Rumah Oren Novels & Stories

050894 BEEP They walked into the apartment after the door unlocked. Looking around, Sara Owen followed Rudra Reddy into the living room. It was a lovely, cosy apartment with green carpeting everywhere. The design was understated but brown. In the centre of the hallway, there was an aquarium that reached the ceiling. A huge chandelier could be seen hanging from the ceiling above the blue sofa. It was attractive and captivating. She stopped at the aquarium and put her palm on the glass.

I— Yoren froze. His expression hardened as though he had only just realised the kind of home he had given Eirene. The Aurelion Residence was not just a luxurious house; nor could it be called an ordinary small palace. It was the most hidden palace from the eyes of the world. For years, Yoren had forbidden anyone from setting foot there, determined to preserve every memory he had of his parents. Yoren closed his eyes. Now, he wasn’t even sure how far back he had to go to find the beginning of this change in his memories.

So, what's the point of feeling bad about it? "Wow. Orange's resthouse is beautiful," I said in amazement when we arrived and parked nearby. It is a native resthouse, elevated, and below it, there is a small living room and dining table, and then next to it is a pool. Daddy took the bags and groceries we bought and climbed the stairs into the house. It has two bedrooms: a guest room and a main bedroom with a floor-to-ceiling glass door opposite the pool, which is so refreshing to the eyes. I put my bag on the ottoman and lay on the soft bed. Daddy removed my sandals, and I laughed when he crawled over me.

“Miss Reene?” Owen's professional tone cut through her dream where he was proven to be a robot. With a groan, she stretched, then let her eyes slowly open. “Hmm?” Her tone was nothing but sleepy that no one would even think she'd spent all night asleep. “We're here.” He announced. “Where?” “Your house.” “Oh,” that moved the sleep from her as she stared at her house. After seeing Jaxon's mansion, it looked like a tiny place for ants.

The Okafor home was as Darren had once described - “subtle but grand.” Nestled in the heart of Highgate, the sleek three-story townhouse exuded quiet wealth. Its brick exterior was softened by a pristine front garden where rose bushes stood at perfect attention, their blooms a riot of deep reds and soft pinks. The wrought-iron gate opened with a gentle click, and as they stepped through, Amara felt the first stirrings of nerves flutter in her stomach.

Manolya´s POV I sat in the old woman’s living room, the scent of fresh detergent mixing with the smell of black tea. The light brown baroque leather sofa and blue oriental rugs gave the room a timeless, worn elegance. Outside, the rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy, the remnants from the storm hung damp in the air. The trimmed courtyard visible through the neat windows. Uncle Eren walked ahead with his relaxed swagger, like he already knew the deal was done.

The widow’s only daughter had taken out all her personal belongings before listing the house for rent, but she’d left everything essential behind. The outer walls were painted blue, though the paint was pretty worn out. Verônica unlocked the front door and turned on the light. The interior walls were white, and the floor was wooden. Because of all the trees around, the house was dark and damp. The smell of mildew inside bothered me a bit.

I know they can’t possibly be family housing, as they aren’t big enough to house more than one or two wolves at most. The houses are done up in pale pinks, yellows, greens, and blues, and the small garden beds are some of the best growing and well-maintained within the pack. The houses look like something out of a storybook, and I can’t help but stare at them in wonder.

Oren The Victorian District. That's what they called this area of Savannah. I'd been here before, to this exact house. In many ways, it reminded me of the brownstones in Brooklyn, but made of wood and with more color. In the darkness the colors were muted, but during the day, they were like a rainbow, blues and greens, even shades of pink. The houses were semi-detached, giving each a side yard, yet their floor plans were similar to what I had known. The structure was narrow, deep, and tall. Without the woodwork and architectural bric-a-brac, they would resemble the old shotgun style seen more frequently in New Orleans.

It was a gilded crime scene. Ronan took us to another property, a modern glass-and-steel house perched on a secluded cliffside overlooking the ocean. It was all sharp angles and silence, filled with the sound of crashing waves. There were no heavy antiques, no portraits of grim ancestors. It felt like a bunker designed by a minimalist architect. It felt clean.