Courtiers Valentine Low Novels & Stories

Do not tell him why. The assistant bowed and left once again. Valerie stood alone in her towering office. The city sparkled below. Her empire had never trembled before at the presence of a single person. But tonight something shifted. Her chest felt tight. Her pulse refused obedience. She whispered the name again. Ethan. The air around her thickened as if her voice had summoned something she could not push back into silence. For the first time in years Valerie Kings did not feel untouchable. And she hated the thrill that crawled under her skin.

I had to be the bridge. The courthouse was a monolith of cold marble and echoing footsteps. The air was thin, smelling of old paper and floor wax. Security was tight, the metal detectors beeping like a countdown. As we turned the corner toward Courtroom 4B, the atmosphere curdled. Valentina was leaning against the wall, looking immaculate in a cream-colored power suit. She looked like a queen, but as we approached, I saw her thumb frantically digging into her own palm-a tiny, nervous twitch. When her eyes landed on Lucian, something flickered-a brief, pained flash of recognition that looked almost like love-before she masked it with a smug, porcelain smirk.

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Quieting his howling so I could think straight without ripping her clothes off right here and now. “Just explain. What happened?” “I came to tell you…” she began, “of our findings in Baycrest. It’s important and the servants couldn’t get ahold of you. So I…” “You offered yourself as tribute in order to get into the palace?” Valerie nodded. I was shocked by the brilliance of it. But more-so by her perseverance. She had risked her life to correspond with me—something a simple call would have sufficed. I stayed quiet and listened as Valerie told me of the auction. Of the wolf behind it. Of the wizards and the girl with the branded mark. Of everything Lucas and Sebastian suspected.

Being treated like that, of course, Janice Valeria sighed and howled quite long and irresistibly. Having been satisfied in squeezing Janice Valeria’s one of the twin mountainous assets, the young knight’s hand moved towards Janice Valeria’s womanhood feminism valley down there. He also started to squeeze, to rub that tender, soft and sexily challenging enjoyment valley. And finally he inserted his fingers inside that feminism valley. Again and again, Janice Valeria felt as though she’d been electrocuted by the high voltage electricity. She sighed, howled and growled long, high and irresistibly again.

"When you do something wrong, you pay for it. Sign this, and we can still be husband and wife." Someone grabbed my hand, pressed my thumb into the ink pad, and forced it down at the end of the contract. Joy flashed in Vivian's eyes. Matteo took the agreement and left with her. When the door closed, my heart finally died. I struggled to my feet, closed my fist around the broken ruby bracelet, and dialed a number I hadn't called in three years. When the line connected, the other side was silent. Salvatore Valenti, the don of the Valenti family, never needed to raise his voice to stop Chicago’s night in its tracks.

The lady is purely evil, and although Val felt the need to not judge, she still felt that she should. Courtney literally had everything, a rich caring and handsome man. She has a job, she's wealthy, got all kinds of jewelries and properties... everything. And she was going to pay Bob back with a child outside of wedlock, and swindle him of a half and quarter of all of his riches. What a devil? Val sneered as she suddenly thought of something else...

"The world sees a fiancée. I see a debt that I’m never going to let you finish paying." He took my hand, his fingers interlacing with mine so tightly it almost hurt, and led me back into the den of sharks. I walked beside him, the cold ruby on my finger catching the light, knowing that the "Dirty Valentine" was no longer just a gala title. It was the life I was now trapped in.

On Valentine’s Day, Ethan Scott had a last-minute social engagement and left me home alone. Late at night, I received a message from him, telling me to meet him at a bar. Thinking he had finally remembered me, I rushed out the door, eager to see him. But when I came to the door of the private lounge, the scene before me froze me in place. Taylor Winston straddled Ethan’s lap, her silk camisole slipping from her shoulders, the straps barely clinging to her elbows.

Mrs. Willow's expression shifted to one of concern as she replied, "Pascal, you're still fixated on those who wanted you dead?" Valentine Anderson's brow furrowed deeply in frustration – this was not the acknowledgment he had hoped for. With a chill in his voice, he corrected her, "Don't call me that. My name is Valentine Anderson." Unperturbed by his frosty demeanor, Mrs. Willow casually slid a series of photographs across the table. Upon seeing the contents, Valentine's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. He rubbed his eyes as if to clear them from a trick of the light, but the images remained unchanged.