All Chapters of Your Lips to Mine #1: The Billionaire's Sassy Girl: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The sunlight streamed through the large windows of Logan’s penthouse as I stepped inside, clutching a to-do list in one hand and my phone in the other. The familiar scent of his cologne lingered in the air, wrapping me in a sense of comfort. I had spent countless days here, and it always felt like a second home. Today, however, it felt different—transitional. This wasn’t just about packing; it was about closing a chapter. Our new house was waiting, full of potential and excitement, but first, we needed to decide what to bring with us and what to leave behind. After dropping my bag on the kitchen counter, I called Diane to confirm our plans. “Diane, can you and Marla coordinate with someone to handle the larger furniture pieces? Logan mentioned we could donate most of it, and I think it’ll be a meaningful gesture.” “Of course, Aliyah,” Diane replied promptly. “I’ll have Marla reach out to a few organizations. Do you need help packing today?” “I do, actually,” I admitted. “Logan

As Aliyah stepped through the front door of their new house, she felt an almost overwhelming sense of calm. The faint scent of fresh paint mixed with the clean, crisp air that flowed through the wide-open windows. She stood there for a moment, taking it all in. This house wasn’t just another place to live—it was a tangible representation of a new chapter in her life, one she was building with Logan. The living room stretched before her, a picture of warmth and simplicity. The minimalist aesthetic she had envisioned came to life in every detail. The walls were painted a soft, creamy white, complementing the hardwood floors that gleamed under the sunlight streaming through the large windows. A cozy, overstuffed couch sat against one wall, its soft beige fabric accented with muted throw pillows in earthy tones. A simple but elegant coffee table sat in front of it, topped with a small vase of fresh flowers she’d had delivered earlier that day. Aliyah ran her fingers across the smooth

As I walked into the boardroom beside my father, Oliver Whitmore, the buzz of murmured conversations instantly quieted. It was as though someone had pressed the mute button on the room. The directors who had survived the restructuring we initiated stood up, their greetings a mixture of respect and apprehension. I scanned the room, my eyes landing on the potential candidates for directorial positions seated at the far end of the table. Among them was a face I had no difficulty recognizing: Liliana Drake. Logan’s ex. My brow arched slightly, though I schooled my features into neutrality. This was not the time for personal distractions, though I already knew this meeting would test my patience. Diane handed me a neatly compiled folder of candidate profiles as I took my seat at the head of the table. My father sat beside me, exuding his usual quiet authority. He nodded at Diane, who efficiently distributed copies of the profiles to everyone. "Shall we begin?" my father asked, his

I had just stepped out of my condominium, inhaling the crisp morning air, when a familiar yet unwelcome sensation crawled over my skin. It wasn’t cold, but I felt a chill nonetheless—like eyes were on me. I glanced around casually, keeping my movements composed, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Still, I wasn’t one to ignore my gut feelings. I clipped my brooch onto my blazer, its discreetly hidden camera now recording. Call me paranoid, but with the kind of people circling my life lately—*cough, Liliana, cough*—I wasn’t taking any chances. A couple of hours into work, I found myself craving something indulgent. I needed my favorite iced coffee with whipped cream to shake off the unease. Deciding a walk might clear my head, I grabbed my bag and headed to the little coffee shop a few blocks away. The smell of roasted beans hit me as I walked in, instantly soothing my nerves. The barista smiled warmly at me, already reaching for the iced coffee ingredients. “You’re my h

Oliver Whitmore sat at the head of the boardroom table, his eyes cold and calculating as he took in the remaining directors. The room, once buzzing with conversation and camaraderie, now felt like a battlefield. The air was tense, and the weight of recent events—the attack on Aliyah, the betrayal within the company—hung heavy over everyone present. He let the silence linger, allowing the tension to grow. It wasn’t a tactic born out of cruelty; it was strategy. He wanted to see who would break first. And as expected, Mr. Drake shifted in his seat, his bravado faltering under the pressure. "Let’s not waste any more time," Oliver said finally, his deep voice slicing through the silence. "This company has endured enough damage, both externally and internally. Now is the time to make it clear who stands for progress and who is dead weight." The directors glanced at one another, unsure of where the conversation was headed. But Oliver knew. He had been preparing for this moment since th