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Chapter 2
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2025-08-23 20:36:06
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Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 42
Tom’s office smelled like old paper and the faint lemon polish he favored—comforting and impossibly ordinary, and that ordinary was what made the rest of it feel like a betrayal. The way the afternoon light fell on his desk made him look smaller somehow, like the room had swallowed some of his shoulders. He stood when I came in, an automatic, fatherly instinct that pulled at something in my chest. “Claire,” he said, and there was that familiar lift in his voice that always made my insides steady. “You didn’t have to—” “I wanted to,” I said before I could let politeness cushion it. There was no choreography left for small talk. Behind him sat the same leather chair I’d climbed into as a child when I wanted to hide from growing-up things. The world outside the glass felt complicated and loud; inside was the center of the noise. Marcus hovered in the doorway like a sentinel—hands folded, posture coiled, the faint bruise still visible at his jaw. He offered a quick nod that said he was
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 41
“Who would put that there?” I asked, because asking felt like scooping at a wound. “Someone who wants you to look guilty,” Adrian said quietly. “Someone who wants to fracture trust inside the family. Politically, emotionally—this is the kind of line that ruins reputations, and reputations are currency.” Marcus’s hand tightened on my wrist until the pain was a white hot bell. He looked like a man learning his whole life had been a chessboard he hadn’t fully understood. “We prove where it came from,” he said. “We get Tom to clear his name. We show the chain.” “But Tom signed it,” I said. The words felt like acid. “If he did—” “Maybe he did sign a document once to get the business through a crisis,” Elena interrupted, voice a cold saw. “But that note—’deploy distraction’—that could have been added afterward. Someone could have edited a memo, or used his authorization as a cover. We can’t assume intent yet. But we have to treat it as if someone used his authority.” We walked out of t
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 40
Juliette’s face went white. “They moved faster than predicted,” she said.And then the man who’d deposited the envelope walked back in like a ghost to retrieve a discarded coffee cup—and stopped dead when he caught our eyes. He looked like someone who’d seen a crosshair. His mouth opened, shut. He turned, and for a moment he did nothing at all. Then the hooded flap moved with the urgency of someone startled“Police,” Marcus said, the word a calculated release. “Now.”It was both a bluff and a command. Adrian’s hand was up, a signal. But the man noticed the attention and bolted.People shouted. The rental sedan’s doors opened and men spilled out. They moved with cruel economy, practiced and precise. The PO clerk screamed as chairs shoved into the corridor. A man grabbed Juliette by the arm and spun her toward the door; another lunged at Adrian’s shoulder. Chaos bloomed like a bruise.Instinct took. Marcus moved like a thing with memory—he blocked a man before the man’s knee hit Juliett
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 39
The bank of PO boxes was a wall of metal with small brass doors numbered like teeth. The box we’d been told to watch was in row three. Juliette had set up a tablet in the café with a loop of a security camera; it showed a wide-angle feed of the lobby and the bank of boxes. The footage was grainy but competent. Every ten minutes a postal worker made a loop—patrol-check, deposit, a stamp. We’d noticed the hooded man in the footage the night before; tonight we watched for that figure again.When the postal worker came down the aisles, the tablet’s audio feed piped in a faint shuffle, a soft clink of keys. The worker—an older woman in a blue uniform—moved with the kind of careful rhythm that comes from repetition. She checked boxes, logged numbers, slid envelopes in with the practiced disinterest of people who keep other people’s secrets.“He’s not here yet,” Juliette murmured, not taking her eyes off the screen.“Wait,” Elena said. “He could be pancaking the drop to a later time. Some pe
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 38
He didn’t answer immediately. He watched the screen, then shook his head. “Not him. It’s masked through an internal contractor. It could be a helper. Or it could be someone who knows which wires to pull.”A quiet pulse of dread ran through me. All the orchestrations, all the careful plans, and someone still thought to prod at our edges. The reality had teeth. We had not won anything besides a reprieve.Marcus turned to me, the set of his jaw saying the thing he’d refuse to articulate. “Stay put,” he ordered, voice sharp but not unkind. “No visitors. No meetings without me.”I swallowed and nodded.He kissed my temple like a benediction and then stepped into action — calls, encrypted channels, a soft-spoken order to Elena to vet any movement in the firm. The day narrowed into tasks, like a field surgeon’s checklist.That night we ate in silence, hands clasped across the table, the penthouse lights down low and the city murmuring below us like an audience waiting for the next act. The h
Her Father’s Billionaire Best Friend Chapter 37
The kiss started like it always did with him — intent and fierce — and then softened into something patient. He had a way of tasting like reassurance, like the knowledge that someone had your name memorized. He kissed me slow enough that the world dissolved into him and me and the sound of our breath. Hands roamed, learning and relearning, mapping the familiar places with reverence as if he were reading braille. Clothes shed like small concessions; the rhythm of our bodies grew like a language.I’ll keep the moments hot and honest without turning them graphic. We made love in a way that felt like a reclaiming — not raw, furious, anonymous sex, but a charged and protective union. The lights were low; city lights bled through the window like a hush. He moved over me with a focus that was both worship and plan. My world narrowed to his mouth at my collarbone, to the press of his hands, to the slow, steady cadence of two people consenting to the same dangerous thing.Afterward, we lay ent
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