Who Sang Blurred Lines Novels & Stories

"Vance, don't forget that kiss because that's the sign of how I feel for you. That kiss will bind the two of us together. A kiss that will remind the two of us." I STILL stared in the direction where Liano and Steven were. Steven still turning his back in my direction. I stopped moving as the people around me continued dancing. The music was still very loud around but it was as if the roaring cry of my wounded heart was dominating the surroundings. I took a deep breath when my eyes started to welled up by tears. When the light suddenly goes out.

Each measurement I explained, I saw a sparkle of emotion in Anne's eyes, but in Dereck I saw hesitation. Being in the last image, the door opened and I saw a gray-haired lady entering. She wore a light blue blazer and pants set, a white shirt that matched her bag and her white closed toe shoes. She had everyone's attention, but her gaze was on me. “Good afternoon,” I greeted. “You... “ She took off her sunglasses, opening her mouth. “Mom, it’s finally here, sit down.” Derek got up and went to her, but she took a step back.

Just two people, one afraid of losing herself, the other terrified of losing everything else. And the lines between them blurred.

Flashes exploded like lightning against the glass façade of Linèa Cosmetics headquarters. Not one camera. Not ten. Dozens. Journalists swarmed the front entrance, microphones raised like weapons, their voices blending into a wall of noise. Security guards locked arms, forming a barrier as reporters pushed forward, desperate to pierce the silence inside. And all of it,every chaotic second because of one thing: Vanessa in Dubai. With another man. A man who wasn’t Jerome.

Blinding. Something collides with the back of my skull and my world tips. I collapse forward, hands scraping against the floor, vision flickering. The voice changes. Now female. Cold. Detached. “He talks too much.” My blood sings in my ear. My body is failing me, limbs heavy as lead. The man speaks again, voice lower. “He’s remembering, that’s the problem.” I try to lift my head and everything spins. Then I feel it–something brushing my face. Fabric. Tight. Restricting.