Gentleman Secret Novels & Stories

Cecilia volunteered, leading Mr Todd, who was still shuddering in fear from the gunshot just now, to hurry after Cecilia to leave the room. "Now is the most important part." Keith fiddled with the collar of his suit sleeve before casting a glance around the room. "Each of the invitation letters you received contains your dark secrets. "Firstly, Uncle Arthur Hermann, or Arthur Silvano. You embezzled Hermann's company funds for years to satisfy the demands of your spendthrift wife. While behind the scenes, you act as an assassination agent for Mr James Hermann. Very sweet, don't you think?"

Mrs Natalie spitefully said to the person on the other end of the phone. "Why? Do you know where he is?" replied the man, with a gleam of malevolent satisfaction in his eyes, that even his lips curled into a sinister smile as he received the crucial information he'd been seeking. Each word the lady on the phone uttered dripped with wicked delight as he plotted his next move. "Marcus. He's your key to finding the person you're looking for. Follow Marcus and make sure they don't reach the authorities, because that's where they're headed now. He just left; now tail him and tame them down!" Missis Natalie explained viciously.

I said, being sincere with my words. "I'm glad to hear it." The gentleman stood up, taking his large suitcase with him. "It's true," he approached me and whispered. "I've given Miss Camellia a book, tell her to look at pages thirty-five and sixty-seven." With a mysterious smile, the man walked away, leaving the inn.

“I appreciate you coming clean, Gerald. But you must understand that this is a lot to process.” “Of course, sir. I didn’t expect you to make a decision right away.” “Give me some time to think about this.” “Absolutely.” With that, Gerald exited the room, leaving me alone with the weight of his confession. My secretary, Gianna, was the illegitimate daughter of my butler?

A secretary was supposed to be invisible, the mechanism that kept things running—not the topic of discussion between chairmen. My eyes flicked past him and landed on the man trailing behind—a jarring contrast. Thin to the point of frailty, with wiry arms and legs that seemed too long for his body, the secretary looked almost spectral. Oversized glasses clung to a high nose bridge, magnifying eyes that gleamed with something unpleasantly familiar. Recognition struck: this was the same man who had once burst into manic laughter upon hearing my voice over the phone. “Pay him no mind,” the chairman said, still gripping my hand as though reluctant to let it go. “Mr. Gerald does not know the fine

Henry walked out with the revised marriage contract and made his way back to Hertfordshire. As he is driven back, he thinks about how he had planned to click on the profile under Anna’s on Seeking Arrangements but accidentally messaged Anna instead. He hadn’t realized his mistake until after he’d sent the second message. Perhaps it was fate that had led him to the one woman who wouldn’t give him too much grief over this arrangement. That would be funny though. Henry didn’t believe in fate.

“Shhhhh” Gerald warned me with his hands. He signaled me to bring down my voice. He looked towards the stairs to confirm if somebody was coming. He moved closer to me and forced himself to seat with me. “Look, just go back to the mansion. I will see you there and sort all this”. Gerald was trying to negotiate. I wasn’t that dumb. I knew he wanted to keep our marriage secret because of his sick secretary and that was going to be my weapon.

I murmur, "just how long before that leash snaps." The secretary doesn't sit. He never does. He stands at the corner of my desk, sharp suit, sharper tongue, and just the faintest hesitation this time. That catches my attention more than anything. "But," he begins, adjusting his cufflinks, "since a few days... things seem to be spiraling. Out of hand, even." I narrow my eyes, swirling the last of my whiskey. "Speak plainly." He breathes in, then says flatly, "Caisen Valentine's secret penthouse was burned down."

Ah. But what news agency would be crazy enough to cross the Sinclairs by taking up duch a story? He could almost see the older man pacing, cane tapping the marble floors of the Sinclair estate. Vincent said evenly, “That ‘strange woman’ is my secretary.” “That makes it worse!” Shaw roared. “You live like a monk for years, your grandmother and I think you’re gay— and now this? You’re photographed with a disheveled looking female employee going into the same room!”

Banged at the dance floor 🍆🍆 Chapter 2: Hooking up in the bathroom My heart was hammering as he pulled me through the crowd, his large hand gripping mine with possessive strength. The mysterious stranger didn’t say a word, not like he needed to. The thick bulge in his pants and the dark hunger in his eyes said everything. We slipped past the velvet rope into the VIP section. He pushed open the door to the private VIP bathroom; it was sleek black marble, dim golden lighting, and a long mirror stretching across the entire wall above the marble sinks.