Novel & Cerita Marceline No Smoking Shirt

Impersonal. Marceline walked over to the package, a hesitant curiosity rising in her chest like smoke. She slowly unwrapped the dark paper and opened the sleek black box beneath it. Her breath caught. Inside was a silk ivory blouse paired with a pair of elegant high-waisted trousers. The fabric was luxurious, soft under her fingertips, and too carefully chosen to be anything but Cross’s doing. She blinked, her heart knocking against her ribs. Was this supposed to be a peace offering? A command? Or just another layer in his maddening game of control and indifference?

"Apologies, ma'am. I've got orders from the boss. I can't move until he gives the word." Of fucking course. Before I can unload a string of creative curses, the opposite door opens. Marcellus slides in, bringing a soft wave of that cologne that smells illegal. I nearly let out a moan. He's in an olive green polo that hugs his shoulders and chest like it was tailored by the devil himself, paired with dark, tailored pants. His hair is perfectly pushed back, but the dark circles under his eyes are glaring. Serves him right. At least one of us looks like shit after last night.

She looked like a GenZ baddie. Since they were going to have fun, it wouldn't be wise for her to go with a gown hence the change. Her hair was brushed and made into a cornrow by Izabelle and after a few minutes, she was good to go. “Do I look pretty, Mommy?” “You look extra pretty. See how lovely your face is.” “Thank you.” “Are you both done?” Marcel walked into the room in a casual dress. He was wearing black free pants and a turtle-neck white shirt and his hair was combed backward. Izabelle coughed. He looked really hot.

"But, you know I'm the only one who actually gets you." I rip the top open, the zip popping and skittering across the floor like tiny teeth. I’m not wearing a bra. I rarely do. I want him to see everything, the faint bruises Lucien’s guards left on my arms. I want him to see exactly what he's been trying to ignore. Marcel’s gaze drops. His breath hitches, a jagged, broken sound that fills the empty room. The beer bottle slips from his fingers, rolling across the floor and spilling foam everywhere. He doesn't even notice.

Mariana took a long, hot shower. She had brought the clothes she was going to put on to the bathroom. She wasn't going to dress in the room while Marcello was there. She had no choice but to pick one of the short gowns in nylon since she couldn't find an appropriate dress to wear for breakfast. She slipped out of the shower, dried off, and dressed in a black gown. The gown showed her cleavage due to its square neckline, and her legs were exposed.

But morning brought clarity, or at least the illusion of it. Work. That's what she needed. Structure. Purpose. Something to focus on that wasn't the catastrophic mess her personal life had become. She pushed herself out of bed. The shower was brisk. Efficient. Marcelline stood in her closet, selecting her armor for the day—a tailored navy suit that screamed CEO, paired with heels sharp enough to be weapons. She pulled her hair back into a sleek bun leaving a few chosen strands loose to fall over her eyes, softening her gaze and giving her look a quiet, intentional allure, applied minimal makeup with precision, and studied her reflection.

It’s just a two-minute load of work, but there’s something calming about folding a blanket, straightening the sheets, and puffing the pillows in the right place. There are a few thin filaments of light piercing through a hole in the curtain, all perfectly hitting the floor. Being a lady who grew up doing household work, her first instinct was to open up the curtain to let fresh rays of morning sunlight into the room; however, as soon as she held the curtain hem, the door flung open behind her. Clad in a light yellow button-down blouse with a black ribbon and a knee-length maroon skirt, Marceline showed up. "Good morning, sweet roomie! I brought your uniforms," greeted Marceline in her usual

Six seats, three facing three. Marcel climbed in after us, making himself comfortable and pulling a cigar from his pocket. I sat there nervously, the more time we waited here the more of a chance we had at getting caught. We are practically sitting ducks for a scene of drama if Lucien was to come out to the garage at this moment. “Apologies. Do you ladies mind if I smoke in here?” Marcel asked rolling the windows down. “Not at all” I smiled at the man I’ve know my whole life.

" The one that was wearing a blue chiffon sundress and white sneakers?" Celina asked and Marcelo nodded. " I wasn't staring at anyone." Marshall defended but his siblings wouldn't let it slide. "Of course you were mash." Marcelo commented " I'm sure she's probably in Ana's room now, complaining about the freak who kept staring." Celina laughed. " Well in my defense, one should not move around in short dresses if they have such long and flawless limbs. If you ask me I was only teaching her a lesson on modesty."