All Chapters of The Billionaire's Fake Romance : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

Kingsley walks briskly across the lobby's gleaming marble floor, his thoughts focused on the next board meeting. Hardy and three other staff members trail behind him, all dressed in business suits and carrying light briefcases. Phones ringing, shoes clicking, subdued conversations—the regular hum of activity scarcely registers in his thoughts. Until a voice interrupts him just before he reaches the spinning doors. "Kingsley!" It demands attention since it is melodious yet piercing. When he turns, he sees a pretty lady approaching him, with deliberate slow steps. Her dark hair falls in a cascade, framing her piercing green eyes and high cheekbones, and she is quite tall. Although she is beautiful, he is troubled by her face, which is a mix of desperation and determination. "Who are you?" Kingsley inquires with a clipped tone. He doesn't have time for this kind of interruption. A few feet away, the lady comes to a halt before him, her eyes fixed on his, "it's me, King

In Louisa's office, Martha sits across from Louisa and Evelyn, her hands shaking as she clenches them together. With a look of both surprise and expectation on their faces, Louisa and Evelyn leaned forward on the couch. Martha utters in a tremulous voice, "I don't even know where to begin. But you two need to know." Evelyn reaches across and puts a hand on her knee. “Martha, take your time. We are here and we're not in a hurry.” Louisa nods in agreement and gives an encouraging smile. Martha inhales deeply and clears her throat. "You recall how horrible it was after the accident five years ago, don't you?" She starts, facing Louisa. Louisa's face tenses as the memories of that afternoon return. “I remained by your side until the ambulance arrived. They said there was nothing I could do, but I didn't want to go. The doctor that came with the ambulance declared you dead on the spot and you were taken with them.” Martha nods. “In a technical sense, they were correct. I heard I

The days spent in captivity are a haze of suffering, starvation, and hopelessness. Cordelia's formerly immaculate blouse is now torn and smeared with blood and grime as she lies crumpled in the warehouse corner. Her stomach churns from starvation, and the bruises on her body throb in sync with her pounding heart. She can no longer remember the days. Her world has been reduced to the flickering light overhead, the cold concrete floor, and the laughter of her captors. Cordelia's mind is racing with questions that she is unable to respond to. Is Alan aware? For the hundredth time, she wonders. “He must, of course.” She mumbles inaudibly. “It had never happened to me before that I missed work for three days in a row, much less without even a single text or email. He would have known. He would have inquired. He hasn't arrived, though. Nobody has. This simply means Alan is on board with whatever Marie decided.” She feels a new wound that is deeper than the ones on her body

Staring at the card Martha left with him, Kingsley sits in his office chair. Her ultimatum echoes in his mind, and the weight of her words devastates him. "I want all of you, not a part." He closes his eyes and leans back, but the picture of Martha's weeping face persists. Something he believed he had long since buried had been awakened by her presence. Unable to concentrate on the piles of papers on his desk, he stands up suddenly. His mind is a jumble of ideas, each one dragging him differently. He yells into the intercom, "Cancel all my meetings," then picks up his coat and walks out of the office. ************************************************* The silence at home is overwhelming. After throwing his keys on the counter, Kingsley makes a beeline for the restroom. Desperate to cool his sweltering brain, he runs the shower on full blast and steps under the freezing water. He leans against the tiled wall; his hands clenched as the water flows over him. "Mart

On the lonely road, the van screams to a stop, and the crunch of dirt beneath the tires breaks the night's quiet. Cordelia is pulled out like a bag of trash as the back doors fly open. A new surge of pain shoots through her shattered limbs as her body thuds to the ground. Her voice is hardly discernible as she lets out a feeble groan. In the gloomy light, one of the captors leans out of the van, his face a vicious mask. He sneers, "Maybe not really well, but you're still alive. Think of it as a gift. Keep us from regretting it and coming back for your ass.” She finds herself in the midst of nowhere as the van rushes away. For a while, Cordelia lies there gazing up at the pitch-black sky. Tears well up in her eyes and the stars distort. She pushes herself to move despite the cold air biting her flesh. Nearby is her cottage—she can make out the far-off contour of her house and the dim trace of the tree line. Thankfully, they dropped her at the same spot they had take