Fake Heiress's A Pet-speaking Detective 소설 & 이야기

They simply scamper themselves away from the “supposed couple” “Gio, glad to see you back.”, she said cheerfully to the unfazed Detective Andrews. “He’s waiting for you in the car.” The lady hooked her arms around her noiseless guest. She could feel his gloom but she continued on trying to entertain him with her senseless stories. That was the drill that she was paid for. She's an elite escort girl hired to fetch up a wealthy businessman named Giovanni van Haiers. For the public eye, they seemed to be engrossed on a romantic conversation though the truth was that all these were put-on acts.

She couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding as he began to speak. "I hope you all have enjoyed this gathering," Hao Xiang begins, his eyes sweeping across the room. "Today is indeed a special day, as it marks the beginning of a new chapter for our family. My lovely grandchild Sarah, and my heiress is here." Cynthia clearly shows irritation with the word “heiress,” so she leans over to whisper to her daughter Arlene. Their hushed voices were barely audible, but Sarah could sense a mixture of excitement and curiosity in their demeanor.

The detective asked, as she got the glass from Hazel’s hand and placed it back on the table beside her. “Like I died and I’m back or am I?” Hazel asked leaning back at her pillows with a sigh. “Who are you?” She asked, with her eyes still closed. “Excuse my manners. I’m detective Sarah Parker, and I’m the one working on your family case.”

She was smiling beside her father, dressed in an elegant silver gown, completely unaware that one day the same picture would be used to paint her as a criminal. The news anchor spoke with practiced confidence. “Authorities have confirmed that billionaire heiress Elena Devereaux is wanted for questioning after confidential financial records were allegedly stolen from Devereaux Holdings. Police believe she may have fled the city…” Damien muted the television. The room fell silent once more. “They’re lying.” Elena’s voice cracked. “I’ve never even entered the finance department.” “I know.” She looked at him. “Then why would anyone believe this?” “Because your father understands something most p

She is wearing a soft grey dress and her hair is loose and she looks like a person who slept in her own space and woke up in a room that had been arranged by someone who thought about what she might need. She stops when she sees Damien. "Elena," I say. "This is Damien Cross. He's my head of security and my oldest friend." She looks at him steadily, she is not performing comfort she doesn't feel, which I have noticed is a characteristic of hers. She presents herself accurately. "I remember you," she says. "You were always near Lucien at family events. You watched me." Damien's expression registers something that might be mild surprise. "I did."

Clare Haistings gives me a hug, her sweet perfume filling up my nostrils. It makes me want to vomit. “Hey twin.are you enjoying the party?”she asks but doesn’t let me answer. “Everyone is enjoying themselves and the presents look really good, our guests really outdid themselves”she gushes. Her sparkly dress shimmers every time she moves. And the ruby red necklace she is doning looks amazing on top of her cleavage. She looks perfect.

I stared at the tin roof above me, listening to the distant clucks of hens. Why was this ghost fiancé of mine such a damn mystery? Why was his name a secret? And why was I starting to care? I reached for my phone and dialed Petrov. He answered on the second ring. “Selena,” he said, voice deep and calm. “Did you go?” “I did. Gave them the condolences. Ate dinner with the whole mafia circus. Even asked about their golden boy—your dead fiancée’s brother. They acted like I’d asked to dig up a grave.”

" I became aware of my leg, indeed wedged between his thighs in a position that could only be described as aggressively intimate. I jerked it back. He caught my ankle, held it. "Too late. Damage done. I'm emotionally scarred." But he was smiling, the rare real smile that transformed his sharp features into something almost boyish. "You also snore. Did you know? Small snores. Like a cat. Very undignified for a corporate heiress." "I do not snore." "And you talk. In your sleep. You recited shipping codes at three in the late night . Perfect recall. Very impressive. Then you called me a bastard again and tried to push me onto the floor."