Marcel Gerard の小説・ストーリー

He put some food in his mouth and enjoyed the flavor before saying, "Mr. Gulliver, I'll do everything I can. However, in terms of the benefits…" Kelvin smiled thinly and took out a check from his pocket. He pushed it over to Marcel. Marcel glanced at it and immediately refused, saying, "Oh, Mr. Gulliver. Before I can be sure about whether or not I can help, you don't need to be so polite." Marcel wasn't an idiot. The Gullivers and Sebastian had been locked in a fierce battle for quite some time. Although Sebastian was a relatively unknown nobody, he did have connections with Zeke from Steinberg Pharma.

Marcel says laughing. "Brother try and relax, you don't need to be so uptight especially with us"Marcel says as he taps prince Aldrich on his shoulder in an understanding manner. Marcellus is the son of one of the most wealthiest and influential person in Nevera, his father holds the position as the king's right hand man and advisor. His father is a friend of my father and "High Lord Duncan" is a very hard man. So of any one can understand the burden that comes with being the son of someone that influential and powerful then that someone is Marcel...

He looked like Father Christmas, except he had no big belly and he doesn't say ho ho ho. "Camila, so wonderful to see you"Marcel says with open arms as he walked toward me. "Marcel, you look richer every time I see you"I smile engulfed in his hug. Marcel Clair, one of the managers at Clair Enterprises, no one had ever seen the real boss, I've heard they just take orders as they come and do as they are told. Marcel was a nice old man, standing tall enough to almost fit through most doors, which is why the doors inside his house had to be an extreme feet or two long. He was recently married, his wife was a nice woman, whom I've only spoken to or seen a few times.

he questioned. "It's there also" Marcel replied as he fixed his rounded glasses to the bridge of his nose. The sight made him ooze out nothing but the excellent aura of brilliance. He had always accomplished all tasks he was given neatly. He was a young man, still in his early twenties but the things he could accomplish surpassed his age. He was well respected in the company, and publicly known as the well-reputed assistant of the boss of IMPERIAL. Axel hardly came out to the public, so not everyone has seen him but everyone knew who his assistant was.

I leave Keil in a derogatory way "any worm with sufficient knowledge can do that." "NO!" InGrid said, raising the voice "You're wrong" shaking with his head, she cloves her gaze at Keil "Marcel is a prodigy. Magic requires study and dedication; Together with a certain level of affinity and talent. He has achieved in a month to do what he generally took months and even a year to learn. This we are doing with Marcel is not ethical, we are forcing the mind and body of him to the limit; This is detrimental to the exit of him, Marcel is a human, ended up breaking ... "

Marcel was an asset that she had acquired for her kids and her company. Her Grandmother's brows raised in question. Almost like she hadn't heard those words from her granddaughter before and it didn't seem quite right coming from her. "Marcel come in." All eyes stared up at the impossibly tall man. "Mommy, who is that man?" Maurice asked. "Yes, who is that man?" Abigail took a big breath."His name is Marcel Williams, my husband and your father."

“Is Marcel okay? Did something happen? Please tell me that he at the pack…” I laughed. Soft. Cutting. Cruel. “Oh, he’s fine. He is in the pack, just as he always is…” I said. “Perfectly well and pleased with himself, too proud to admit when he is wrong or actually think that he might be making a mistake.” “I don’t understand?” Elara asked, frowning when she heard my tone, clearly trying to process my words. “Is Marcel okay? Did he do something that he would regret? Is it true that he went out last night the way he did?”

Men like Lance come here not only for perfection in their attire but for the assurance that what happens here will never slip into the outside world. The tailor himself, Marcel Leclair, is a man in his late fifties. He is compact, precise in movement, with a thin frame that seems designed for efficiency. His face is lined, not from weariness, but from years of intense concentration, his gray hair combed back neatly, his glasses sitting firmly on the bridge of his nose. Marcel has clothed men who ruled industries, politicians who shaped laws, and actors who dazzled the world. Yet, when Lance Vallerand walks through his door, Marcel treats him as though he is the pinnacle of his career. For Ma

The shift was subtle at first, but it was there. “If you don’t do as I say, something bad is going to happen to you,” Marcel added. That did it. Gerald’s laughter stopped completely. His expression changed in an instant, the amusement replaced by anger, his eyes narrowing as he leaned forward slightly. “Is that a threat?” he asked, his voice sharp. Marcel sighed quietly, his gaze steady as he looked at Gerald. “Listen, I don’t have enough time to explain,” he said, his tone more serious now, and something about the way he said it made Gerald pay closer attention. “My boss wants you not just out of this city, but grossly disgraced or even dead.”