Valentina Reading Novelas e Histórias

Dennise point of View The study smelled like polished wood and old books. Valentina sat in a spill of light at the great desk, hair an arrangement that made paintings jealous, the line of her mouth more delicate than anyone else. “…Make it ready,” she said, each word deliberate. Then, with a small flick of her wrist, she ended the call. Valentina sat behind her grand mahogany desk, her posture perfect, her blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders instead of pinned in one of her elaborate crowns. A faint glow from her laptop screen painted her features as she spoke into the camera.

From there, I will be able to see everything I built and everything that is still being built and everything that has not yet arrived. She reads it back. Does not cross any of it out. From the living room, Clara: "Espera, estic mirant." Valentina closes the notebook. She goes to see what her daughter is looking at. It is, as usual, something entirely worth looking at. She waits. She looks with her. This is also the practice. The best kind.

The door swung inward on silent hinges. Valentina waited in the living room, naked except for the black leather collar still around her throat—the one I’d buckled on her the last night we played. She stood with her hips cocked, one hand trailing down her stomach, offering herself like a gift I never asked for. Once upon a time that body had set me on fire. Long legs, full breasts, the faint scars I’d left across her ass during a particularly rough session. Now? I felt nothing. Not even a flicker. My mind flashed to Elena, her soft curves, her pregnant glow, the way she arched when I touched her gently instead of brutally. Valentina’s nakedness felt like cheap perfume next to Elena’s gracious

she whispered, her heart aching. Valentina turned, eyes narrowing in satisfaction. “Yes. A man of power. Damien Roth.” The name slammed in Valerie’s chest and she didn’t know why, but she swayed where she stood, gripping the railing for balance. Her dreams surged forward….steel-gray eyes, a voice begging her to live. Valentina crossed the balcony, steadying her. “Ah… So the name stirs something in you.” “I… I don’t know him,” Valerie whispered, trembling. Valentina cupped her face, forcing her to meet her gaze. “Then you will meet him in Rome. And whatever ghosts remain in you, querida… we will master them.”

Like something I lost… without even knowing when it slipped away. --- Valentina’s POV The room was dark. I didn’t turn on the lights. I didn’t want to see anything. Not the mirror. Not the walls. Not myself. I sat on the floor, my back against the bed. My hands were cold. My chest felt tight. Everything felt… wrong. Evelyn’s words kept playing in my head. “How long will you stay in this house without giving this family an heir?” I clenched my fists. “I am not weak,” I whispered.

She looked at Julian and then at me, and the expression on her face scrubbed my insides raw. “Get away from her,” I said, but the words came like a cracked radio: static, then sound. Valentina’s laugh cut through the afternoon. The sound was small and sharp, like a glass being tapped. “You know why I’m here,” she said, eyes taking the child in slowly, clinically. She liked the way she watched things like specimens on a slab.

“All right. Where?” “The east veranda.” Antonio gave her a sympathetic look. “Be careful with your words.” The veranda was flooded with late-afternoon light, the sky still gray from the storm. Valentina stood by the marble railing. When Maya approached, Valentina didn’t turn immediately. She was scrolling on her phone, her expression unreadable. Maya cleared her throat softly. “You sent for me, Ms. Vale?” Valentina turned, eyes cool and precise. “It’s Ms. Valentina for you. People close to me call me Vale.”

“Softness. Trust.” Valentina’s lips quivered. She bit her lip so hard it hurt. She felt the sting of rejection sink deep. Elena’s voice came then. It was that small, quiet thing. “Valentina,” she said. “You did your best.” Valentina turned. She saw Elena on the bed. Naked under the sheets. Elena’s eyes shone with warmth. Not pity. Not defeat. Valentina backed toward the door. “Elena,” she whispered. “You—”

FAVINO PENTHOUSE – LATE THAT NIGHT Valentina floated through the front door. Her cheeks were still pink from the cold air and from smiling. She was still glowing from the date. Amelia was in the living room, curled up on the couch, reading a thick book. She looked up when her sister walked in. "You're home late," Amelia said. "It's almost midnight." Valentina collapsed onto the couch beside her with a happy sigh. "We talked for hours. He's amazing, Amelia. Really amazing." "Talked about what?" Amelia set down her book.

Utterly wrong. "You could have find some other way, grandpa!!" Valentina sighed as she tried to remove the rough hand from her wrist, "Mr. Night. I'm here. I'm here." Vakne whispered sweet nothings in his ears, providing him the unasked comfort. . . . Follow me on I*******m author_mariyam