All Chapters of The Billionaire's Deal : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

"I’m sorry, sir, but I’m sticking to my resignation," I sighed, exasperated. Frustrated.William’s face fell, disappointment flickering in his eyes as he nodded. He parted his lips, about to say something, when the sharp sound of glass shattering cut through the air. Our heads snapped toward Richard. The framed picture William had placed on the table now lay in shards on the floor. Richard stood over it, his chest rising and falling, his glare locked onto the broken image. He looked like a man barely holding himself together. "You’re a shameless man, you know that?" Richard’s voice came slow, calm—dangerous. His eyes never left the ruined picture. "After everything that happened, you still keep her picture here like a trophy? Like something you’re proud of?" I blinked, confused, my gaze darting to William. His head hung low, his whole posture crumbling in on itself, shame written across his face. "You know she was important to both of us," William murmured, his voice hoarse.

I stared at Richard, waiting for a response, but instead of the drunken confession I had expected, he straightened up, his expression smoothing as if he had never been intoxicated in the first place. His eyes cleared, and just like that, he sobered up. "Are you really done?" His voice was still hoarse, but steadier now. "Yes!" I sighed, frustrated that my question had somehow snapped him back to clarity. Richard ran a hand through his hair. "You know I’ll have to inspect everything first, make sure you did it properly." Without waiting for my response, he turned and walked straight to the kitchen. The same man who had been staggering just minutes ago now moved with perfect balance. I narrowed my eyes, following him as he half-heartedly inspected my work. He didn’t even notice that I had simply put everything back together. "Well, everything looks good," he finally said, exhaling deeply like the whole situation exhausted him. Then, without missing a beat, he added, "Let’s go.

She couldn’t possibly be talking about Richard… could she? I blinked, my confusion growing. Was she mistaking him for someone else? "I think you're mistaken," I said, shaking my head. "The Richard I’m talking about is rich, yeah, but not that rich." Vivian stopped mid-blabber, her eyes narrowing. "I don’t understand," she admitted. "Me neither," I muttered. "I’m talking about Mr. Anthony—the man who hired me, the man who paid for your sister’s bills," she clarified, and I nodded. "Right. And I’m talking about Richard. His father’s name is William," I emphasized. Why was I even explaining this? Did she have so many clients that she didn’t even know who had hired her? Vivian didn’t respond right away. Instead, she raised a finger, wordlessly telling me to wait as she dug into her coat pocket and pulled out her phone. She typed something quickly before turning the screen toward me. "This man," she said, showing me a picture of Richard. "Mr. Anthony, yeah?" I stared at t

"I know exactly what will make you feel better!" Jessica’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she grabbed the restaurant menu from the table beside her. "They have all sorts of things to eat!" Her face lit up as she skimmed the options. "Ice cream, pizza, cake!" she squealed in delight. "The doctor said I could start eating today," she continued eagerly, "and I want to try everything!" I nodded, glancing briefly at Vivian, who was smiling but also watching Jessica with mild apprehension. "Can she really eat all this?" I wondered aloud. The last time I checked, she had only been allowed warm fluids. "I think so," Vivian admitted, her voice thoughtful. "Her nutritionist did say she could start solids today, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be all at once—just baby steps." I noticed the flicker of hesitation in her eyes, as if she didn’t want to dampen Jessica’s enthusiasm. "But Dr. Jake said I could eat anything I wanted!" Jessica protested, crossing her arms. Vivian let o

A Month Later. It had taken weeks, but I was finally starting to get used to Richard’s routine. He still assigned me ridiculous tasks, but I’d come to realize that half of them were utterly pointless. It was almost as if he was inventing new ways to humiliate me—ways to ensure I stayed around, lingering just within his reach. Like now: "I like it slightly burnt," Richard instructed, perched on a stool by the kitchen counter, his laptop open on the marble surface. His gaze barely flickered from the screen as he dictated his latest demand. "Twenty perfectly round pancakes," he said, as if that was a completely reasonable request. It should have been reasonable—except he wanted them made in a square pan. A brand-new square pan that I was certain he had bought just to torture me. I huffed but got back to work, biting my tongue as I carefully poured the batter, trying my best to mold them into something resembling perfect circles. It was almost impossible—but Richard didn’t car