Romans & histoires Clove Isabelle Fuhrman

Did he even know how to? "Stop talking nonsense and get up," Nathaniel Dave bent before the woman and held her hand in an attempt to help her to the bedroom but the woman pulled him close all of a sudden. "Nathaniel Dave, you promised that I'll be the woman you will give your first kiss to, remember me? I'm your Cleo," Isabel said and struggled to kiss the man. Again, the word 'Cleo,' sounded familiar to Nathaniel Dave. He was now getting scared. Was Isabel the woman he loved then ? but how could she? Maybe she read all these up and was only trying to deceive him.

She did not blame her friend. After the pain she went through, Isabella shut men from entering her world. All she cared about was her son and her job. Manuela picked up her phone and checked for a dress online. She ordered a duchess silk gown with tiny sleeves. It had a V-neck and was orange. “It will be here in a few minutes,” she said, as she swiped up. “While waiting, you can have your bath. I will select one of the heels and bag for you.”

"Carla, did you go out like this?” Carla asked in a puzzled tone, "Yeah, what's the matter?" “You mean you haven’t been wearing a scarf or a face mask the entire time?” Carla answered innocently, “Um, no?” She was only an assistant unlike Isabel who was a well-known actress. There was no reason or need for her to conceal her appliance. Isabel did not speak. She only stared at Clara blankly. After a while, she scowled with her eyes turning red, and she cursed viciously, “Argh! Roland, you b*stard!”

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.” The door creaked open behind him. Soft, deliberate footsteps crossed the threshold feline, confident, and dripping with seduction. Isabel entered, her designer blouse clinging to her full curves, the top buttons deliberately undone to reveal the black lace edge of her bra and the smooth, creamy swell of her breasts. A few dark strands of hair had escaped her chignon, framing her face in wild, sensual disarray. Her signature floral perfume jasmine and vanilla cut through the heavy stench of smoke and blood, sweet and intoxicating, like forbidden fruit laced with sin.

She reached out, her fingers clamping violently over the woman’s hand—it was freezing, devoid of a single watt of metabolic heat, the skin rough like old parchment. "This is Avery. Isabelle’s daughter. I have cleared the security grid to extract your profile. Look at me, Clara." The exact millisecond the nomenclature “Isabelle” crossed the threshold of her hearing, the frozen, wooden posture of the old research lead shattered. The corner of her dry lips executed a sharp, distorted twitch, her jaw locking into an unnatural angle. Her entire frame underwent a massive, violent shudder, her breath catching in her throat with a low, wet rattle.

She sipped orange juice slowly, eyes flicking toward the staircase every few seconds. Khalid, clad in a black tunic, toyed with his fork in silence, a storm brewing behind his eyes. “She’s late,” Aura muttered, her voice sugary but tight. “Or she’s making an entrance,” Khalid replied, a smirk dancing on his lips. Right on cue, Isabella descended the stairs—wearing one of Prince Karl’s white shirts, the collar slightly askew, revealing a kiss-bruised shoulder. Her hair was lazily pinned, her skin glowing with satisfaction, and there was a confident sway in her hips that made Aura’s mouth dry and Khalid’s jaw tighten.

“I think I’m just… glad to breathe again.” Ryan nodded. “He gets to you. Matteo.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. Ryan didn’t press. Instead, he passed me the pepper shaker and said, “Well, if you ever need a distraction, I’m professionally trained in making horrible puns and stealing the last French fry.” I laughed, maybe louder than I should have. And that’s when we heard the heels. Click. Click. Click. Isabelle Laurent. Dressed like a Chanel advertisement and looking at me like I was dirt on her red bottoms.

I'm interested in clean money to cycle out the dirty, and there's no better place than in his rapidly growing business. But Gaspar insists on meeting with every potential investor first. The man still believes in a firm handshake. That's when I notice the woman standing beside him, helping herd away the crowd. His CFO, Isabella Tano. Izzie, as her friends know her, and a former acquaintance of mine at Harvard. Her blonde hair is pulled back in a chic bun, accentuating classic features that I once explored in depth during happier days. Her tan skin glows with privilege, but her eyes sparkle with wisdom and knowledge beyond her age.

Isabella was flying high. Not only had she woken up in the same bed as the man she could confidently call the sexiest alive, but she'd also gotten a follow from Catherine Fox. Yes, *the* Catherine Fox. The actress. The style icon. The queen of "effortless glam." She had met Catherine twice before, and Catherine had even asked her for a favor, but this was different. This was a social media validation that everyone could see. A follow from her wasn't just a notification—it was a whole event. Isabella felt like she'd hit a double jackpot.

Lawrence leaned in closer, eager to uncover the connection between himself and the woman on the cover. "Me?" Lawrence asked, surprised. "How am I related to the owner of a women's wear company?" he pleaded, his eyes widening with anticipation. Gloria smiled mischievously, enjoying Lawrence's eagerness. "Well, I'll give you a hint. Take a close look. She is Isabella," she revealed, causing Lawrence's jaw to drop in astonishment. "I think you know her." Gloria paused for a moment, relishing in the suspense she had created. "Isabella is the wife of Samson, the owner of the air charter company where I work," she finally revealed, watching as Lawrence's shock turned into a mix of disbelief and ex