Novel & Cerita Novel Upper Westside

I cracked the seal and let the bubbles tickle my throat as I watched the skyscrapers pass by my window. I should have guessed that Michael’s penthouse would be on the upper east side, but I couldn’t help but stare at the buildings and how extravagant everything seemed compared to my dumpy little neighborhood. The driver pulled to a stop in front of a tall building and got out to open my door for me.

POV: Evelyn The Uber ride from the airport had taken nearly ninety minutes. Manhattan rush hour was a beast that didn’t care about my schedule or my fraying nerves. As the car finally turned into a quiet, tree-lined street on the Upper East Side, the late afternoon sun began to dip, casting a long, amber glow over the limestone townhouses. I sat up straighter, my chest tightening as I looked out the window. This wasn't just a neighborhood. It was a fortress of old money.

but it seems it was under a good rental agency, the building was in a good condition. “We are here.” Cassandra paid, said thank you and rushed out of the taxi. “Shit, I'm already late.” She stormed into her apartment throwing her wig on the floor. “God, you reek of alcohol. Are you drunk?” The petite housemate Renee, took the red wig with her finger and almost felt disgusted. She put it outside the balcony trying to wash away the smell with the smokey air of the Upper West Side neighborhood. “Hey, that's expensive.” Cassandra pushing her door room with her shoulder, threw her purse on the bed. She almost out of breath trying to be faster than she already did.

I should get out of here fast. I finally arrived at my penthouse located at one of the beautiful buildings in the upper east side of New York City. I live here together with my nanny and another maid. My parents were not here since they're busy running our hotel business, so basically I'm home alone. But I didn't mind it at all. I've gotten used to this situation. This is probably the consequence of being a rich kid. You'll have all the stuff you want but you can't be with your parents all the time. That sucks.

Emma stood outside Jake Morrison's apartment building on the Upper East Side, clutching her laptop bag and seriously questioning her life choices. The elegant brownstone with its wrought-iron details and perfectly manicured entrance screamed expensive the kind of place that came with doormen and marble lobbies and editors who could afford to take risks with their authors' careers.

Everything that I thought was just a coincidence had been carefully engineered. Andrea was trying to ruin my life. "That bitch," I said quietly under my breath. "Let’s not jump to conclusions," Nina said. "It’s just a theory. You’ll have to go back to the government office and find out." After lunch, I had three appointments. I had to show two medium sized apartments in midtown, and then one huge luxury condo with 15 bedrooms, huge living room and dining room, a kitchen with floor to ceiling windows all on one of the best streets in the 80s on the upper East side.

Spiked high heels clicked impatiently on the wooden floor as Bridget Madison, Paxton’s realtor, pointed out the many charms of the truly lovely apartment he wanted her to move into. “Well, what do you think?” Bridget asked. “I don’t know…” “You already live in the neighborhood, so you know how wonderful the Upper West Side is. The people in this building are all young, hardworking professionals like yourself. Paxton wants you to have the apartment so badly he’s willing to meet the seller’s first price.”

Eliora's POV The building stood like a tombstone against the gray New York skyline—an elegant, pre-war limestone structure on the Upper East Side that screamed of old money and secrets kept behind heavy drapes. I stood on the sidewalk, the cold wind whipping my hair across my face, stinging my eyes. I took a breath, held it until my lungs ached, and let it out. In and out. Just a person. Just a woman. But she wasn’t just a woman. She was the woman who had brought me into a world she never wanted me to occupy.

The conversation with Steph went better than I thought, and as I stand in front of the huge building in the Upper East Side where my mother lives now, my entire body freezes, and a doorman wearing a black suit and a black hat with white gloves looks at me. “Can I help you with anything, miss?” He asks, and I nod slightly. “I am Niccola Fairchild,” I say, but before I can say anything else, he steps forward, gripping my luggage, and smiles. “Mr. Sutcliffe has made arrangements for your arrival, m’am.” The doorman says, and my eyes widen slightly. “This way,” he says, guiding me to an elevator at the back of the corridor. “Private entrance to Mr. and Mrs Suttcliffe's penthouse,” he says, and I