Rumah Oren Novels & Stories

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.

“Hey, can you make dinner? Salmon, lemon sauce and maybe some greens?” “Thanks,” I said, hanging up, my feet drifting toward my bedroom. But I stopped at Orrin’s door, its closed surface pulling me like a tide. Three weeks gone, no word, just those roses stirring me up. I shouldn’t snoop—his space was private—but curiosity burned, and I turned the knob, the door opening silently. His room was stark, orderly, every detail organised. A king bed with crisp white sheets, a sleek desk bare except for a pen holder. An armchair by a window framing London’s lights.

- Soren arrived as promised, and we drove to his personal lakeside villa. It was my first time stepping into his sanctuary. The interior was quiet, elegant, and undeniably lavish, while outside, the landscape was a stark expanse of white and gray coldness. But the villa's yard felt like spring had come early. A little stream wound through the property, its waters teeming with fish. Meadows of flowers stretched across the lush greenery. "I had this house designed to resemble the Kenway residence a little," Soren said, watching me closely. "But I don't know if you'll like it. If you don't, we can always buy another house. Or a new property."

The Oden house had always been a neat, old-fashioned, and discreet luxury. It was on the outskirts of the city, obscured behind high hedges and an enormous driveway that swooped around into a circle like a neat signature. Inside, time went by more slowly. The walls hummed with decades of family promise and secrets—some more poisonous than holy. Luke hadn't been home in weeks.

Close by-----probably hidden by the thick screen of huge palm trees was a beach. Her breath caught in her throat as the house came in to view. Big, serenely gracious, it was a picture- book homestead painted white with a grey roof. To her horror and alarm, Romona's eyes filled with strange, lost tears, so that she had to blink furiously and furtively as they approached the front door.

As soon as we entered the big gate I knew how rich the Oxfords were. We stopped next to the guard house and Steven rolled down the car window. "Jake, please inform my parents." The guard nodded and entered the guard house. Steven closed the window again and continued driving. Even though their house is far away, I can already feel the fresh air. The rich really like places near the sea. We can't blame them. Maybe they want to be away from stressful surroundings. They must be stressed with the amount of money they have. My heart beat fast when I saw Steven's house. The house is very big and beautiful. It is made of durable materials. The color of the house is white with brown and I can say th