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Chapter 109
Last Updated:
2025-10-20 07:26:34
Latest chapter
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 113
Morning after the storm feels like someone offering a clean plate. The inn smelled of lemon and old paper, and for the first time in days the quiet wasn’t brittle — it was a steadier thing, thinned by work but held in place by truth.Marcus was up before me, as if the day itself had cues only he could read. He sat at the kitchen table with counsel on the laptop and a stack of papers neat as a small fort. He looked up when I padded in, eyes raw around the edges but bright in a way I liked: the sort you get from doing the hard work when nobody is watching. He pushed a mug toward me. “We have something,” he said.My pulse turned into a drum. He’d been moving like a man marshalling a private army — lawyers, forensics, the quiet grunt-of-effort of people who want to prove a lie is a lie. “What is it?” I asked, though my throat was already set against the news.“Forensic accountant says the scanned ‘donation memorandum’ is a composite,” he said. “Several different fonts, stamps added after
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 112
“No,” I answered instantly. “I want the truth to be out before any pack of vultures can make a spectacle. If you want to handle legal, I’ll handle hearts. I’ll call the local feed, the people who came to our reception. I’ll get the town to back us up.”The plan was messy but it had geometry. We both moved — him to his lawyer, me to the kitchen where I wrote a quick note and put it into the town’s messaging board with a plea for calm and a promise of transparency. I called Juliette, Tom, Elena; within an hour the inn felt like a rallying center rather than a target. People who’d eaten jam on our porch wrote messages of support online. The town feed filled with They’re ours instead of There’s a scandal!But the internet runs faster than breakfast gossip. By noon the story had been picked up by a national outlet that loved scandal more than nuance. A TV van idled on the lane like a predatory beast. The inn’s phone would not stop ringing. An unfamiliar photographer took a long lens shot t
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 111
The morning began with a kind of quiet I’d started to treasure — the kind that feels like a held breath you don’t have to be afraid of releasing. Marcus slept later than usual, his arm flung over the empty pillow where I’d been, and when he finally padded into the kitchen he carried two mugs like a small offering. He set one in front of me and kissed my forehead with the unnecessary ceremony that still made me melt.“Press day?” I asked, because his phone had been buzzing too much this week for my liking and that had become its own kind of weather.“Just a few calls,” he said, voice low. The way he said it made me look at him more closely — the fine line of tension by his temple, the way his jaw was a practiced thing. “I’ll be in the study. Be a spy for cake.”I laughed and watched him move away, the world of the inn suddenly feeling fragile in a way that made my hands busy. The twins rolled like small, private punctuation points in my belly and I smoothed my palm over them, willing o
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 110
Reading it, I felt something reverberate in the ribcage — like finding an ancestor who’d left a note that said: I trusted you to do the right thing. Please do not let my fear of losing face turn into someone else’s power. Roderick wasn’t just a man who’d given money; he’d been a man who tried to buy back his conscience in the most careful way he could.“This is huge,” Marcus whispered, voice small as if the document itself might break if spoken too loudly. Legally, it was not an iron lock, but it was a very serious precedent: a written custodial clause from a Hale elder that made swallowing the inn into a corporate asset far messier than a single check or a board vote.“What now?” I asked. The question was both practical and tender. We’d wanted not just sentimental victory but something that could shelter the inn and the lives in it.He folded the paper with the reverence of someone handling a relic and set his jaw in that way I’d learned to see as concentration. “We bring this to Jam
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 109
The morning after the journal felt like the world had been rearranged into a kinder order. The inn’s rooms smelled of boiling oats and lemon; Juliette played scales that made my shoulders unclench; Marcus moved like a man who’d slept with his conscience pressed to his chest and woken up gentler for it. That was the gift of last night’s discovery — the past had offered instruction, not indictment, and somehow that made the present less precarious.We started the day with small, ridiculous vows: Marcus vowed to stop buying ridiculously expensive coffee beans we both pretended to like; I vowed to stop stealing his socks (mostly). Between the negotiations about which napkins would be embroidered with the twins’ initials and the absurd debate about whether the nursery needed curtains or blinds, the envelope from Roderick’s chest sat between us on the kitchen island like a quiet thing that still needed saying.“It occurred to me last night,” Marcus said, tracing a line along the envelope as
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 108
At the back of the journal there was a small folded map with a tiny X at the edge of the property and a list of names with dates. One name caught me like a cold hand: Roderick Hale — 1947. The ink had bled slightly with time, but the surname matched Marcus’s in a way that made my fingers go numb. The implication—accidental or deliberate—arrived like a tide: was this some long, quiet tie between the inn and his family? A whisper of roots that had long been buried?Marcus watched me watch the page. For a moment his face registered the exact curiosity I felt: stunned, delighted, a little afraid of what the map might mean. “Someone wanted you to find this,” he said, voice steadying. “Someone who thought this would stitch things in the right places.”The key fit a rusted hasp on the old writing desk in the corner of the study — of course it did. The desk had been in the inn since we bought it; we’d never been able to open one drawer that stuck stubbornly. The key turned with a groan like a
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