Penthouse Stories Novels & Stories

"I just want to cook and take care of your kid and pay my mom's rent. I'm not here to be your next headline." Something eased in his shoulders. "Good. Because I don't do that anymore." "Do what." "Headlines." "Sure," I said. He almost smiled again. "Come up. Lily will lose it if you leave without saying goodbye." The penthouse was ridiculous. Floor to ceiling windows looking out over the water, all gray and white and sharp edges. It looked like nobody actually lived there, except for the pink sneakers kicked off by the door and the crayon drawings taped to the fridge.

The penthouse of the Sterling-Vance building stood eighty stories above the city, a glass-and-steel fortress that overlooked the tiny, scurrying lives of the humans below. To the public, Vane was the reclusive billionaire who had just "merged" his interests with the Vance estate. To Elara, he was the man currently pouring two fingers of amber bourbon while staring at a map that shouldn't exist.

Aria’s POV Purity Penthouse Lights glowed from afar, illuminating the entire neighborhood. Purity Penthouse stood on the outskirts of the city on a large property of its own. I'd only heard about it. Never had I stepped foot in it before. As soon as it came into view, my first reaction was an instinctive gasp that left my lips not just from fear, but also shock. The horrible things I’d heard about this penthouse; a house of pleasure, where the gang leaders and the notorious hookers spend the entire evening wasting their lives.

~Candy~ “As you can see, the penthouse is spacious with natural light, swimming pool, and a great view of the city,” the realtor, a middle-aged woman with graceful white hair, says. She gestures around, excitedly. She’s right. The penthouse is perfect for Axel. The square foot, bathrooms fitted with jacuzzi, furnishings, and wide kitchen is absolutely perfect for him. And…for Irina. Axel examines it all, touching the walls, peering into the fireplace.

I looked at the empty house where I started my young life, the house where Isabella grew up and drops of tears rolled down my eyes They were tears of accomplishment and survival “Ma’am, we are done. Where are we taking your stuff to?” one of the men that came with the relocation service asked and his voice echoed I snapped out of my thoughts and wiped my eyes with the back of my hands “Uhmm, Denzol penthouse” I replied “Denzol penthouse? I’ve never heard of that place” he replied, looking confused What did he mean he had never heard of that place? “Denzol corporation’s penthouse” I repeated

Ferrer told me not to hurry you. A bitter laugh almost escaped. Caelan Ferrer didn’t do rush. He was rush, and everyone else just sprinted to keep up. Still, she got into the car. She didn't look back. The Penthouse If wealth had a scent, it would be this place. Crisp marble, clean linen, a hint of imported wood polish. The penthouse didn't have the scent of home—it had the scent of a catalog. Glass walls yielded to a view that seemed to be photoshopped. Everything shined. The furniture was sleek, costly. Cold.

She picked up her phone. She looked at it for a moment. She put it back in her pocket. "Where are they staying?" Dominic said quietly. Just to her. "The penthouse," she said. "Until we figure out something more permanent. Rosa's brownstone has one bedroom and a fold-out sofa that already has two people's backs complaining about it." "The penthouse," Dominic said. "Yes." "Where the estate documents are filed." She looked at him. "Where the European property portfolios are stored," he said. "In the study. The files I was reviewing last month."

I wore stockings, with heels and a spritz of perfume to mask the day’s tension. The cab dropped me at a gleaming tower, then I took the elevator up to the top floor. I could hear my heart pounding as the doors opened to a private foyer. I rang the bell, and Ethan answered himself, casually in slacks and an open-collar shirt, the scent of steak wafting from within. “Right on time,” he said, placing his hand at my lower back, guiding me in. His penthouse windows overlooked the glittering skyline, there was modern furniture in leather and chrome, a dining table set for two with candles flickering.

Evelyn Scott straightened, intrigued. His features flooded with curiosity. “I own a penthouse downtown. Left over from my… previous life.” I said it casually. I hadn’t set foot in the place in years, but it was still there, waiting for a new tenant. It would be convenient to put it to use here. “It’s fully furnished,” I continued. “And it’s discreet.” His eyes narrowed. “And you’re offering it all to me?” Despite the greed I had seen flash in his eyes, I had to give him credit. He at least seemed skeptical when perfect opportunities were dangled in front of him. It made me wonder how his initial conversation with Emma had gone.