Lalu Rue Novels & Stories

★Laura and Laurette mansion★ The mansion sat on three acres of manicured grounds in the most exclusive neighborhood in the city. All glass and steel and sharp angles, the kind of architecture designed to intimidate rather than welcome. Laura kicked off her Louboutins the moment she walked through the front door, her designer bag landing on the marble entryway table with a thud. "Laurette!" She called out, her voice echoing through the cavernous space. "Where are you?" "Upstairs!" Her twin's voice floated down from the second floor. "In my room!"

“She’s rich. My aunty is very rich. Can we move on?” “Your aunty is rich rich,” Hannah said, with the tone of someone filing this away carefully. “Noted. Okay—” “How could you afford those?” The voice came from behind them — loud, deliberately loud, pitched for an audience rather than a conversation. Lilly turned. Rue stood at the back of the room, arms folded, wearing the expression of someone who has been waiting for exactly this moment. “I saw you this morning,” Rue continued, projecting clearly. “Coming out of a mansion. Early. Very early.” She paused for effect. “I think we all know what that means.”

Lyanna's contact arrived four days later. She came alone, on foot, through the main gate at midmorning with a pack on her back and the unhurried energy of someone who had been walking a long time and didn't particularly mind. She was small—shorter than Jasmina, darker, with close-cropped grey hair and the kind of face that gave nothing away on first look. Her name was Sable. No last name offered. Jasmina didn't ask. Lyanna met her at the gate with the brief embrace of two people who had known each other long enough that the reunion didn't require performance. They spoke in low voices for a moment, then Lyanna brought her to the main building.

That punk really knew how to brag. Yvonne huffed, "No, I wouldn't believe you. Let's see how well you drive, you braggart." "Where are we going?" "Lush Tower on Rainbow Avenue, Metalworks District. Heard of it?" Elio nodded, fastened his seatbelt, and started the engine. The Ferrari roared, and the car trembled slightly. His fingers skillfully moved the right gear changer, and the car suddenly shot forward.

And right now, he would definitely see how nervous I was. I let in a deep breath, letting it out slowly. A small smile played on my face as I walked towards the main building of the Grand Aurelia Villa. The Aurelia villa was a wealthy estate perched on a hill offering sweeping views of Ravello. The Villa's sprawling gardens were lit with golden fairy light, casting a warm glow on the manicured hedges and marble fountains. The soft hum of classical music drifted from a string quartet stationed near the entrance, their melodies mingling with the murmur of conversations and the gentle clink of champagne glasses.

Things were going along as planned. -------------------------------- Rush hour was a bit heavier than usual and Lia arrived at La Rue de Cuisson, a bit later than she expected. The restaurant was famous for its French cuisine and reservations are hard to come by but her grandmother had always loved dining in this restaurant whenever she came to the city. She had just given the valet parking attendant the keys to her car when she heard someone calling her. She turned around to see Marissa waving at her. But what caught her eye was not her beautiful best friend, but the tall, gorgeous man in a suit standing beside her. No wonder women pay a lot at host clubs!

He climbed down, didn’t look back, and the city took him the way the tide takes a footprint. I watched the wake dissolve until it was just the sea again. Then I sat, crossed one ankle over my knee, and took out my phone. A reservation app bloomed soft gold on the screen. The best table by the window at La Rue at eight. Two covers. A note to the maître d’: Quiet table, chef’s tasting, no photographs. Confirmed. I scrolled to a florist—white ranunculus, pale peonies, a clutch of stephanotis. I added a small necklace—her birthstone, because details matter—and a card I didn’t sign.

Lila had already printed the agenda—meetings, presentations, and a private lunch with La Lumière’s creative director, Monsieur Laurent Duval. “Elena, I checked his background,” Lila said as they reviewed notes over breakfast. “Laurent’s brilliant—but notorious. He’s charming, sharp, and impossible to read. Be careful. He loves testing people’s limits.” Elena raised a brow, intrigued. “Good. I don’t like predictable men.” Lila groaned. “You sound like Adrian.” By nine-thirty, they were already at La Lumière headquarters—a grand, historic building overlooking Rue Saint-Honoré. The moment Elena walked in, she felt the weight of the place. The air smelled faintly of expensive leather, champagne,

Napalunok si Riva. “Idiot siblings.” Bulong ni Luther sa utak. “Kayo, sino magbabayad sa kasal niyo? Kuya mo ‘rin?” Direktang tanong ni Luther kay Gael. “Ikaw—” Nainsulto ang tatlo, habang si Riva ay nanlaki ang mata. Sa isip niya’y malalagot si Luther lalo pa’t makapangyarihan ang Kuya ni Gael. “Pasensya na po uli!” Riva gripped Luther’s hand as dragged him outside of the mall.