The Dumont Diaries Novels & Stories

“Oh, thank you and perfect timing. Madeline, this is Stefan Romand, our founder and CEO.“ Marvin introduced them to each other. “Mr. Romand, this is Madeline Shana, she is our new UI / UX intern.” “Nice to meet you, Mr. Romand.” Madeline reached out her hand to shake his and Stefan shook her hand out of politeness but he made it very brief. “It’s her first day at work and she had done a decent job so far. She showed me a few ideas and drafts for Xtopia upgrade and they are excellent, I will forward them to you later.” Marvin said.

I cussed, holding my forehead. "This can't be it! There has got to be more!" I couldn't wrap my head around why anyone would lock a series of books inside a heavy safe and bury it. Frustrated, I picked up a hardback notebook, snapped the straps, and opened it. A cursive handwriting came into view. There were dates on each page of the book. I read the first page. "October 19, 1999. Entry for Research 16." "Dear diary,

I have no idea what is going on. "Hi, why did you stop the song?" I ask. "I'm sorry, where are my manners? I am Madame Claire Dumont. This is my studio, Concord d' Heights." Madame Claire Dumont stares at me with her perfect posture. Her porcelain skin matches her flawless long black hair. Madame Claire is a beautiful Asian woman nearing her mid-thirties. "What do you want with me?" I ask.

Hans opened the cover of the transparent container glass on the book. He carefully took the old book in his hand and intently looked at the title written in bold letters on the cover. “King Dominique’s Memoirs, so I’m guessing this is the one. This will answer those doubts of mine.”

When she’d got the hang of it and was able to scan each of the journals, she honed in on the volumes she wanted—those that contained entries about the Beast and its origins. This wasn’t an easy job, nor was it a quick one. The journals were written over a ten-year period and some of the entries went on for pages and pages. The room grew dim as the sun began to set, and Sally’s stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but she didn’t want to stop until she’d found everything she needed. When she’d been through every journal, she retired to the living room with a small selection and a light supper. She didn’t feel like feeding David—she was too angry—so she left him where he was in th

“What is this?” “That’s what killed him,” he said, his voice trembled. “H-He said if I got into trouble, I just have to…to go there.” The detective flipped the card and saw two words engrossed on it in gold ink. DOMUS MALUM His eyebrows furrowed, frustration creeping in. His head began to throb as he looked away. “Thanks for this, Mate,” he said and hopped on his car, never casting a glance again on the guy.

Martha strongly grasps her glass and Amelia felt curious about her daughter's peculiar and out of the blues questions. "Why did you ask honey? That's not true, are you so hooked on reading those books on my shelves?" Amelia comforted her daughter. "Well, I read a story about a rivalry of werewolves and beasts. I read that a cursed child is set to offer in a ritual so that she can possess immunity against immortals. She is an immortal but because she grew up in a normal family, she questions her mortality."

The key opens a secret door in the basement which depends on you; are you going to allow humans to enter? The diary, you need it to trace the day, month or year, it is a mysterious diary only given to generations. There is a bunch of it in the secret door. They’ll appear to you if you plan to have a family. Lastly this pocket watch, it will let you travel anytime. Literally, any TIME. Sam we’re immortals... There are a few of us living in this planet. At his first day during 1940, he noticed that the fields were no longer emerald. Houses and establishments were built all over.

His sunglasses reflect my distorted face—a pale Elizabeth Smirnov, lips parted. And stunned… Pierre Étienne Dumont. Thirty-eight years old. CEO of Maison Dumont. Heir who transformed a family legacy into an empire of desire, where fabrics become weapons and every collection is a manifesto. His shoulders almost brush against mine. His cologne hits me: a blend of amber, bergamot, cedar, and pink pepper. "Sorry," he murmurs in soft French, voice rough and alluring, without slowing down. His bodyguards scan me.

One mistake, and everything she’d built would collapse. She glanced at the screen again, making sure the fake conversation she’d crafted between Elena and Damien was gone. A wicked smile tugged at her lips. “Perfect,” she whispered to herself. Two years ago, while snooping through Elena’s room, Avery had discovered a small, leather-bound diary. She almost tossed it aside—until she saw a name written in neat handwriting on the first page. Damien. And below it—a faded signature that matched his. Curiosity turned into shock as Avery read through the entries. The diary chronicled Elena’s childhood memories, her innocent friendship with a boy she met at the beach twelve years ago—a boy named Dami