Penthouse Stories Novels & Stories

"Try not to hack the hotel’s security while I’m gone. It’s a chore to apologize to the management." ​I didn't wait for Marcus to open my door. I climbed out and walked into the hotel, my head held high even as my knees felt like jelly. The penthouse was a sprawling, three-story monument to excess. It was all white marble, gold accents, and floor-to-ceiling glass that looked out over a Central Park that seemed miles away. It was beautiful. It was a cage.

Dawn came too soon. I dressed plainly, in a new mini dress I had gotten during the week, clevage out in the open, a small scale wounded around my neck to hide the fading marks, and headed to the Pack house. Guards nodded me through—Silvercrest ones, of course. The penthouse was guarded. Father had never lived in the penthouse before. He had been planning to give it to Simon and I when we got married. Simon, that bastard... It was breathtaking. The penthouse in the middle of no where. Made with black granite. Floor-to-ceiling windows and a jacuzzi just by the entrance.

Thirty floors of steel and glass where rich people go to hide from the world. ‎ ‎”Perfect.” ‎ ‎Tehe driver pulls into a private entrance. Underground. Away from cameras and curious eyes. ‎ ‎"Elevator to the left," he says without turning around. "Penthouse access. Take this envelope.” ‎I took the envelope. The phone. Step out into the concrete tomb of the parking garage. ‎ ‎The elevator is waiting. ‎ ‎Of course it is. ‎ ‎I press the button for the seventeenth floor. The doors close with a whisper. Smooth jazz plays. Soft melodic instrumental by saxophonist Kenny G.

The address Jessica provided wasn't a warehouse in Red Hook. That had been misdirection in case I showed the letter to authorities. The real location came via text at 8:45 AM: "Change of plans. Penthouse suite, 432 Park Avenue. Top floor. Come alone. The doorman is expecting you." 432 Park Avenue. One of the most expensive residential buildings in Manhattan. Luxury apartments with panoramic city views. Security cameras everywhere. The last place I expected for a confrontation with a fugitive.

I like her pretending she isn’t dripping for the man she’s spent fifteen years cursing. My phone vibrates in my pocket. Richard's sent a text. Richard: Marriage certificate filed. Phoenix Holdings notified. Media leak drops at 8 a.m. tomorrow. You’re officially the most hated and envied man in New York. I don’t reply. I toss the phone on the couch and walk toward the master bedroom like a predator stalking prey. The door is locked. Cute. I pull out my master keycard, because everything in this penthouse belongs to me, including the woman behind that door and slide it through the reader. The lock clicks open.

It had been a week since the HIV research charity event, so Charles thought that was more than enough time for Toni to cool off. He held a bouquet of white roses as he waited for Toni to answer the door. Michelson Investments held the title to the Hull Building There were only two penthouses on each floor. Calvin and Yvonne owned the massive penthouse on the top floor.

Once they were in, she asked, “Where are we?” “Home.” The look she gave him was one of confusion and she wanted him to explain more. “We can’t live at the hotel forever, right? So, here we are. At my place. And your home for now.” His penthouse was at 60th floor. He was a director in the board of the company which has built the building. The view of Central Park from up here was worth every dollar he had spent. He had converted all the four penthouses into one and now he ruled the 60th floor. Oh, money could get such pleasures.

And we were its most sophisticated players. Outside, Manhattan began to wake. Millions of lives intersecting, countless stories unfolding. But here, in our penthouse, a different story was being written. A story of power. Of survival. Of a connection that defied simple explanation. I caught Nathan's reflection in the window. Watching me. Always watching. And I was ready.

Glancing out of the car window, the skyline revealed a familiar sight, “Isn’t that the famous penthouse?” I asked, my heart beating faster. “It is indeed,” he responded, as the car came to a stop. We climbed down, his hand interlocking with mine, before entering the penthouse where the music pulsed, reverberating through the air. The penthouse was a very uncomfortable place, as I could see businessmen, and drug dealers, who wanted to pipe down with drugs. As I entered through the building, I ignored the guys flashing their best smiles, which weirdly made sweat trickle down my foreheads.

A single word text: **<< IN. *** **ROSSI PENTHOUSE - SKYLINE CITADEL** The penthouse wasn't empty. Two guards in Rossi Security black patrolled the opulent, corpse-like space where Silas had been kept. Their boredom was palpable, a stark contrast to the tension coiling in the shadows of the service entrance hallway where Harlan and Winters waited.