Novel Upper Westside Novels & Stories

Divorced by Dawn, Queen by Dusk — Book Two: The Blood Crown Chapter Twenty-Five: Vera Vera Webb lived in a brownstone on the Upper West Side that had been in the Webb family since 1912. The building announced its age without apology — the stone worn smooth at the corners, the door hardware original brass gone dark with handling, the kind of house that had absorbed enough time to become indifferent to impression.

Scott ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ I tossed the duvet aside and sat on the edge of my bed, putting my elbows over my knees. I grabbed my cell phone and raised the blinds of my room. The daylight flooded in, illuminating the room as I stared at the sky through the ceiling-to-floor glass windows. Raking my hand through my hair, I got off the bed, wore my boxers, and made my way out of the bedroom. My penthouse is on the Upper East Side, but it's not just any penthouse. It has the best fucking view a man like me deserves.

I took the usual shortcut home through the park. Typically, it was always a bad idea to travel alone through Central Park, but it was the middle of the day and I had nothing to worry about except my own clumsy feet getting stuck in the snow. To state this very clearly, I am a klutz. Floors and walls are my greatest enemies. The building I go to was directly off of Central Park West, actually known as the West Apartments. The outside of the building was rustic but elegant, and if you were a full paying tenant of the building you’d also experience luxury internal designs year-round. But I was not a full paying tenant, and technically I didn’t actually live in the building, but behind it, above

Ethan Cross's penthouse occupied the top three floors of a glass tower on the Upper East Side, the kind of building where the doormen wore white gloves and knew every resident's net worth. Sophia stood in the marble lobby, clutching her mother's hand, feeling like an imposter in designer clothing.

"I'm at a place called Nick's on the Upper East Side. Shit, they're coming my way, what do I do?" What the hell was she doing there? If Lun wasn't mistaken, it was one of the worst places in New York. The pub was frequented by thugs, substance dealers and women eager to acquire new, wealthy customers. The children of important businessmen went there regularly. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: had Alissa gone there consciously, to look for them?

The doorman didn’t ask questions. That was part of why Dorian had chosen this place. Upper West Side. Twenty-second floor. No cameras in the hallway. Keypad entry, biometric override, and a name on the lease that wasn’t hers. Vivienne Blake now Celeste Vaughn stood in the middle of her new apartment with one suitcase and a shoebox full of burned memories. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. It sparkled like a postcard, a world she hadn’t walked in freely for over a year. The living room was blank, sterile clean lines, ash-gray furniture, untouched marble countertops.

245 West 163rd Street, Apt 4B New York, NY 10032. For a woman who loves to go after the rich and mighty she lives in the middle-class side of the city, how fun, guess she knows how to cover her tracks better than I thought. Well Sienna, time to pay you a little visit, you don’t get to go silent on me and not expect a reaction.

Bianca Sunday mornings in New York weren’t quiet. They were never quiet. But for once, my apartment was. The city still moved outside my window—horns, distant music, someone shouting in Spanish down the block—but inside my little studio on the Upper West Side, it felt like the air was holding its breath. Like it knew tomorrow wasn’t just another Monday. I sat cross-legged on my bed, wearing an oversized hoodie and sipping lukewarm coffee from my favorite mug. The words “Boss Babe” were starting to fade off the side, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.

She said. “Yeah, he was.” I smiled. “I'll text you their address. See you soon.” “See ya.” The dialtone clicked and I sighed. “See you soon, Fatty Benson.” **** Navigating my way to Upper East New York was one of the best experiences I've ever had in my life. I saw lots of intimidating skyscrapers, flashy sportcars, and apartments that probably cost millions. So this is where Fatty Benson lives now. He must be enjoying life as it is.

They weren’t her. I didn’t tell her I’d be picking her up. I didn’t have to. The cab stopped at a narrow street lined with patched-up sidewalks and rusted gates. Children ran barefoot, dragging kites made of newspapes, and women yelled from balconies. The smell of burgers has raised the atmosphere. This was rural New York. Her house stood in the middle. It was small. It has some faded blue paint and a metal gate hanging slightly off the hinges. It was nothing like mine.