Clarisse Agbegnenou Novels & Stories

For a moment, we stood there, surrounded by the shards of broken glass scattered around us. Then Mrs. Higgins’ voice echoed from the hallway. “What on earth is going on in here!” Clarisse froze. Her eyes darted to the door. “Nothing,” she said quickly, straightening her dress and forcing a trembling smile. “Just an accident.” Mrs. Higgins rushed in, taking one look at me—at the burns on my arm, the bruises forming along my shoulder and her face went pale. “Emily, my God—what happened?” Before I could answer, Clarisse interrupted. “She attacked me,” she cried. “She’s unstable, Mrs. Higgins. She threw things at me!”

A closer look showed that she was filled with greed “They say we should forgive and forget. But you aren’t on that list, at least not when it comes to me” Aramide assured as she scrunched up her nose in disgust and began to walk away, “oh and yes,” she said as she paused and her driver opened the door of her Car simultaneously, “My name is Clarissa, The Aramide you all insulted and humiliated, died a long time ago” she finished.

She smiled and continued, "My apologies for not introducing myself. I'm Claire Raphaela de Zielony. Nice to finally meet you, Minerva Chrysalis de Ivrea." What... the heck?

"I think you've come here for nothing today. That Mr. Henry Hoffman's daughter you saved? She's not actually a Hoffman by blood." "What... how can that be, that Layla..." "You think you can waltz in here with a sob story about a switched-at-birth kid who isn't even a true Hoffman and expect us to owe you one?" Clarisse's voice was icy, her gaze piercing. "Let me guess, this isn't your first time at this, is it? Everyone knows you can run up any debt, but a debt of gratitude? That's a life sentence!"

The little one kicks softly like a tiny reminder that I am not alone in this and truly, I am not alone. I have Liam beside me, his warm, rubbing touch sending tiny sparks racing through my body. Gosh, I love him so much, and after everything that has happened to us, I love him even more. Right then, the door at the far end of the hall suddenly opens and when I lift up my head, I see three people walking in, their chains rattling around their wrists and ankles. Clarissa. Louise. And Yvonne. Clarissa is first on the line, walking with her face held high as if she still owns the world. Her dress is torn and wrinkled, but her eyes are clear and filled with that same cold hate she always carries

"Nо Adаm, рlеаѕе dоn't іnvоlvе thе роlісе. Dо what уоu have tо dо. Mу ѕіѕtеr hаѕ been аllоwеd tо run wіld аll hеr life and it hаѕ tо ѕtор, now." Smіlіng аnd fоldіng mу arms, I looked аt Clаrеttе fоr the fіrѕt time wіth соntеmрt, nevertheless ѕtudуіng hеr. She was sitting оn hеr floor, hеr back аgаіnѕt thе lоwеr сuрbоаrdѕ, соwеrіng. Fіvе years younger then Rоѕе and аbоut thе same hеіght but a gооd thirty pounds hеаvіеr. Clarette was a woman with a tanning booth tan аnd lауеrеd mіd- bасk lеngth jеt-blасk hаіr. She wаѕ wearing fаr tоо muсh mаkеuр mаkіng her look оldеr then hеr асtuаl age. Judging from hеr clothing, Clаrеttе wаѕ trуіng tо dress and асt lіkе a teenager аnd nоt pulling іt оff. Cl

Third POV “Forgive me for my interpretation cousin, but what does Clarissa represent here in the mafia, her presence is a treat and from My research she is Russian, and her presence here does not sit well with the Russians” Vincent said and as everyone present gasped looked at him like he was insane.

There was venom ready to be spit out from the tip of her tongue. "Giselle." Clara addressed her in a rather venomous tone. What an awful coincidence. Clara had previously thought she would never have to see Giselle again in her whole life. It had not even been three months since the humiliating incident occurred, and she had moved to Paris in order to forget Marcel. But if Giselle is in Paris, then Marcel had to be there too.

CHAPTER FIFTY CLARA'S POV We finished the tasks on a good slate today, the little brat seemed to be happy that she obeyed everything I instructed. The instant we finished I carried her to the room to wash up. “Get my daughter ready?” Adrian instructed through the call line. I dressed the young girl into a pink barlie gown matched with a black shoes. Later in the day he came back with his hands filled with chocolate. “Clara I want to see you.” He muted, instantly fear gripped through my thighs. Was I in a very terrible situation? Or does he want to screw between my painful holes.