The Paris Apartment: A Novel Novels & Stories

It has a very modern style with huge windows along one side. “It’s in the Triangle d’Or area of Paris, on Avenue Montaigne in the prestigious Haussmannian building. Four bedrooms, air-conditioned, recently renovated with new marble countertops.” Lenora reads off the information with a game show host flair. I hold up the key, looking at it like it's the most wonderous thing in the world, and murmur out loud. “H-he got me an apartment in Paris?” “Yep. He signed the final paperwork last week. Happy Birthday, Kas!” Lenora squeals.

Isayanna The apartment is a relic. It groans under the weight of the wind, the floorboards shrieking like rusted hinges and the plumbing protesting every time I turn the tap. The walls are paper-thin, offering no sanctuary from the world, yet the view from my window is a masterpiece. Paris sprawls beneath me—a jagged horizon of zinc rooftops and church spires, with the Seine shimmering like a ribbon of spilled silver in the distance. It is a view that lies to me. It tells me life is perfect, while I sit here in a frayed cane chair, tracing the velvet rot of the armrests. My life is not a masterpiece; it’s a wreckage of "what-ifs."

I collapsed against him, my sobs muffled into his chest, and he held me tighter, rocking me gently as Paris city blurred past the window. *** The new place Edward arranged wasn’t a hotel. It was a serene apartment overlooking the Seine and Eiffel Tower, sleek and quiet, guarded by men I didn’t know but trusted only because he did. Once the door shut behind us, the silence pressed in again. I stood in the middle of the living room, my hands shaking, staring at the glittering Eiffel Tower in the distance. Edward came up behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his lips pressing into the crown of my head.

My apartment here isn’t overdone. No gold leaf, no marble columns. Just soft light, worn parquet floors, elegant furnishings in faded velvet and linen. French windows open out to a tiny balcony with a view over rooftops and chimneys, the Eiffel Tower just peeking through. It doesn’t feel like a hotel. It feels like a home someone once loved. I sit on the edge of the bed. I let my fingers run over the stitched monogram on the pillowcases. This is a new world. And for the first time in weeks, I’m not bracing for impact. I’m just… here.

The apartment was a new, modern cage on the 14th floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a breathtaking, glittering view of the city Sloane had been drowning in just days before. The air smelled of new paint and money. Her footsteps echoed on the polished concrete floors as she explored, a ghost in her own new life.

Satisfied with how I look, I open the door and walk out of the living room and start waiting for Aspen. He arrives half an hour later and walks to the spare room to get ready; he does all this without saying a word to me. I move toward the wall-size window in the apartment, which is opposite the Eiffel tower. The apartment is on the fortieth floor and has the best view. In the morning, when I had moved the blinds away from the window, I was mesmerized by the view in front of me. At night the Eiffel tower is decorated by lights all over, I can't describe it's beauty in words.5

I had the best intelligence network in the world. Admission records for the Beaux-Arts in Paris. A lease for an apartment by the Seine. Her French phone number... I found it all. When I kicked open the door to her Paris apartment, I expected her to throw herself into my arms and say she missed me. But she just looked at me calmly. Those foxy eyes that used to be full of me were now empty. She looked at me like I was a stranger. I waited downstairs for three months. I sent black roses every day.

They got to his house after three hours, the whole ride being completely silent before entering into his home, the heeled boots male staring at the compartment, his voice small, "This place lacks life." It was a mansion of a house, with every area drenched in white, save for other things like flowers, the TV, the coffee table but everything else was plain and dull looking for a colour like that. "I'm barely ever here," Paris answered gruffly, now at the bar area section as he asked, "Would you like to drink something?"

"So I'll see you tomorrow then." Jane's apartment was located in the 9th arrondissement although Daniel had forgotten the street her house belonged to,he chose to enjoy himself to the fullest at the beauty of her home exterior with hopes of getting intrigued by the interior itself. His heard so much about the beauty of Parisian homes and He couldn't help but take few clicks of the building before entering.

FELIX ------- “Alex no.” “Feel, please.” “I’ll get her a job but not as my assistant.” “But I don’t trust people, you’ve seen Paris, she’s a total man attracter, 3 of her bosses have tried to get sexual with her and 7 of them have molested her. Please Felix, Paris can’t live without a job and she can’t even work for perverts. I don’t trust other people around her. You’ve hated her all your life and you don’t mix personal and professional life. Please hire her.” My best and only friend kneeled in front of me with tears in his eyes as he recalled the sexual assaults on his sister by the men and women who were her bosses. Paris Martin, God save me. Paris was the clumsiest silliest and weirdest