Novel & Cerita Marceline Outfits

Stepping out of the uber and waving goodbye to Gina, she began heading home, Marcella felt like she just had the best week of her life so far while a dark part of her told her that she had to be prepared for a very bad crash. Marcella arrived at the Founder's event, wearing one of the outfits they got. A white long floral gown that had an off shoulder and a high slit paired with a small purse hanging off her shoulder. The sun was shining bright and the air was filled with excitement as the festival was in full swing. Gina spotted her from afar and waved her over, her own short gown fluttering in the breeze. "Marcella, you look stunning!" she exclaimed as she hugged her friend. "I knew that d

Racheal replied. "Alright." Marcel said then hung up, placing his phone back into his trouser's jacket. True to her word, Rachael walked out of her house fully dressed in a black mini skirt and blue crop top that shows off her flat tummy. Marcel took a good look at her, he didn't know why but at that moment he compared Rachael to Abigail. Abigail had always looked good in whatever she wore, and she wore mostly covered clothes. Racheal climbs on top of the bike, her hands holding onto him tightly, "Ready?" Marcel asked her.

"Go get ready." *** Mariana found the perfect nightclub attire which was a backless bodycon, short mini dress with sequins glitter sparkle deep V-neckline. The dress accentuated her breasts, and shapely round her ass, giving her a sultry and attractive appearance. She paired the dress with her black heels that were still laid inside the box. She was getting out of the room, when Marcello came out from his. Her blood thrummed at seeing him in a black suit with a solemn expression . He was just too handsome. Too strong and rough.

The ever-aloof devil she was now legally bound to. The maids had already vanished, like ghosts slipping through the walls, leaving behind a steaming tray of breakfast on the table—far too extravagant for one person. Marceline padded across the room, her bare feet brushing against the marble floor, cold and indifferent like everything in this mansion. She walked to the wardrobe and pulled out a short, lilac chiffon dress that barely brushed her thighs. She turned, clutching the dress to her chest, intending to return to the bathroom. That’s when his voice sliced through the silence.

His arse was pointed towards the door, the position revealing both the beta’s balls clasped by a stretcher and cock ring, and that Reid had missed the main event, from the cum stains. “He can’t talk,” Marcella was dressed in a peacock blue satin kimono, untied, revealing that was all that she wore. She was fresh from the shower, her skin bare of makeup and carrying the scent of her soap. It had been a long time since Reid had seen Marcella without a wig, and seeing her dark hair slicked back to her skull brought back many memories of the past with Marcel.

Slit up the thigh—almost to my hip. The fabric caught light when it moved. Liquid. Predatory. I put it on. Looked at myself. My hair fell in waves past my shoulders. Same wine-red as the dress. My body filled out the fabric like it was made for me—because it was. I looked like sin. I looked like power. I looked like a woman who'd burn your world down and not lose sleep. The woman in the mirror smiled. There you are. Marcel sent a car. Black. Sleek. One of two in the world, he'd said. Custom. Bulletproof glass. Engine that sounded like a threat.

It almost felt like I was back in the other mansion. Marcel was standing by one of the couches and he was fully dressed like he was heading out. I don't know why he loves putting on black every time as right now he is dressed in a black suit with a dark shade of blue undershirt. But why then did I dream of him wearing a white shirt? That doesn't matter Marcel didn't pay any attention to me when I got in but I guess it's because he was actually on a call and from what I could eavesdrop from their conversation I could tell he was talking to someone back at the mansion. My best guess?

Dinner with him was no longer companionship, it was an obligation just for her survival. Still, a fragile thought tried to take shape. Maybe tonight could be different. Maybe being outside, even briefly, she could be free. Maybe... But she stopped herself. She knew better than to believe that. Marceline reached past the safe dresses, the modest ones Rafael approved of, and drew out the black dress she had not worn since before her marriage. The color felt right. Black, mourning, not for a man, but for the life she had lost. For the woman she had been before she learned to shrink.

Marcel with a twisted expression and a crease between his brows covered the doorway with his body. He wore grey sweatpants and a towel hung carelessly down his neck. Lazy drops of water fell from his dirty blonde hair and his eyes held that similar dangerous glint. The Marcel at the doorway had no freckles at all. His body was exactly the same with the freckled one. What in heaven's name was happening?! What sort of sorcery was this?! Lyra turned towards the Marcel in black pants who had halted whatever song was playing and back to the Marcel in sweatpants who looked like a dragon about to breathe out fire with the way anger burned in his eyes.

Greta gave a nod before heading out of the room. The wardrobe change had served as a silent signal of another journey orchestrated by Marcelo. Georgina wasted no time in putting on the clothes provided, a simple yet sophisticated ensemble that bore the unmistakable mark of him. She couldn't escape the irony that even her attire in this dark narrative was a reminder of Marcelo's control over her life.