Who Am I From Les Miserables Novels & Stories

The memory felt so distant that it was almost blurry. “When I was a child, Madam abandoned me on the streets of New York. A boy took me back to the Moretti family and even bought me food. All I remember is that he was from Chicago, but I never got a good look at his face. It was the first time someone had been kind to me, and I always wanted to thank him properly.” I lowered my gaze slightly. “To be honest, Dante, I’ve wavered many times. I like it here, but I’ve been abandoned too many times to learn that if someone isn’t meant for me, I won’t allow myself to get caught up in a relationship where I become dependent on them.”

But even sitting right next to me, with his large hand tightly interlocked with mine, Demon kept parting his lips only to swallow his words. "I'm from North Carolina," he finally said. My eyes snapped wide open. "You... you're from America too?" I asked, surprise leaping into my voice. He gave a slow, rigid nod. "I was born and raised in North Carolina until I was six years old," he replied. A wave of understanding washed over me. So that's why. That was the reason his English was so flawless, why he sounded exactly like me and Ruby—completely different from the thick French accents of Manon, Zenia, and everyone else in L'impasse des Ombres.

His apron was dusted with flour, and he wore a crooked, easy smile. "Bonjour, monsieur," I replied sheepishly. "Unfortunately, my French is... embarrassingly rusty." "Ahh… une Américaine," he teased with a light laugh. "You could’ve fooled me. You look like a real Parisienne." I smiled. "Well, it’s actually my first day in Paris." He stepped back in mock astonishment. "Premier jour?!" He clasped a hand over his heart. "Then your breakfast, mademoiselle, is most certainly on the house."

I’m not who you think I am. ‘Who do you think I think you are?’ Ariston asked quietly. ‘The woman you met in that bar. That glamorous, confident, sexy woman.’ She let out a shaky laugh. ‘Not that I’m trying to be arrogant, but that’s how I wanted to be...to seem.’ Ariston was silent for a moment, then finally asked, "Who are you, then?" ‘A street rat from Marseilles.’ She glanced at him, expecting to see, if not disgust, then at least surprise. But Ariston looked completely unfazed.

she excitedly said. "Wait." I stopped her by grabbing her wrist and headed to the entrance located at the south leg of the tower. I showed my business ID card to the employee. They let us in after. I don't want to brag but my reputation reached here in Paris. I keep following Lianne every time she runs from here to there. "Wow! Caleb look!" she pointed at the little crowded people, doing their own business. I've always been here in Paris. This is my birthplace but at the age of 8, this is also the place where mom died in an accident, and dad almost abandoned me since he was depressed about losing mom.

Lana sat in the chair next to me and we began to share breakfast. “So how long have you been here?” “Ever since my father died. He owed a lot of money to Mr. Turgenev and I was brought here to pay off his debts.” “Oh my God. That’s horrible. How long do you have to stay here?” “Until they tell me that the debt is paid off.” “I’m so sorry.” “Where are you from?” she asked. “I’m from New York.” “Wow. You’re a long way from home.” “Yes, I am.”

I wasn’t a private investigator, but desperation made me resourceful. Lucien Rousseau. French national. Ex-businessman with a portfolio that spanned tech investments, real estate, and offshore accounts. His name cropped up in legal disputes, yet he always emerged unscathed. A ghost, barely leaving a trail. But the connections I found whispered of something darker: affiliations with individuals who operated outside the bounds of legality. Smugglers, brokers, and power players in Europe.

she insisted, jutting her chin out for a fight Opening my arms wide, I began to spill my history "my name is Gabriel Washington, I'm from London, but my family moved to Italy where they started our family business. Three years ago, I relocated to New York for a fresh start" smiling at her although nothing about her hiding something from me is amusing "see...I just told you my history within a minute because I have nothing to hide, so why are you so afraid of disclosing yours? Is there something you are not telling me?" Licking her dry lips, her eyes darted towards the door as if seeking for escape. She released a deep breath before she finally spoke. "I'm from Lebec, California"

Catherine's POV. "Catherine, where are you from?" A female voice asked and I frowned. Why can't everyone just eat their fucking dinner and get out?! I looked up from my food in the direction of the woman that just asked me a question and I gave her a forceful smile before replying, "I'm from a small town in Italy." I have no idea where I am from, I don't know my family, I stayed with a woman who claimed to be my aunt and I ran away from her when she wanted to turn me into a s.ex slave.

He squinted at me and shrugged. “I forgot to ask; where are you from, you don’t look like an American” he stated, he really guess right “I’m from Africa, Briland City” I stated, he smiled “Wow…Africa…you remind me of someone…someone really dared to me” he whispered the last part, but I heard him clearly. I bowed and left when I noticed he had nothing to say. He seems nice, unlike his proud daughter. I wonder where he got her from. ~~~~~