cutest place that exists at UCLA because no scenery beats the site of B Plate’s with a bowl full of avocados. A few minutes later, I spotted Zoe enter. I waved my hand and she made her way towards my table.

I shook my head waiting for his answers while he just stared at me like I was saying some words he couldn't understand. “Don't make a fuss out of this, Sandra. Yes, I said you lit up my life but that was what you made me believe. You just appeared in my life and changed all my motives. I said that out of lust.” He denied and I stared into his eyes. The blue eyes were cold and all I saw in his eyes was disgust towards me. “Wow, I'm making a fuss now. The Brian I know wouldn't even raise his eyes to say these things to my face.” I retorted, staring unbelievably at him.

Ahead stood a modern mansion of glass and stone — elegant, cold, intimidating. The car stopped at the gates. Security checked us with clinical efficiency before waving us through. Inside, everything smelled expensive: cedar, leather, faint cologne. The man led us through a wide corridor to a private study. “Wait here,” he said, and left. The door clicked shut behind him. Miles walked to the window, arms crossed. I wandered to the bookshelves, running my fingers along spines of titles that didn’t look read. My heart wouldn’t slow down.

I eye it suspiciously before opening it. Violet, I am the type of person to hide things. I am quiet and I am not the kind to show emotions. I hope you find this room to your liking and decorate it to your hearts content. I hope we can at least be cordial with one another as I have not feelings for you at this time. Your truly, Anthony

I let my eyes linger on her for a moment before answering Caleb. “Wait for me, bro. I will be home soon.” “No problem. I will make myself comfortable.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, already knowing what that meant. “Caleb, don’t touch my Henri Jayer Richebourg.” A dramatic gasp came from his end. “Would I ever?” I could practically see him placing a hand on his chest, swearing false innocence. “You would. You already have.” His laugh was deep and full of mischief, and I knew my expensive wine was doomed.