The Hôtel Le Diamant Royal stands majestically in the heart of the city. Its large windows reflect the soft street lights, while the opulent interior is decorated with veined marble and crystal chandeliers that sparkle with the slightest movement. A subtle scent of amber floats in the air, blending with the gentle music of a piano that harmoniously mingles with the murmur of conversations. The reception desk, made of dark, polished wood, contrasts elegantly with the golden mirrors adorning the walls. Velvet midnight-blue armchairs invite relaxation, while an immense fresco depicting a starry sky stretches majestically across the ceiling.
The reception desk, made of dark, polished wood, seems like a jewel box where every detail has been carefully designed to charm and soothe. The golden mirrors on the walls multiply the light, creating an atmosphere that is both luxurious and intimate.
Nickolas, arms crossed, waits for the receptionist to finish her task. His gaze lingers on Estelle, his smile as calm as ever, a spark of interest in his eyes.
— I hope you've already booked a nice soundproof suite?
— Of course, it's already done, you little rascal.
She lets out a small laugh, her sweet and teasing voice resonating in the calm air of the lobby. The intoxicating scent of the hotel seems to blend with her presence, creating a strange environment where the line between desire and indifference blurs.
— Good evening, I have a reservation under the name Estelle MontClair. Would you kindly give me the key to my room, please?
— Good evening, miss. Of course. One moment, let me check your reservation.
After consulting the computer.
— Your room is ready. Here is your room key. You're in room 118. Would you like someone to assist you with your luggage?
— Yes, of course, with pleasure.
The receptionist gestures to a bellboy, who approaches with a smile.
— Our bellboy will be more than happy to assist you. May I offer anything else to make your stay even more enjoyable?
— Before we head up to our room, could you also send up a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal, please? I'd like my boyfriend and I to enjoy it as soon as we're settled in.
— Of course, madam. I will ensure that a bottle of Cristal is delivered to your room immediately. Would you like some flutes and perhaps something to nibble with your champagne?
The receptionist takes note of the request, and the room service will arrange for the champagne to be delivered directly to the room.
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Arriving in their room, they can't hold back anymore. Their lips seek each other impatiently, their bodies pressed against one another, their breaths mingling in a passionate kiss.
Nickolas, his voice husky against her ear, his lips slowly trailing down her neck:
— You're so... irresistible... grrr... His hands roam across her back as he traces a line of burning kisses along her neck, his breath leaving a heated shiver behind.
Estelle, shivering under his lips, teases him by lightly biting her lip:
— Mmm... keep going... She smiles, amused, before whispering provocatively, "Do it again..."
He gently lifts his head, his eyes dark with desire, getting lost in hers:
— Do what exactly? His playful smile betrays an impatience to tease her.
Estelle, laughing mischievously, lightly pushes him with her fingertips, her voice full of mischief:
— Your little lion cub growl, it makes me laugh so much... She mimics a soft "grrr" while teasing him gently.
Nickolas, his smile turning more teasing, his gaze burning with intensity:
— Oh, you're making fun of me? He brings his face close to hers, his voice lowering... You'll soon see how this "cub" will make you roar like a lioness...
Their eye contact intensifies, the tension between them becoming palpable as he presses his lips to hers with passion. Their bodies press against each other, their desire taking over.
Suddenly, Nickolas lifts her into his arms, surprising her as she lets out a small scream and laughs, her arms around his neck.
— What are you doing? she whispers, a smile on her lips, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
The young man carries her to the bed, gently laying her down. Their laughter mixes with the heat, as he leans over her, his hands tracing her curves, his lips quickly finding hers.
— Ready to roar? he whispers in a low, sensual voice, his gaze burning with desire.
Estelle, still amused but caught up in the passion of the moment, lets her laughter fade into a whisper:
— Show me...
The tension rises, without hesitation, Nickolas captures her lips with renewed passion, their bodies surrendering to one another, their laughter fading away to be replaced by pure passion.
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The clock's hands lightly touch 8:30 PM when Estelle's parents finally cross the threshold of the manor, their faces marked by the fatigue of a long day.
With a weary gesture, Franck removes his coat, carefully hanging it on the coat rack by the entrance.
In a voice that carries natural authority, softened by exhaustion, he calls out:
— Kids, we're home!
Annaëlle emerges from the kitchen, a large pot of chocolate ice cream in her hands, a spoon already raised to her lips. Her eyes light up as she sees Franck and Martha.
— Ah, finally! You're here! she exclaims with boundless energy. I was about to send out a search team; I was starting to think you'd decided to set up camp at the office!
She digs another spoonful into her ice cream, savoring the sweet cold as it melts on her tongue.
Franck raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms, eyeing her with a mock-severe look:
— And you, are you planning to finish the whole pot by yourself? You do know that a dessert this size should be declared a public service, right?
A playful smile lingers on his lips as he shares a knowing glance with his wife.
Martha, tiredly removing her earrings:
— Oh... Where is Estelle?
Annaëlle, a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth, responds nonchalantly:
— She's at a party with her boyfriend.
Martha raises an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest.
— A party? At this hour? she sighs. But where exactly?
Annaëlle, with a spoonful of ice cream still in her mouth, innocently shrugs her shoulders.
— She just told me to let you know that she'd be home tomorrow and not to wait up for her…
Franck, exasperated, runs a hand over his face and shoots an irritated look at his wife.
— She has school tomorrow, and she's off who knows where, without even asking for permission! Honestly, your daughter is unbelievable!
— I'll give her a piece of my mind as soon as she gets home…
She slumps down on the couch, already tired at the thought of yet another argument with her daughter.
Martha stands up, holding her coat with an elegant hand, her gesture an extension of her natural grace. Her eyes scan the room as she waits for everything to be in order around her, every object in its place.
— Where are the other servants? she asks in a calm voice, but with a hint of impatient expectation.
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