Penthouse Stories Novels & Stories

At a glance, the penthouse had six bedrooms total (three downstairs, three upstairs), three pools (infinity edge on the terrace, the smaller pool in Bryan’s room, and the indoor spa pool), a spa, gym, theater, study, nightclub lounge, sky garden, and more. “Wow, the penthouse is huge,” I summarized in my head. Sitting at the dining table, Edward served us some fruit and snacks. “Thanks for the tour,” I said. “The pleasure is all mine,” Bryan replied. “And thanks for last night.” “What happened last night?” Bryan asked, looking at me confused. “You took me to my room when I slept off, silly,” I said while laughing. “Ooh, that wasn’t a problem. Just being a gentleman,” Bryan said.

Rachael’s POV Morning in the penthouse arrived quietly. The kind of quiet that only existed when my father wasn’t on the phone arguing with lawyers. His bedroom door had remained shut since dawn, the muted sound of television occasionally leaking into the hallway. House arrest had turned him into a restless presence in a place that didn’t even belong to him. None of this belonged to us. The penthouse was Jonathan’s. He had rented it without hesitation the moment our home became a circus of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. Paparazzi still lingered outside the old house, hoping for another scandal involving Briggs Ltd.

“One: you move into the penthouse tonight. My house. My rules. Two: you walk out that door right now. By tomorrow every account your mother ever touched will be frozen. Your phone, your cards, your fake ID, your dealer’s number, gone. You’ll be sleeping on the subway with the rest of the runaways. so Choose wisely.” Her pulse hammered in her throat. She had exactly $47 in her pocket and a duffel bag of black clothes in a Midtown locker. Her friends were broke. Her mother had burned every other bridge with fire and vodka. She spat on the polished marble floor between his Ferragamo loafers. “Fine,” she hissed. “But I’m not your prisoner.” Saint smiled slow, cruel and devastating. “That,” he sa

he said and then left the bedroom and probably the apartment. I came back out, when I first got here I didn't really roam around the place but now that I was here to stay for a few months, I needed to get acquainted with it. Glenna gave me a tour, there were three floors of this penthouse, and we lived on the top floor. What captured my attention the most was the terrace pool. As soon as I set my eyes on it, I was mesmerized by its sheer beauty. The crystal-clear blue waters of the pool were truly a sight to behold. It was like an oasis in the middle of the city, providing the perfect escape from everything. I couldn't help but feel like I had found an idyllic haven.

***** By Wednesday afternoon, the last of the deliveries had arrived. The penthouse was mine. Not like the old one at Central Park Tower—glamorous, sterile, dripping with designer labels and overpriced coldness. That one had been more of a display case than a home, something the old Krystal Hunter used to show off rather than to live in. This one? This was different.

She would gladly let Lucas lock her up in here, forever. “The Penthouse,” Maxwell said, his voice dropping to a reverent tone. “Ten thousand square feet of interior space, plus two thousand square feet of wraparound terrace. Private pool on the west terrace, a kitchen to be designed to the owner’s specification, room for a private screening room, a gym… it is, frankly, the most significant residential property in the city.” Val walked to the windows, her heels clicking on the floor and echoing around the walls. The view was unbelievable. Imagine looking through this at night. It'll be absolutely magical. But…

Three months. I could do anything for three months. Even this. “Fine,” I said. “Send me the address.” Adrian Vale’s penthouse sat thirty stories above the city, gleaming glass and steel like something cut from ice and arrogance. The kind of place where people lived alone on purpose, just to remind the world how untouchable they were. The private elevator hummed up, slow and silent. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror-polished walls: dark suit, darker scowl, jaw already locked like I was walking into a war zone instead of a job.

Edward teased. Richard rolled his eyes in exasperation. His patience had run out. "Stop talking. Hurry up and take a shower! I'll be waiting for you in the lobby," Richard said and left without waiting for his friend to respond. Edward and Richard were actually neighbors. Both of them chose the One Hyde Park Penthouse as their residence several years ago. Edward had his reasons for choosing that place. Besides its premium location, the penthouse had fantastic facilities. Equipped with bulletproof glass, secret rooms, and 24-hour security guarded by the specially trained personnel of the British Special Forces, it was the best choice for him, being the son of a conglomerate.

I do not answer, because I do not know. The penthouse is a graveyard; that is the only way I can describe it. It is expensive, perfect, designed down to the smallest detail, and completely unused. The kitchen is spotless because I never cook. The dining table is empty because I never sit there. The bed is too large and too cold, and I sleep maybe three or four hours on a good night, sometimes less, and sometimes not at all. The office couch has become more familiar than my own room.

he answered simply. My stomach dropped instantly, “No.” Salvatore looked calm, “You haven’t even heard what it is.” “I already know it’s too much.” “It’s an apartment.” I stared at him, “A what?” “One of the penthouses,” he continued evenly. “Fully renovated. Private security. Your name is already attached to the property.” The entire blood supply left my body, “You bought me a penthouse?” Claire looked impressed, “Okay, wow, you win. Papa Capone.”