Novel & Cerita The Stolen Kiss Painting

I killed her. … After leaving the rooftop, Jonathan returned home. The house was filled with flowers and balloons. Photos of us decorated every corner. There was even a towering birthday cake that stood nearly ten feet tall. My body lay in the ice coffin. I was dressed in the wedding gown he had ordered long ago. Then, Jonathan poured gasoline around the house, ignited a fire, and climbed into the coffin. He gently wrapped his arms around me and murmured, "Happy 35th birthday, honey."

The man chuckled weakly. “He still wants her.” Dominic’s voice turned cold. “I’m aware.” The man leaned forward as much as the ropes allowed. “You stole something that belonged to him.” Dominic stood slowly. “That’s where you’re wrong.” He stepped closer. “She was never his to begin with.” The man shook his head. “You don’t understand.” Dominic’s gaze sharpened. “Then explain it to me.” The man hesitated. Victor crossed his arms. “You should talk,” he said. “Your life depends on it.”

His hand came up and his fingers slid into my hair at the base of my neck and he kissed me. Not gentle. Not tentative. Not the careful first kiss of two people testing the waters. He kissed me like he was staking a flag. Like he was rewriting what had just happened on this balcony and replacing Julian's threat with something that burned hotter. His mouth was hard against mine and his hand in my hair tilted my head back and the sound I made against his lips was not something I planned or controlled.

His tongue traced to my lower lip a question, not a demand and when I opened for him, he made a sound in his throat that I felt in my spine. It was good. It was terrifying. It was the kind of kiss that rewired priorities, that made corporate warfare and family secrets and fifteen years of hatred feel like background noise to the main event. And then his hand moved. Down my neck. Over my collarbone. Across the silk covering my breast a brush, a test, a question asked with fingertips. I gasped. He took it as encouragement, thumb finding the peak through thin fabric, circling, teasing, his mouth never leaving mine.

‘The Most Sought After Billionaire Bachelor, Saint Baxter Is Off The Market! But what had the card in my hand falling to the ground was the picture attached. A picture of Saint and Leslie kissing passionately.

In the picture, I was the one kissing the Devil instead! "What's this picture all about?" "Don't act like you don't know. It's right there before your eyes, bitch," Rosalie spat. "This picture is fucking edited! Who did this?" I demanded then shot my eyes to Aleric." I'm sure it was you. You were the one who forcefully stole my first kiss away from me, yet you made it seem like I was the one forcing myself on you! How could you?!" I yelled, yet he had an amused grin on his lips, clearly enjoying what was happening.

“Okay, what did I do?” “More like what I did.” His brows knitted in puzzlement. And I pulled my arms around his neck to bring myself closer. “I gave my heart to the Mafia King.” “And you said I stole it, kitten.” He claimed my lips.

She watched quietly as he poured the liquid all over the board on which he had drawn Valerie and everything; both the ink and the paint washed off, causing the paper to turn white instantly. Valerie stared at it in awe, and once he returned the bottle and came back to her side, she smiled bitterly, "A part of me felt heartbroken seeing all your hard work float away, and I wish I could keep it." "You always have me," Andre replied. "I can make another portrait of you anytime you want, in any pose. However, if I make a portrait of you looking so sexy, I would have to destroy it afterward because you're for my eyes only.

Charmond's eyes narrowed, sitting next to Charles to listen to the story that would enable him to meet Grace in Switzerland and bring her back to England. The young man straightened his back before starting the story about Laila giving him a gift.A painting that disturbed Charles thoughts about two people was filled with romantic colors.It really depicted an incident when they were in England. He let out cellphone, showing a photo taken of a painting on the wall of the room and showing it to Mr.Charmond. Silence began to fill the room, Mr.Charmond bit his lip after seeing the photo of the painting. It turned out to be an incident that he had seen directly with his eyes while touring the pala

I said, and she laughed, pulling out a magnifying glass. “So, Baronessa Franziska von Lichtenstein,” Linda started, her voice shifting into lecture mode as she examined the brushstrokes. “Yes, Eighteenth-century Prussian noble, known for her dark, mystical themes. This piece was stolen from a gallery warehouse during the war and never recovered. If it’s real, we’re talking millions.” I filled her in. We both knew our shit, art history was so interesting, I knew she would get me instantly! I leaned closer, tracing the frame’s edge. “Look at the detail, the moonlight, the wolves’ expressions. It’s haunting.” I said.