Romans & histoires Novel Upper Westside

I took the usual shortcut home through the park. Typically, it was always a bad idea to travel alone through Central Park, but it was the middle of the day and I had nothing to worry about except my own clumsy feet getting stuck in the snow. To state this very clearly, I am a klutz. Floors and walls are my greatest enemies. The building I go to was directly off of Central Park West, actually known as the West Apartments. The outside of the building was rustic but elegant, and if you were a full paying tenant of the building you’d also experience luxury internal designs year-round. But I was not a full paying tenant, and technically I didn’t actually live in the building, but behind it, above

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.

"I'm at a place called Nick's on the Upper East Side. Shit, they're coming my way, what do I do?" What the hell was she doing there? If Lun wasn't mistaken, it was one of the worst places in New York. The pub was frequented by thugs, substance dealers and women eager to acquire new, wealthy customers. The children of important businessmen went there regularly. A fleeting thought crossed her mind: had Alissa gone there consciously, to look for them?

I cut in. He studies my face, confused by the intensity. “She’s someone I've known in New York for a while now. We used to fuck around till I had to move here.” New York. Pregnant. Messy. Fuck around with. This same Julia. My breathing becomes uneven. “Where in New York?” I press. He frowns slightly. “Upper East Side mostly. Why?” Upper East Side. My throat closes. “What’s her full name?” I ask. Now he’s really looking at me.

The doorman didn’t ask questions. That was part of why Dorian had chosen this place. Upper West Side. Twenty-second floor. No cameras in the hallway. Keypad entry, biometric override, and a name on the lease that wasn’t hers. Vivienne Blake now Celeste Vaughn stood in the middle of her new apartment with one suitcase and a shoebox full of burned memories. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. It sparkled like a postcard, a world she hadn’t walked in freely for over a year. The living room was blank, sterile clean lines, ash-gray furniture, untouched marble countertops.

245 West 163rd Street, Apt 4B New York, NY 10032. For a woman who loves to go after the rich and mighty she lives in the middle-class side of the city, how fun, guess she knows how to cover her tracks better than I thought. Well Sienna, time to pay you a little visit, you don’t get to go silent on me and not expect a reaction.

Bianca Sunday mornings in New York weren’t quiet. They were never quiet. But for once, my apartment was. The city still moved outside my window—horns, distant music, someone shouting in Spanish down the block—but inside my little studio on the Upper West Side, it felt like the air was holding its breath. Like it knew tomorrow wasn’t just another Monday. I sat cross-legged on my bed, wearing an oversized hoodie and sipping lukewarm coffee from my favorite mug. The words “Boss Babe” were starting to fade off the side, but I wasn’t ready to let it go.

She said. “Yeah, he was.” I smiled. “I'll text you their address. See you soon.” “See ya.” The dialtone clicked and I sighed. “See you soon, Fatty Benson.” **** Navigating my way to Upper East New York was one of the best experiences I've ever had in my life. I saw lots of intimidating skyscrapers, flashy sportcars, and apartments that probably cost millions. So this is where Fatty Benson lives now. He must be enjoying life as it is.

Atlas had given her nothing but kindness and respect, even if Anais was a whore. She watched the city go by as they made their way to Atlas’ house. Anais thought about the places she had lived in her life and nothing compared to what she was about to enter. Atlas must have a nice apartment. There was nothing middle class about the Upper West Side and Anais knew that she was going to be in a place that was even nicer than the lounge at the club. That would be her new home for however long this alpha decided to keep her. Anais swallowed down her unease and held Cas' hand more tightly. She had wanted a mate and pups, but she didn’t think she would ever get them, let alone like this.