Quentin Lenig Picture Novels & Stories

Lena's POV. “Hello, ma'am,” the doctor waved his left hand, and felt my pulse with his right hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?” “Can I get a name? Can you speak?” He continued, not even giving me a chance to think or respond. He suddenly stopped and pointed a little fluorescent light in my eyes. I squinted and groaned inaudibly from lying stiff for far too long. “Four, My name is Lena, and I think I can… talk,” I replied in a second, gulping as the man behind him moved closer and fixed his gaze on me.

There is not a picture of Lucien. This is because Lucien is crazy about photographing but she is not. Nina thinks so. Nina bites her lips, stretches out her thin fingers, and silently clicks on the picture. A prompt box pops up on her phone saying "Confirm to delete the photo?" Her fingers trembles a little, and she is hesitating on the "Yes".

What do you think that is all about? 'Faire un rendezvous chez Dr Hodet, yes, par cas d’un infection,' Quentin said, as he walked over to the bar, reached across it, and took two half litre Leffe beer glasses from behind the counter. Still standing in front of the bar, his chest rose a little with the swagger of a proprieter, as he filled them both till the white froth threatened to spill over the top of the golden brown, viscous liquid below it. He carried them over ostentatiously, all outsize elbows, and set them on the table.

He was a man of honor. … A notification rang on Noelle's phone, and she received a snapshot provided by Xyla. A look of profound love spread across the woman's face as the man leaned on her delicate neck. It was easy to deduce what they were doing, even though the camera barely caught their shoulders. Xyla was the woman in the shot, and Quentin was the man. His hairstyle and profile made it clear, even though his face was obscured in the photo. The snapshot was shot recently because it had a hospital ward in the background.

The submissive, a younger man with his eyes closed in a state of euphoric subspace, was breathing in slow, ragged, trusting gasps. Lena didn't raise the viewfinder to her eye. She stepped forward, waiting patiently until the Dominant paused to adjust a knot. The silver-haired woman looked down, noticing the silver badge on Lena’s chest. "Excuse me," Lena said, her voice steady, pitching it just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the club. "I am the house archivist. The dynamic between you is breathtaking. May I have your consent to photograph the tension of the ropes? I will not include faces, only the geometry of the bind and the hands."

“I guess you are right. But it doesn't mean what you did just now wasn't impressive.” “I know.” He praised himself and the reverted his attention back to my handbag. “So, what In it. Another bomb?” “More or less.” I dipped my hand and pulled up a frame. I held it for him to see. In the picture was Quinn, Some men in military uniform and Leo. Leo and Quinn were standing side by side. They seemed genuinely happy to have such privilege. Reggie made that smile which elders sported everytime they remember a good past. “When was this taken?”

"Isabella, you are such a silly girl." Lila grabbed her iPad and instantly opened a webpage to search for Quinn, the CEO of NextEra Technologies. She murmured, "I bet he must be a bald, potbellied old man. No way someone could be attractive enough to match you..." Before Lila finished her sentence, she was stunned by the pictures she found online. Although there were only two photos from Quinn's inauguration press conference, it was enough to prove his handsomeness. Excitedly, Lila exclaimed, "Slap me,. I need to know I'm not dreaming."

I can't help but groan. "Mom." "What?" She retorts. "You probably don't have any photos together in public. I just thought it would be nice—" "I love it," Lennox interrupts her. "You do?" My mouth hangs open, the sound of my pounding heartbeat still echoing in my ears. Lennox gently turns the wooden-framed photograph in my direction, its origins evident from the small watermark in the corner, indicating it was taken from a celebrity news site. The image captures a moment at LOVE Park, where I stand with my arms crossed, accompanied by Lennox, who serves as my loyal bodyguard. A wire from his earpiece dangles casually, a reminder of his constant vigilance.

Quinten appeared to be in his early forties, tall and upright, dressed in a pure black mandarin-collar coat, buttoned tightly at the neck, revealing a cold, sharp neckline. His face was sharply contoured, with slightly high cheekbones and deep, ink-black eyes that always carried a hint of menace. His fingers were long but knobby, now gripping a document so tightly that his fingertips turned white. The words "the Cromwell Group" embossed in gold on the file stood out glaringly in the dim light.

I let out a long sigh, the complicated truth heavy in the air. We had settled into our seats in the middle row just as the main lecture was starting. "Do you want to see her 'fat ass picture'?" Lena whispered to Hayden, referring to my old photos. Hayden immediately nodded, his interest piqued. I groaned in total shame and covered my eyes with my palms. "Oh, please—do not show him," I begged. But Lena, being Lena, only laughed it off. She pulled up the pictures on her phone and eagerly showed Hayden, utterly ignoring my protests.