Novel & Cerita The Woman Who Was Kept On A Shelf

The chatty woman stared at them, fear dawning on her face as she became aware that something was not quite right. “Ever since, ever…” she stammered. Proserpina leant forward, urgency and pleading in her voice as she whispered, “Please,” she whispered intently, “Please, it is important. It could be a matter of life and death.” The woman thought for a while. Then she began, ” A few weeks ago, maybe a month. I asked if she had visitors because she bought a… she bought a man’s shirt, the biggest size in the shop. Two shirts, actually…”

Keenan continued to tell Sharlynn about the late Maria between their steps so that she could remember her mother and follow in her footsteps. When the elevator box opened, Sharlynn stepped out enthusiastically, eager to see her late mother's room. She had been with the company to help her father, but Heinz had never shown her his late wife's room. Not only Sharlynn but also Odette and Julian never knew of the existence of the room, which was always locked tightly.

The light was dim but a large object in the middle of the room was shining. "You're not going to believe this," said Anton and led us towards that shining light. As we got closer and closer, my chest pounded more and more. When I finally saw what that bright thing was, my whole system started to rumble and in an instant, I felt better. But the shock still remained in my whole being. A glass showcase was there and inside it came a bright light. Inside that glass showcase was a very beautiful woman who seemed to be just sleeping. It seems that it is still alive and just sleeping. Is this his mom?

The morning after Jaxon reappeared in her life, Irene sat in her office with her fingers pressed hard into her temples, as if the right amount of pressure could keep her past from spilling out. Her reflection glared back from the sleek black screen of her laptop—flawless makeup, ironed blouse, lips that didn’t tremble even when the rest of her did. That was the image she gave the world: Irene Nowell. Polished. Untouchable. The kind of woman who didn’t have ghosts clawing at her every night.

I just hated that they didn't have a happy ending. I closed it with a snap and jumped down from the table to put it back on the shelf when I saw something through the vacant space on the shelf. It was a picture. I went around the shelf as I pulled out the large portrait from behind the shelf. It was dusty. I looked at the smiling face of the woman in the portrait and I recognised her instantly. I'd seen her face so many times on the television and on the Internet. She was Roberta Rossi. The supermodel ex wife of Mr Rossi. She was stunning. A very beautiful woman. Her beauty was unreal.

The older woman is on the verge of tears. “I can’t go to him!” I repeat. “What is going on here?” I turn sharply to see her. The woman who walked into the dining room right as I was leaving minutes ago. “Sabrina, we have a problem.” one of the housekeepers says. “The boss’s wife—” “She is not the boss’s wife!” Sabrina cuts in. “She’s just a collateral until her thieving fiancé pays for his redemption. So? What did she do?” “The vases… she bumped into us and broke them.” someone replies.

There's nothing else in it but two closed white doors that go to my wardrobe and bathroom. Only a nail remained from a framed portrait of Monica, poised on a bar stool in the Cerberus, with a carefree grin over her shoulder. A woman who played favourites, but for whom we would have gone to any length. That photograph is now on the top shelf of my wardrobe, too valuable to throw away and too valuable to hide.

She prepared to shift, just in case she had been tricked. “The morgue.” The woman stepped inside and flicked on her flashlight, illuminating rows of rusty metal cupboards. The air was frigid, but the morgue looked like it hadn’t been used in a very long time. “I need you to do something when you get out. If you want Richard to be put to a stop for good, that is.” Lilith’s stomach turned as the woman walked over to a table at the center of the room, where a single plastic sheet was covering something small and round. She gave Lilith an almost apologetic look, then removed the plastic sheet.

She paused. Something moved in her expression. The briefest softening of something she kept very well maintained. “I just needed to say that to someone who would believe me,” she said. The study was quiet around us. I looked at her in the doorway of the room she had never entered before, the room where I did the work I didn’t perform for anyone, and I thought about six years of a woman keeping herself together in rooms full of people who had decided she was less than she was, who had needed her to be less than she was, who had built an entire structure of guilt and blame and shame specifically designed to make sure she stayed exactly as small as they needed her to be.

The champagne glass slipped from Jack Knight’s hand and shattered across the ballroom floor. The sound cut through the music. Conversations died instantly. Heads turned, investors froze mid-laugh, even the violinists missed a note. Jack didn’t notice any of them. He was staring at the woman standing beneath the crystal chandelier like he’d just seen someone rise from the dead. “Mildred…”, he breathed. The first time Mildred Jones walked into the Knight Grand Hotel, she left in tears. Tonight, she returned in diamonds, and before midnight, she planned to start tearing the family apart.