Marcel Gerard Novels & Stories

It was almost six. I stood up abruptly to freshen up and have a change of clothes. Before I came out, I could hear Gerrard welcoming some people into our home. They were here. Serena and Marcel. I could tell just by Marcel's unique scent. The one he alone had the sole right to use—anyone who used the same scent could be sued. Besides, there's no way they would be able to use the same scent because you could only get the scent from the Lorenzo dynasty.

In fact, he often spends holidays with my family. Marcel is forty-nine with short, limp dark brown hair fading grey at the edges. He has a salt and pepper trimmed beard and soft hazel eyes. Outside of the frown lines on his forehead he only has some slight creasing around the corners of his eyes, but no other wrinkles to be seen. He always dresses sharply and is currently in black slacks, black Armani dress shoes, a black pinstripe shirt and a black tie with a gold diamond pattern in the design. He’s also wearing his usual gold wolf cufflinks. He loves anything to do with wolves, he even owns one as a pet which he named Blade, who is absolutely gorgeous! I step out of the cab as Marcel walks

He smiled faintly. “Oh.” “My name’s not important.” he said dismissively “Not important?” Sge raised a brow. “I’m only an assistant.” “To whom?” she asked. He adjusted his cuffs calmly. “Adrian Leclerc.” Marcelline frowned slightly. “You haven’t quite heard the name before,” he continued. “But we’ve been in business with you for a long time.” “Family business.” He started walking away. “Don’t beat yourself up.” Marcelline stood there for a moment.

“Like your mate? I’m sorry, my name is Amoux, not Gerard. People say that to me and I don’t even want to think about it because I don’t know the guy you are talking about. Just consider me his doppelgänger, ok. Stop following me or else, I will inform Garold and tell him that maybe you want to have an affair with me. We both know he wouldn’t take it easy with you. You know how he behaves.’ “Amoux, what is going on here?’ We both went still, our eyes widened as we both turned to where the voice came from. Gerard. He was in baggy black trousers, a baggy white designer shirt. His straight white hair was at shoulder length. His his arms decorated up with tattoos. He was breathtaking and his lips

Amelie's voice rang out from inside the bathroom, "Maria, are you there? I dropped my towel; could you please come and get it for me?" Caught in an awkward predicament, Gerard found himself in a dilemma. He couldn't reveal his identity, and Maria had already left the house. There was no one else but him to assist Amelie. Bracing himself, Gerard entered the bathroom with his face slightly downturned, creating an illusion of shyness, even though Amelie couldn't distinguish his identity.

Then a hand went up. “It’s y equals mx plus b.” I turned toward the voice. The guy sitting next to me was Hispanic. Sharp jawline. Curly hair. Blue eyes. Arms like tree trunks. “That’s correct,” Mrs. Payne said. “And your name?” “Marcelo,” he replied. “My name is Marcelo.”

Maria Maharani stood trembling in the corner, while a man in a black Brioni pointed a gun at her. “That's...” Marcus gasped. “Impossible,” Vic shook his head. “That's...” “Gerard van der Meer,” Dufort finished. “Or at least, the man we know as Gerard.” “What do you mean?” Dufort pressed another button. The screen displayed a scan of an old passport. “The real Gerard van der Meer died in a skiing accident in the Alps in 1998. His identity was then assumed by operatives of Les Roses Noires.”

muttered Marcel with a helpless smile. His words made Gerald and his party exchange glances among themselves. Honestly, it was completely understandable that a person like Marcel—who had been living on the edge for decades—would be overly cautious for the sake of survival. How else would he have crafted such intricate plans that even Darkwind and Lyndon ended up getting deceived? Had it not been for Gerald’s suspicions, they’d have surely left Peaceton by now in search of more clues…

Due to Marcel's privileges and political connections, he is empowered to do the unlawful business he was previously engaged in. That's why, when Armand Vergara declared his decision to run for president, the normally calm and collected Marcel Delatorre shivered with panic. No, that can't be true. He thought to himself. Everyone was celebrating except him. When Marcel gazed about, time seemed to slow down for him, and all he could hear was the high-pitched sound that was making it impossible for him to hear anything else. Everyone was happy and was clapping their hands and shouted. Why? Why would his brother do something like that to him? Marcel felt betrayed and screwed. Armand did not even

Logan was dead, and for the past few days, Marcel had been dead drunk in celebration of Logan’s death. At long last, his biggest rival was gone for good. He lumbered into the foyer where Yato stood, facing the floor-to-ceiling window that overlook the serene lake in the garden. Marcel paused and examined the school professor he had sired to work for him. Being a bi-sexual, Marcel had always longed to know what it felt like having the professor on his bed. Now the professor’s mind was miles away from here, he stealthily approached the professor. Marcel took a moment to suck in his strong masculine scent. Loving the tendrils of chills it sent down his spine.