Upstairs At The White House Novels & Stories

he exclaims as he approaches the car. I smile, "You, too." Then we stare at each other's outfits for a while. I can tell we're both thinking the same thing... well I'm thinking one thing: I want to rip his clothes off. But I remember our mission. Clothes-ripping may commence at a later date. "Let's go," I turn toward the road. "You've stolen my job as chauffeur in this relationship." "Sorry," I say insincerely. Not sorry. We arrive at the White House shortly. It's kind of funny that this charity gala--for world hunger--usually has a big ass buffet, with leftovers that inevitably end up in the trash after.

And if president Alex didn’t figure it out soon, this whole damn mess was going to spiral past saving. The moment we stepped into the estate, I regretted bringing them here. This wasn’t a safehouse anymore it was a stage. A playground. Dahlia stormed through the doors first, her heels clacking against polished wood like she’d rehearsed this entrance. She didn’t even glance at the men stationed along the walls, didn’t notice the security cameras humming faintly overhead. She went straight for the lounge like she owned it, flopping onto the leather sofa and grabbing the remote.

“What? Why—” “Just do it.” His tone left no room for argument. She sighed, gripping the handles of his wheelchair and maneuvering through the room, ignoring the judgmental faces watching them. The whispers followed her like shadows. "That’s his wife?" "Why is he going upstairs now?" "Did you see how he looked when Adrian held Sasha?" Ivy kept her head high and her expression neutral, but inside, she hated being the center of their gossip. When they reached the top of the stairs, Harry gestured toward the men’s restroom. “Here.”

The private residence at 10 Downing Street was hushed in the late hours, the heavy oak doors and thick historic walls muffling the city outside. The air carried the faint scent of polished wood, aged leather, expensive whiskey, and the subtle musk of power. Soft lamplight cast warm golden pools across the antique furniture, but upstairs in the private quarters, the atmosphere had turned thick, charged, and dangerously intimate.

Mrs White scolded them. They giggled softly and disappeared upstairs. Brantley and Mila dropped her off, but they did not come in, reason being that: Brantley said that he was owing the twins and he could not face them…not now at least. Mrs White headed upstairs, she was damn tired, but just as her girls had earlier said, 'some time with her husband might be a good option now.' The shower was running when she entered the bedroom. She took off her clothes and decided to join her husband in the shower,but as soon as she stepped foot in the bathroom, the shower stopped and Mr White stepped out naked while wiping off his hair with a tower.

Ethan Cross's penthouse occupied the top three floors of a glass tower on the Upper East Side, the kind of building where the doormen wore white gloves and knew every resident's net worth. Sophia stood in the marble lobby, clutching her mother's hand, feeling like an imposter in designer clothing.

While I have a moment to assess my surroundings, I now become completely aware that we’re above ground, standing in front of a massive, white house, no, mansion. Definitely a mansion. “What the fuck is this? Is he too good to live with his people?” Kai’s hound huffs as if to say “I know right?” “Alright so what’s the pl…” I’m cut off when Matt decides now is a great time to be delusional. “Fuck, there she is!” He pushes past Kai’s hound and runs straight up the wooden stairs and through the big white door.

As he was busy buying vegetables to prepare dinner in the evening, Charlie suddenly received a phone call from Jasmine. After answering the call, Jasmine spoke to him in a serious manner as she said directly, “Mr. Wade, it seems as though Mr. Yaleman has invited some antique, Feng Shui, and metaphysics masters to attend a banquet that would be held at the White family mansion. He wants me to ask you if you have the time to attend this banquet.” “The White family? Who are they?” Jasmine replied, “The White family is a middle-class family with two male descendants, Gerald White and Kevin White.”

I needed to end this conversation quickly. The woman started again, “Anyway, I wanted to invite you to a party at our estate. Would you tell your husb—” I stood up abruptly, cutting her off with a polite smile. “Sorry, how about I bring him here, and you can continue the conversation with him directly?” Their eyes lit up immediately. Of course. The White family was one of the wealthiest in the country. An invitation to Logan White was an invitation to power itself. I turned away, my smile fading the second I did. I walked through the restaurant, scanning the room for Logan. My heels clicked against the polished floor.

____ ~CHAPTER 15 ~~~ [•WHITE•HALL,LONDON•] The palace rose sleek and modern against the London skyline, glass and stone reflecting the city lights. Inside, soft hums and warm light replaced old echoes of chandeliers. Everything was minimal, polished, and purposeful, yet carried a subtle warmth in private corners. The doors to the private wing slid open. President Adrian Whitmore stepped in, shoulders heavy with the day’s weight. His tailored suit was flawless, but fatigue clung to him like a shadow.