Unrepentant

Trois

Gentle rays of sunshine glistened against the rain-washed marble terrace tiles, a soft precipitation motif propagated through the traditional parasitic windows of the mansion-styled penthouse, presenting a precious panorama aloft Paris.

With avenues, manufactured of medieval cobblestones, interlaced like a beautiful interlacement, and charming local boutiques, gradually opening. Underground departing subways moderately shook the tortured streets.

It was a classic map of classic architecture, a delicious feast for people's eyes.

Soft music was played through a wireless stereo installation, installed inside the large mansion-styled apartment and let Clarisse's sun-drenched white nightgown, aesthetically swing to its melancholic rhythm.

A shabby term she didn't know was real. Credible, even.

The blissful aroma of a latterly ground cup of coffee, bathing in a dash of skimmed milk, struck her tender olfactory sense along with a stroking, generous northern breeze.

Delicate, veiled as a delightful daydream.

Sensually Nadine took a sip, her cherry-glazed lips surrounded the white porcelain cup as she absorbed the hot drink with a lusty famine. The intensified liquid slipped inside, seamlessly, and left a mildly burning, itchy trail behind in her throat.

She felt tranquil, for once. Contributed by the cynical silence, a fearsome enemy she detested down to the very last detail, and a villain who could carve deeper into her lethal heart beyond anything the truth might ever do.

Initially unbelievable, although at one point, it was the only thing that would be the ultimate disguise to deaden her lies and twisted games. To cloak the person she used to be. Long before her gracious heart turned shades darker, and became imbued with a murderous desire for manipulation and homicidal crimes.

Diseased.

Nadine simply couldn't shine without the infamous darkness, it characterized her, became her safe place. It was who she was, the individual she was intended to be. What made her the woman with a loud spirit sitting in all silence, smiling, and knowing that she could destruct you with the slightest snap of her finger.

Because where people alleged to know her, they didn't at all. Nobody actually knew anything about Nadine Vasiliev.

At least, that's what she assumed.

Her lackluster sense of bipolar euphoria became rapidly interrupted by the sharp ringing sound of her phone, resting untouched on the black marble terrace table. Mildly heated by the subdued sunlight, emerging from behind the creamy clouds.

A flash of tedious awareness was shown on her celestial face, emerald eyes showed a kind of agitated irritation against the only one deranged person who dared to disturb her peacefulness.

With an almost untouched phone, consisting of only two stored contacts, it wasn't exactly difficult for Nadine to guess it was Alessio Windsor, her twenty-nine-year-old co-worker, who risked his life by calling her up at nine in the morning. Literally.

You needed heroic courage to dare to bother her.

"Tu es mort." Her sweet dazed lips breathed in a mumbling way, as her manicured fingers accepted the sudden call, tongue sensually swallowing some escaped drops of sugary caffeine, that were trickling off her plethoric lips.

Nadine's malicious irritation didn't go unnoticed by the person on the other line, as her satin-soft voice hailed him, snappy. He grinned due to her spicy attitude.

His younger colleague was ferocious, and Alessio Windsor enjoyed it.

"Good morning, chérie. I hope I didn't interrupt anything, did I?" He started, innocently, pouring some oil on the fire, still sensitive. French accent dripping like sweeteners, a defiant coating.