Все главы The Billionaire's Submissive: Глава 111 - Глава 120

Madeline's POV It felt so good to be out in the mall shopping my head off. Call it a coping mechanism or what not, it was the only thing I could think of when I'd worried my head off about John.   "Ma'am?"  I blinked rapidly, my eyes focusing on the short shop clerk before me. She had some ridiculous pink hair on her head making her look like a barbie doll wannabe. She had a gum rolling between her teeth and it irritated the shit out of me.   "Excuse me," I told her, trying not to look disgusted as hell. Who on earth did she think she was walking all up in my face, having the nerve to glare down at me as if I were the gum between her teeth?  "What would you like?" She asked in a nonchalant tone, roaming her eyes down my knee length Zara dress. She was probably trying to judge if it was truly authentic or a rip off.   Bi

Madeline's POV "It is quite heavy, Mrs Black," the mall assistant groaned as he struggled to carry the weight of my gift. I glared at him, irritated to the bones.   I was tired, I was drenched and I was damned fed up with all the damned mess! What the hell was my gain anyway? It was Mrs Stone's birthday, not mine and yet I had to have expended every inch of my bone for her. It did not make any sense if I didn't get married to Adam Stone after this. I would raise hell.   "Mrs Black?"  "And what would you like me to do about it?!" I hissed, glaring at the man behind me, wondering what the hell was his problem.   I already had a lot on my plate to deal with. I had already shopped for a whole day. It had taken all the money in my damned purse to get her that silly figurine of a classical british beauty. I had been walking past an auction in the mall

Tom's POV I drove out of my company's garage, a lazy grin on my face as I swerved onto the road. The invitation to the birthday party burned in my suit jacket that was sprawled over the passenger seat. I had the urge to whip it out and stare at it over and over again.   My ticket to a world of numerous possibilities. The things I could achieve, the people I could meet, I really had hit the jackpot with Adam Stone and it was worth celebrating!  Grinning widely, I sped down the road, trying to think of the nearest club to crash in. I wanted a taste of the high life. Scratch that, I wanted more than a taste. I wanted a whole scoop.  I was done with the day's work. My phone rang somewhere, resounding in the car, irritating the shit out of me. It had better not be my bitch of a secretary. I would not be returning to the office unless there was a meteor crashing into it from out of spac

Adam’s POV “Well,” Anabelle said as she ended the call, a resolute look on her face.  “Well what?” I demanded, narrowing my gaze. She had better not be about to say what I was thinking or shit was going to hit the fucking fan. “The cake is going to be thirty minutes late,” Anabelle’s words put a sour taste in my mouth.  “Hell no!” I hissed, clenching my hands in a fist.  “What is it?!” My mother yelled from her bedroom and Anabelle shot me a warning look.  I had forgotten I was standing in my mother’s hallway, waiting for her as the stylist dressed her up. She had been so teary when she found out I’d invited her favorite stylist from some TV series she used to watch, shipping the spunky lady all the way from France. I was happy if she was. Isabella Stone de

Adam’s POVA hundred rollers and three hours later, I found myself standing on the balcony of the hall where Isabella Stone’s birthday party was to be held.  I ran a finger on the railing, taking note of every detail of the hall. The balcony where I stood was quite the vantage point. It was in the hall and connected to the ground floor through stairs that run on either side.   However I had made sure it was reserved for me. The party had begun but I wanted some peace and quiet so I could confirm that everything was according to plan. The podium where my mother would stay when she arrived had a grand blue sofa, with a number of pillows and a nice egyptian stool. Behind the sofa, were long flowing golden curtains that draped down. They were made of pure gold, beaten into thin shimmering strands to form a curtain.  The hall was in one of my hotels clos