NOVA VISEU- THE HOUSE REGINA BUILT

🌟 Editor's Note

Please be advised this content is for mature audiences. Regina Young and “Young Realty” are figments of the authors imagination. This is a Human-AI Hybrid Creation. Stay Creative :)

The Guest House

The year was 1986 and Regina Young was the most dangerous woman in Real Estate…

She had the look: teased black hair, power suits with shoulder pads sharp enough to cut glass, lips like bloodied strawberries. Her office phone never stopped ringing — buyers begged to be shown homes they couldn’t afford, just to be near her.

The phone rang, sharp and insistent, cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke that clouded her whole office. A picture of Ginger Lynn hanging in a wall right in front of Regina’s glass desk.

Regina Young’s blood-red nails tapped out a slow rhythm against the glass of her whiskey.

“Young Realty” she answers, voice as violet velour : “This is Regina. How may I tempt you?”

The voice on the other end immediately made her drip... She purred on the phone, like a cat in heat.

Brett J. Brooks was on the other side of the line. A Venture capitalist. A man used to taking what he wanted. Rolex on wrist, Armani suit. B&B engraved cufflinks made of gold and diamonds, salt and peppered hair. Tall, dark and irresistible.

He was just her type…

They met at 731 Ravenhill Dr, the house Regina showed only the to the chosen ones: glass walls reflecting the sky, pool shaped like a heart. The kind of place where sinning is inevitable…

The house had been on the market for years, and no one knew why it could not be sold. “Young Realty” managed it, coifed and staged to perfection. Multiple showings booked… No buyer ever returned.

Brett waited on the marble steps—his suit crisp, a smirk playing on his lips like he already owned the world. Assured Regina would fall prey to his every whims, like all other saleswomen when they smell money.

They toured the house, voices hushed and laughter low. Staircases to high heaven, granite countertops, views of paradise. Regina poured drinks and dropped her long money-green fur coat to the floor without blinking.

Underneath, Regina’s dress was as tight as a second skin. Brett’s hand brushed the small of her back, sending a shiver down her spine. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let her body lean into his touch, hips swaying just so. Their lips almost touched but she pulled away…

He caught her gaze and whispered, “You’re not like the others, Regina.”

She bit her lip, feeling the heat gather between them like a slow-burning fuse and walks away.

“The showing is up” - Regina murmurs but her eyes told a different story.

Brett inquires about the guest house, eager to slow down time. She smiled—slow, knowing. He fell right in her web.

“That’s not part of the tour,” she said, secretive.

He laughed. “You don’t strike me as the type to hide things.”

Regina’s eyes darkened, revealing a new, frightening gaze: “Some things are meant to stay in the dark”

He felt a chill down his spine. A fear blended with curiosity.

Red nails tapping the stem of her martini glass, Regina composes herself:
“It’s not part of the tour,” she said.
He smirked. “I don’t mind bending the rules.”

And neither did she.

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