Story cover for The Contract. {H•S} by HarrysBannanas113
The Contract. {H•S}
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    Reads 69
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    Parts 4
  • WpHistory
    Time 20m
  • WpView
    Reads 69
  • WpVote
    Votes 5
  • WpPart
    Parts 4
  • WpHistory
    Time 20m
Ongoing, First published Jan 31, 2016
"I won't be able to see my parents?" Elizabeth's eyes were fixated on the small globe on my fathers desk. 

"I'm afraid not, you will have to come up with an excuse, something to draw their suspicion." I could see the tears gathering around her dough eyes, I can't say I feel bad for her, she got herself into this mess. 

"Eighteen months is a long time." Her frail fingers combed through her untameable wavy hair. 

"I have a condition, if this is going to happen," all eyes in the room suddenly turned to me. "After the eighteen months are up, I never want her near me again. Add it to a clause in the contract. She's to leave Portland, and never return."
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Something Borrowed

51 parts Complete

Caught up in the sins and glamour of high society life, Astoria became the girl no one could trust. In order to return to grace, she must do the unthinkable: find a husband before the end of the year... before her mother chooses for her. With only 3 months remaining in the year, she decided to return to the limelight and reengages of high society life. But with everything she needed to build a future, only one question rings in her mind as she faces her fate: was it worth the price? __ The lighting was dull, but I could still see the shadows of his strong jawline, and the broad, muscular build he hid under his suit jacket. I wished I could see more of him-I wished I could see his face. I was intrigued by him, by the man who couldn't seem to look away. I blinked a few times before turning my cheek, suddenly conscious of the way his hidden eyes bore into me; I could almost feel the intensity of his gaze burning holes into my skull. Maybe he knew who I was; maybe he was one of the people I had crossed, they all looked the same to me. I had too many skeletons in my closet to be able to keep track of who was an ally and who was an enemy. If he was the latter, God help me. It was just the two of us outside now on the once compact Parisian streets. We were completely alone. He could do or say whatever he wanted and no one would bare witness. And yet, neither of us moved, too afraid to disrupt the perfect serenity of the moment. I opened my mouth to speak, but I could not bring myself to utter a word. For the first time, I was scared to know what someone was thinking about me. I wanted to know the type of woman he saw staring back at him. I hoped he saw the woman I was pretending to be: the regal, glamorous, refined young lady I'd been bred to become. But somehow I knew he saw me differently. The man who could not look away could see everything, and I just hoped, for the both of us, that he saw how sorry I was.