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ALMS TO LOVE CHAPTER 130

Penulis: MIKS DELOSO
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-10-01 23:03:43
"I love you"

Fiona told him

Charles gazed into her eyes and responded, "I love you too."

He leaned forward and kissed her with so much passion. They touched lips, she pressed herself on her arms and held him tightly. Their passion was heightened by the hug, He chose to push their passion even further. His tongue passed through her mouth searching for its complement, to discover it back. For centuries, enchanting moments they remained so embraced together. Only the thudding of their hearts counted in their enchanting world.

Fiona drew back from Charles at once. She was puffing and moving away from him. Her breathing was behind her. She gazed intensely into his confused eyes. His soft, watery eyes were rich and deep like good brandy. She was becoming lost in his look. She turned her face away with a flirt.

"I do not think what you do to me. Nobody ever did those things to me before."

Charles pushed her chin towards him and bent forward. He looked deep into her eyes. She seemed to shi
MIKS DELOSO

Dear readers, I am deeply grateful for your continued support of my works. As a writer, your likes, comments, and gems or votes are a great help in allowing me to share more of my stories with you. I hope you can grant me your support. Thank you very much!

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    At the Billion estate the morning moved like a careful actor on a stage. They persuaded themselves, and their staff, that life would stitch its seams back together. The media circus had been managed; the market had steadied; statements had been issued. But the house itself felt wound tight: rooms were cleaned, schedules reworked, security tightened, and the press team rehearsed the language for the next week until the words were muscle memory.Madam Jamaica watched the movements, eyes slow and predatory, like a hawk watching a field. She had taken Candy into the estate under counsel’s legal cover—temporary custody, a protective petition executed with the authority of the board. The child was small and howling on the carriage ride from Marie’s penthouse; she had clung to her stuffed rabbit like a talisman. Jamaica had placed Candy in a guest wing, a neutral suite under the estate’s roof, and then—because she was not merely a guardian but a mother an

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    Jamaica's words were clinical, chosen to wound.“but if you make a move to take Candy by force, you will be arrested and the evidence will be used against you.”The threat hung in the air like a blade. For the first time since her carefully cultivated fury had become a social weapon, Marie felt fear. It was a small, hot thing that made nausea burn under her ribs.“You’ll rue this,” she rasped, fight flaring hot and foolishly. “You’ll all rue this.”“Perhaps,” Jamaica said softly, and in that was pity quieter than fury and infinitely colder. “But not for my family. For you.”The line went dead. Marie sagged against the window, the city tilting beneath her.She'd wanted war. She had thought it would look like headlines and stock blips and a crowd eating her words up like bread. Instead it had looked like a child bundled in someone else's arms and a woman's voice saying, plainly and irrevocably, that she was not fit to be trusted with her own daughter.The maid came in again, whispering,

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    The car slid up the drive to Marie's building like a dark promise. She let herself in with shaking hands, rain still clinging to her lashes. The penthouse felt cavernous, every surface a mirror to the night. She shoved her keys into the bowl by the door and kicked off her heels, the sound too loud in the emptiness.A face of a maid, eyes round, apron damp, a towel clutched to her chest appeared from the doorway to the kitchen.“Ma’am—” she started, her voice strangled. “Ma’am, Candy,”Marie didn't wait for the rest. "What about Candy?" She had expected fury, yes, but not this.this thin, untethered panic in the house that had been her fortress.The maid's hands fluttered like trapped birds. "They… they took her, Ma'am. Madam Jamaica's guards two men in suits and two in uniform—arrived. They said they were escorting Candy for her safety. They would not let me stop them."The syllables hit Marie like a physical blow. For a second she could not breathe. "They what?" Her voice was small an

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    Fiona halted a yard in front of Marie and took a breath, the cameras devouring the hesitation. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, and the statement was not a question so much as an accusation. "Why are you constantly besmirching my reputation? Do you think Philip would be proud of this? I never—never—did anything to hurt you. Why persist in persecuting me—and even my daughter Liza? Tell me, Marie. Tell me now."Her voice shook with rage until it hardened to brittle steel. She advanced and took Marie's hands, clasping them with such force that the woman winced. The reporters' shutters stuttered in a blur.Marie's eyes were brimmed at the corners, fury and embarrassment intertwined. She managed to free one hand and spat the reply like a blasphemy. "Because you stole the one I loved. I loved Charles first, before Philip—before any of it. I cannot bear him happy with someone else. I won't let the Billion fortune pass into your hands."

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    Inside the mansion, Jamaica stood before the raging fire, her outline chiseled in gold by the blaze.Fiona arrived with stealth, cradling the flash drive."She's smart," Fiona whispered. "But not invisible.Jamaica swung her head around. "No one is invisible, my dear. Least of all those who think they are."Fiona's pause was hesitant. "You mean to reveal her?""When the moment is right.""And when is that?"Jamaica's eyes rose to look beyond the glass at the storm. "When the truth will hurt her more than the lies ever damaged us."The morning broke without pity.Marie Drams awoke to quiet that wasn't hers—too quiet, too calculated. She rolled over in bed, bedding in a knot, her heart racing and off. The champagne flute on the bedside table sparkled with pale light.Her phone vibrated. One text. From Brenn.We have a problem.Her eyebrows furrowed. She responded immediately. What sort of problem?

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    She looked out the window. Outside, the storm clouds massed again, dark and foreboding.“Let her burn herself out,” Jamaica murmured. “Then we’ll end this—for good.”The rain had returned by noon.It came down in thin silver curtains, streaking across the long windows of the Billion estate like ghosts that refused to leave.Fiona stood in the atrium, arms folded, eyes distant. She hadn’t slept. None of them had.Madam Jamaica’s instructions had been clear that morning: No interviews. No statements. Wait for the next move.But now there was one."Ma'am," one of the butlers said, moving inside. "A woman is here to see you. Says it's an emergency. Her name's… Layla Vern."Jamaica set aside her chair. "Send her in. Alone."The butler hesitated. "She appears… scared.""All the better," Jamaica said.Layla Vern appeared in the room as a specter, her hand

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