Penthouse Novelas e Histórias

I paused, letting the question sink in as she shot me a deadly glare. I continued, my voice low but unwavering. “Because I heard that the penthouse takes up the entire 90th to 110th floors. It’s worth 200 million and was recently purchased…by someone who clearly doesn’t need to flaunt it to prove their worth.” I held her gaze, a slight smirk playing on my lips as the reality of my words sank in.

Home sweet home! The tall skyscraper was situated at the center of the most expensive and busiest district in the City. The penthouse suite at the very top of the building, which comprised the entire two floors, included a spacious living room, a state-of-the-art kitchen, one master bedroom, several guest rooms, a private gym, a game room, a viewing room, a maid’s quarters, and more. Not to mention its own private pool and a helipad on the rooftop.

Three months. I could do anything for three months. Even this. “Fine,” I said. “Send me the address.” Adrian Vale’s penthouse sat thirty stories above the city, gleaming glass and steel like something cut from ice and arrogance. The kind of place where people lived alone on purpose, just to remind the world how untouchable they were. The private elevator hummed up, slow and silent. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror-polished walls: dark suit, darker scowl, jaw already locked like I was walking into a war zone instead of a job.

“We are.” The penthouse had billions. This house had $4,200 short. And everything. End

Dawn broke. The fog over New York hadn’t cleared. Slanting morning light streamed through the eighty-centimeter-thick bulletproof glass of the penthouse. The air conditioning blasted cold. The water-cooled industrial-grade mainframe hummed low and steady. On the long console, the high-frequency curved screens glowed a piercing green. A long progress bar remained at the far right: [Physical Property Forced Transfer Progress: 100%] Everything was locked. Every piece of land above the mother nest deep beneath the city now belonged to one person.

For the first time in a long while, challenge thrilled instead of frightened her. They stopped before a massive table displaying the model of a residential tower. Celeste tapped the tablet. “Penthouse A. Target buyer profile: international investor, mid-fifties, values exclusivity. Current proposal approved by procurement but stalled by sales.” Renderings appeared. Dark woods. Heavy furniture. Gold detailing. Expensive. Soulless. Yesha studied it in silence. “Well?” Celeste asked. “It looks like a hotel lobby pretending to be a home.” Several nearby designers glanced up.

The penthouse is less an apartment and more a kingdom in the sky, with the same rustic factory Renaissance theme. The elevator opens directly into the mudroom — rows of shoes in a neat rack along the wall — combat boots, polished leather, battered sneakers, skates — a weird catalog of who they are. The little wooden bench is scuffed from restless feet, and above it hangs a lineup of coats ranging from sleek designer wool to beat-up military jackets. In the corner, making a bold statement, is a large steel yacht door, using a doglock system, leading to the stairway.

Gale supported me and we continued towards it, he punched in a pass code and the door opened after so we walked right in. The place was so big and beautiful, it had a luxurious view of the whole city at the balcony, a big kitchen to fit a small restaurant. Four bedrooms and three bathrooms, two living rooms. One on the first floor and other up stairs and then a dining and two balcony views. I turned to Gale cause I was so sure of one thing, he hadn't raised enough money to purchase this penthouse. It was too big and so beautiful and comfortable. Gale seemed to notice my look and sighed in a bit of am very much innocent "I didn't buy this place "

the property manager had said with the deference reserved for old money and older influence, "we'd be honored to have you as a resident. Your family's reputation precedes you." The irony wasn't lost on me. The same family name that had imprisoned me was now the key to my liberation. The penthouse was a monument to minimalist luxury—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city's glittering sprawl, furniture selected for aesthetic precision rather than comfort, and enough empty space to make the loneliness feel intentional rather than accidental. I stood at those windows on my first night, watching the city pulse with life below, and understood something fundam

But I knew why I was here and it was expected for third year students to show their so called and and muscles when home alone and doing workouts. So, I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin. "Can I come in?" Cold. Detached. I didn’t have time to pretend like I wasn’t pissed. Nate arched a brow, stepping aside. "By all means." I walked past him, eyes barely flickering toward Ryder, who was watching me closely, unreadable. The second I stepped inside— I took it all in. The penthouse was insane. It wasn’t just luxury—it was the kind of place you saw in magazines. Designed to intimidate.