Novel & Cerita Edgar X Colette

Margaux was waiting, patient as a spider. “I do not know anyone named Colette,” Maya said. Her voice was level, almost conversational, the way she spoke when she was designing under pressure, calm on the surface while every detail was being calculated. A soft exhale came through the speaker, almost amused. “Let us dispense with the pretense,” Margaux replied, her tone cultured, precise, every syllable shaped by years of boardrooms and backroom deals. “Colette worked at the mill. She took documents that do not belong to her. Documents concerning my family’s business. I want them returned. All of them.”

Then, she deigned to tell me that Colette showed the Internet proof. I checked her X and found out she not only posted her whole planning and creative process. There was a handwritten manuscript too. It was how she turned her inspiration into a proposal. Every step proved that the final proposal came from this. There was evidence of heavy editing in the process. This was proof that would taint my name in the hue of humiliation. Colette was still on X, telling people not to attack me. "She is my sister. I don't mind her calling me a copycat. Please don't go after her. I know she'll change."

Then, the canvas rustled. He stiffened. A soft laugh spilled into the dim tent. “Private Warner.” Henry’s heart thundered. Slowly, he turned. Colette stood just inside, clutching the flap shut behind her. She wore a pale dress that clung dangerously to her hips, a little dust on the hem from the dirt paths. Her hair was loose, tumbling over her shoulders in waves. “What are you—” His voice was rough, too loud. He lowered it to a hiss. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Chapter Fifty nine: Plain Zoey White I nearly laughed. A fitting. As if I were getting ready for a charity gala instead of sitting in a towel because a man tore the clothes off my body in the back of his car. "Sure. Come in." Colette looked exactly like you'd imagine. Tall‚ sharp‚ black hair pulled into a bun that could cut glass‚ dressed in all black with a measuring tape around her neck. Behind her two assistants came through the door pushing massive rolling racks‚ and when I say massive I mean these things barely fit through the doorframe. Each rack had sixty‚ seventy‚ maybe eighty pieces hanging from it in clear garment bags stamped with the Henri Laurent logo in gold.

YSELLE Everything in me seemed to go still at once. Colette came to my side and said nothing. Bless her for that. Renaud stopped in the doorway. His face had lost what little color the corridor light had left him. “You knew there might be papers,” I said to Colette without taking my eyes off the envelope. “I knew there were records not entered properly.” Her voice had gone low and careful. “I did not know she left you herself in the room.” I reached for the envelope. My hand was steady until my fingers touched the paper.

Not Colette’s name. Elias Whitfield’s.

Colette was known to be ruthless and merciless, and yet, they still dared to go against her. It seemed like they were really eager to meet their own demise. Esther didn't care for Colette's warning. "I'm just doing you a favor by giving you some advice, and this is how you answer me? Why are you still acting when I've already seen through your pretense? "Fine! I want 100 million dollars in cash right now! You'd better get them delivered in ten minutes or less. You're the great and mighty Colette Diaz, aren't you? Surely that's just loose change for you?"

"Daphne, I have to be honest. Roscoe is really amazing in bed. He made me cum so many times.I wonder if I would be able to forget how good he fucked me.” Hearing this, Daphne quickly rolled up the car windows. She couldn't let other people hear this! But before she could roll up the windows completely, a gentle voice came from outside the car. "Miss Howard? Mrs Dumont.I'm Edgar, Roscoe's cousin." Mortified, Daphne looked at Layla. Edgar must've overheard what Layla said just now. Edgar seemed over 30 years old and was quite the gentleman. He taught at a university and served as the vice dean.

But her father-in-law’s gentle hand on her shoulder stops her, his eyes filled with understanding as he offers to go to Reed in her stead. Colette spins in the center of the room, her hands clutching her stomach.LJ approaches and Colette collapses into his arms, her sobs mingling with his own. “He’s right,” she whispers brokenly, her words barely audible. “It’s my fault. All of it.” * *