Novel & Cerita Upstairs At The White House

Could I outmaneuver someone like her if things went south? Sighing, I straightened from the door. I didn't have time to stand here and question what could go wrong. The president waited upstairs, and I needed to know what he had in mind for his birthday-something small and intimate, and above all, perfect. If I can prove I can pull this off without Madame Browne's interference, I might finally earn more than fleeting approval from this house. I squared my shoulders and headed out. --- The elevator chimed softly as I came to a stop on the top floor, the doors sliding open to reveal the pristine, marble-lined hallway of the president's quarters. My heels clicked softly on the polished floor as

He used his thumb to crease it and it made her heart flutter. Since he wasn't staring at her, Blakeley turned and looked out the window. She bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. They finally got into an estate and Alex withdrew his hand from her thigh, the car stopped in front of a White House and Blakeley became tense again. “Are your parents the president of the United States?” She found herself asking as they walked out of the car. “No.” “So why is it a White House?” She asked as she looked around. “Because they decided to make the house white.” He replied and Blakeley nodded in response.

“There is the servants’ bathroom. That and the ones half bath upstairs at the only restrooms you are permitted to use. Follow me.” When her back was turned, Violet wrinkled her nose. They had permitted bathrooms? Back upstairs, Mrs. Chaplin began showing her around the mansion. The first floor was public, meaning anyone could move around unrestricted. There was an office/library where the alpha had meetings with guests that didn’t require a high level of privacy, there were also three guest bedrooms, another restroom that servants weren’t allowed to use, and the family dining room, then the kitchens where the servants ate their meals, and another staircase leading to a holding area. Violet d

Christopher wanted to beat them up when he saw that. However, Wilbur intervened and said, "Let's go. We have business to attend to." Christopher let it be and followed Wilbur to the elevator. The man laughed out loud and asked, "What the hell? Who does he think he is?" Wilbur entered the elevator, and they arrived at the reserved room. Wilbur had to admit that it was more luxurious than any presidential suite he stayed in. The room had a sky roof, a spa bathroom, top-notch furniture, and all sorts of high-end devices. It was extremely glamorous.

I was not really particular about the exact details of the exterior of the house because it looks nice and the colors blend properly so I don’t have a problem with it, so I stepped into the house through the wide door after pushing it open, hoping to step into the living room, but instead of seeing normal furnitures the first entry space of the building is a decorated space that leads to a transparent door that I push open to see a living room. As soon as I set my foot into the dainty White House, I couldn’t help but marvel at how carefully the white color of the house is beautifully complements the grey leather furnitures and ash Velvet drapes that framed the windows as the lace inner curta

I discreetly slipped it into my bag, making sure it was clearly visible, within easy reach. If Alexander wanted a meeting, fine. He'd get one, but not the one he envisioned. I left the apartment, locked the door, and hailed a taxi on the street. "The Walker White House," I told the driver as I settled into the back seat. Everyone knew the Walker White House. It wasn't just a residence; it was a statement of self. People said it was bigger and more beautiful than the President's White House. And honestly, I believed it. The Walkers lived off power and luxury. This house was their crown jewel.

They saw me as Julian's strongest pillar of support. So, were they part of this too? A terrifying thought formed in my mind. The next day, I bought a selection of expensive supplements and drove to the White residence. The door was opened by their longtime housekeeper. When she saw me, her face broke into a warm, almost affectionate smile. "Ms. Monica's here! Mr. and Mrs. White Senior are having afternoon tea in the garden." I walked through the living room and headed toward the back garden. From a distance, I already heard laughter.