Mr Dior Manhua Novels & Stories

Marco can be scary at times and no one would dare to try to offend him. I saw a figure coming down the stairs as everyone suddenly became quiet and turned their attention to Marco. He was dressed in a very fancy suit made by Dior specially for him. He was also an ambassador for Dior which I presume was just him living his best life right now. I couldn't take my eyes off him, not even for a second. They were glued on him as I watched him come down the stairs looking as magnificent as ever. My heart nearly burst out of my chest just by looking at his magnificent structure.

A middle-aged man in a Tai Chi suit stood up and walked up to Lan Weiwei. The middle-aged man was named Di Hong, a famous Taiji Master in the Central Plains. He was invited by Lan Wei to serve as the Assistant Director of Shangwu Hall. Lan Weiwei nodded. Di Hong glanced at the group of uninvited guests and said coldly, "What do you want to do today?"

He signals with his finger. I gulp down the saliva in my mouth, wishing to finish up within this time. Since he's implying I get fast, I'll also put on my dress so fast that before he gets to look at me twice, I'm already covered. I grin slightly. I just defeated his plan. Upon opening the package, I realize that both the shirt and suit are designed and buttoned in a totally different fashionable way. This is a Dior product, I'm quite sure it must be a sample model product, besides this I haven't used such expensive products before.

I was shocked, because someone appeared from behind the giant iron dragonfly that had just landed. A six foot tall man with a muscular body with tanning skin and eyes that were so beautiful green, like emerald. The man walks towards me. A man I can only see on television and Forbes magazine. "Mr. Ozgur Doğan!" Murat and his bodyguards immediately retreated as the man, Ozgur Doğan, walked over. Gotcha. For Neptune's sake, he's Ozgur Doğan! The tycoon, Middle-East Godfather. The man then looked at me, he suddenly pulled my hand. I was by him side, in him arms.

The city was a patchwork of gold and shadows beyond the glass. Mike sat beside me, pulling his legs up and resting his chin on his knees. For a while, he just watched me draw. I was working on a ring. A rose-cut sapphire set in an asymmetrical band of platinum and etched vines. Something delicate but grounded. He reached out, resting his hand lightly on the small of my back. It was such a simple touch, but it steadied me more than any words could. “I got an email today,” I said, my pencil not stopping. “From Dior. They want to schedule a meeting.”

She didn’t know whether it’s because she’s always in the hospital or because her ability was to heal. As for Dior, he doesn’t smell much, only when he’s using his ability excessively, that he usually emits smell similar to burned papers. It wasn’t pleasant, but also wasn’t that disgusting. Dior didn’t emit that smell much anyway, just for special occasions. The second door they entered was a woman’s. It was a woman around 183cm, with a boxing glove on both of her hand mercilessly punching the punching bag in front of her. She’s the source of the gasping sound, followed by a slam. As she stretches her hands to the punching bag, you can see her blood vessels showing.

The man extended his hand toward Maica, and she shook it without hesitation. Unlike Mr. Calvin, this man appeared much younger. He was a fair-skinned mestizo with striking features—handsome enough to make any woman swoon. He bore an uncanny resemblance to a young Leonardo DiCaprio from Titanic. “I’m Rick Sarmiento, one of the model scouts for L’Oréal. It’s a good thing the executives had an urgent meeting, so they sent me here instead. At least now, I have the opportunity to meet the goddess of the fashion industry.”

Yet that mattered little to the person in question – Mane – for right now he had his hands full. Mane was stooped over his study table, overlooking the designs he received just a day ago. He was clad in nothing but a pair of sleeping shorts, leaving his trunks and legs bare. In his hand was a large towel, and his hair was wet, indicating that he had just come out of the shower. Though his hair wasn’t completely dry, and though it fell carelessly upon his forehead and covered up his eyes, the water of his hair didn’t fall onto the designs on the table. Mane was a careless user of Edict. For he built up heat in his hair and slowly dealt with the moisture in it.

"Cheers!" Diora raised her glass, then did a toast with a man. She drank her sherry with a smile and a happy face. "I didn't expect to be able to meet you tonight," said the man who accompanied her drinking. He hugged Diora's waist and stroked her thigh, but surprisingly Diora didn't refuse him. "Don't you like the see me?" "No. Of course not. I'm certainly glad to see you, Ara. So I was just surprised."

Izan nodded to Dior's answer before leaving. When night came, Dre finally appeared at Dior's room doorstep. "Go away," a voice came from inside. "Who's that?" A small voice asked. "Andre," Dior replied. "How did you know?" "I can smell him and right now, he stinks of jea–" The top epsilon barged in before Dior could complete his sentence. Dre saw his two mates cuddled in bed, Mimi in a dress shirt that originally belonged to Dre but had been worn so much by Dior while Dior was putting on pocket boy shorts and a loose shirt.