Moderno Novels & Stories

Secondly, without discussing it with him, she blurted out such things so flatly. "Maa....listen I...” Arjun stammered while speaking. "I don't wanna hear anything. You have just proved today that you have no features of mine." "Mrs. Solanki. He doesn’t know anything about it. I made the decision by myself." "Who are you to take such decisions by yourself? What do you know about him and his family?" "I am a 22 year old Italian girl, named Myra Moretti, who holds valid citizenship of Italy. I have every right to make decisions for my own marriage. I know nothing about them, but with time I would know."

My heart quickened as she noticed me and made her way toward me, weaving through the sea of people with practiced ease. Mrs. Moore wore her typical fur coat over an extravagant white power suit and dark sunglasses, even though it wasn’t sunny outside. She styled her peppered golden brown hair in a high ponytail, which stretched her features and made her look younger. She really was a beautiful woman. No wonder Kat was a stunning beauty.

--- Camila speaks facing us. "He is a client of mine, we have already closed some contracts, I think I can help you with that."--- Ad gaining her full attention.--- "He likes something more modern, but that at the same time brings a taste of home. He likes new things, buildings that are out of the ordinary of what we always see, but still remain elegant." "Show me the picture of his building in New York, the one we met."--- He hands me the tablet in my hands.

If I recalled correctly, my mother hadn’t stepped foot in the palatial apartment for at least fifteen years, not since she walked in on my father and the other lady-of-the-house—his mistress, Alesia Moretti, Tommaso’s sister. My father had a thing for women with names that started with ‘A.’ My mother’s name was Arianna. I wouldn’t supply a lewd observation of my mother; however, if Alesia was the gauge, he also had a thing for big boobs, plastic features, and women he could dominate.

I frowned, "Modernization? What exactly do you mean by that?" He leaned back, a patronizing smile curling his lips. "It means transforming it from its current stagnant state into a dynamic, profit-generating machine. The company, as it stands, is living in the past. It's time for a change, Ellie, and I'm the one to bring it." His words sent a chill down my spine. I could read between the lines – 'modernization' was just a euphemism for stripping the company down and selling it for parts. It was a complete dismantling of everything my family had built, everything the town relied on.

She had survived worse mornings than this. Katherine, Thea, and Hailey arrived at Modan Luxury Store, a renowned haven for high-end fashion in the far side of Willow Haven. Known for its exclusive designer brands like Giorgio Armani, Roberto Cavalli, and Missoni, the store was a symbol of opulence and sophistication.

“You’re mad.” “And you love it,” Syra smirked. Luiz groaned, scribbling. “This is going to kill me. But it’ll be art.” Linda nodded slowly. “It’ll feel like home. Not just another cold structure.” “Just one thing,” Jackson added. “What are we calling this style?” Yeah, right, we do need a name for that. “Let’s name it what it is,” I say softly. “A fusion. SoulModern. Nairobi’s past kissing its future.”

The sound of clicking could be heard in the background. Behind the brown mahogany desk sat a man typing furiously on the desktop. The man is Alexandro De Marco. An important and very well known businessman in the business world. The owner of De Marco incorporated. He is handsome, smart, cunning, cold, calculating and sexy as hell. He is known to be a Devil in the world, in short he is a force to reckon with. Women throw themselves at his feet and wish to be by his side and men want to be him. But he's cold demeanor would make you run for the hills.

Unlike the hushed, museum-like lobby, this place buzzed with the clicking of keyboards, the whirring of high-end printers, and the frantic chatter of people who looked like they hadn't slept in forty-eight hours. ​"You must be the new girl. Martin, right?" ​A woman with sharp, bobbed hair and a tablet tucked under her arm stopped in front of me. She didn't wait for an answer. "I’m Monica, the Senior Content Producer. You’re late for the briefing. Follow me." ​I scrambled to keep up with her. She walked with a terrifying speed that reminded me of the helicopters.