All Chapters of Your Lips to Mine #2: The Billionaire's Secret Garden: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Alexander Kane walked through the grand foyer of his family’s mansion, the familiar polished marble beneath his feet offering no comfort this time. His mind buzzed with the weight of the day’s frustrations—the board meeting, the incessant pressure, the constant undercurrent of manipulation and greed. He had just finished a long day, but the real battle wasn’t at the office. It was here, in the place he called home, surrounded by people who had no respect for the work he had put into expanding his family's legacy. As he entered the living room, he was met by the same group of opportunists who had been waiting for him all evening. They sat there with their expensive clothes, their rehearsed smiles, their eyes glinting with false warmth. They were the ones who would always be there, lounging around, trying to make themselves comfortable, waiting for a chance to climb the ladder of success by clinging to his coattails. Alexander’s blood boiled as he took in the sight of them. The polit

The soft ping of my phone broke the quiet in the shop, pulling me out of the peaceful lull I had been in as I arranged the flowers. I glanced at the screen and saw it was a message from Alexander. He had texted me before, but something about this one felt different—more personal, I guess. I opened it, and my fingers hesitated for a moment as I read the words.**"Hey Sophia, I’m really sorry, but I’ll be tied up with some work today. I won’t be able to come by to help you as we planned. I’ll make it up to you soon, I promise."**His words were polite, thoughtful, but the “I’ll make it up to you” part tugged at something in my chest. I understood—of course, I did. His work was demanding, and I knew that the empire he ran didn’t come to a halt just because he wanted to spend time with me. But still, a part of me felt a little deflated. I hadn’t realized just how much I was looking forward to seeing him today. It wasn’t just that I needed help with the shop—no, it was more than that. The

The bell above the door jingled, and I looked up to see a sharply dressed man walk into the shop. He wasn’t just any customer—I could tell from his stiff posture and the way his sharp eyes scanned the room like he was judging everything at a glance. I put on my usual welcoming smile, though something about him felt off. Maybe it was the air of arrogance he carried, like he owned the place. “Good afternoon,” I greeted, stepping out from behind the counter. “Looking for anything in particular? Tulips, perhaps?” He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let his gaze roam over the shelves, the flower arrangements, the carefully curated displays I’d spent hours perfecting. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm, clipped, and dismissive. “I’m not here to buy flowers.” That threw me off for a moment, but I quickly recovered. “Oh? Then how can I help you?” He turned to face me, his expression unreadable but the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips unsettling me. “I’m here becau

Alexander Kane stood motionless in his office, his towering frame silhouetted against the expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that offered an unobstructed view of the bustling city below. The skyline stretched endlessly, a mosaic of shimmering lights and steel that spoke of power, ambition, and unyielding progress. But Alexander wasn’t admiring the view. His sharp, chiseled features were etched with a cold intensity, his jaw tight as if carved from stone. Unbeknownst to anyone, his mind wasn’t on the business empire he had painstakingly expanded into an unstoppable force. Instead, it was consumed by the audacity of one man: Director Coleman. The man’s name had been ringing in his ears ever since Jill’s call. The memory of her recounting the events at Sophia’s shop made his blood boil. The idea of Coleman, a man he had tolerated far too long, daring to harass Sophia was unacceptable. Alexander sipped the whiskey in his hand, the burn doing little to dull the edge of his anger. The n

As Alexander stood up, his tall frame casting a shadow over the room, I felt a pang in my chest. I didn’t want him to leave. Not now, not when the warmth of his presence still lingered so tangibly around me. "Wait," I blurted, my voice coming out sharper than I intended. He froze, his hand resting on the back of the couch, and turned to look at me. "Sophia?" I stood too, my movements quick and unsure, as I stepped closer to him. My heart raced, and my hands fidgeted at my sides. "I don’t want you to go," I said, my voice quieter now but still firm. His expression softened, but I could see the conflict in his eyes. "Sophia, I don’t think—" "Please," I interrupted, taking another step toward him. "Stay. Just for a little while longer." He hesitated, his jaw tightening as he looked at me. I could tell he was trying to convince himself to leave, to walk out the door and keep whatever lines he thought we were about to cross intact. But I didn’t want lines, not with him.