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The Billionaire's Bargain 63.
CHRISTIANThe warehouse smelled like blood and cheap cigars. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, buzzing faintly above the sounds of fists meeting flesh. Somewhere behind me, a man was crying. Or gagging. Or both. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t bother looking.Liam stood to my right, watching like this was cable entertainment. Ryuji leaned against a steel pole, his arms folded, looking like a man enjoying his own twisted opera.His son — the second one, not the dead one — was crouched near the guy they were working on. Young. Brash. What was his name again? Renji.Still had too much to prove. The man on the floor writhed as someone poured salt into his wounds — literally, not metaphorically. Japanese discipline.I kept my distance. I never got my hands dirty. That’s what Liam was for.My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw her name on the screen: Penelope.Just a message. No call. I stared at it. Thought about opening it. About reading whatever it was she had to say. Bu
The Billionaire's Bargain 62.
PENELOPEHe left again.Not a word. Not even a goodbye. Just… vanished—like a magician with a grudge and a private jet.By the time I got to the bakery, the sun had barely set across the pavement and Maya was already inside, blasting music and loading trays into the oven like her life depended on it. The girl had too much energy for that hour of the morning. I envied it. Somewhere along the line, my own spark had dulled a little. Or maybe it was just buried under layers of emotional debris and a husband who disappeared like mist.“You’re early,” I had greeted Maya with a tired smile.“Couldn’t sleep,” Maya chirped. “So I figured I’d rise with the dough.”I gave a half-laugh, tucking a stray curl behind my ear as I washed my hands and slipped into my apron. I stared at the oven timer blinking back at me like it was judging my life choices. Four minutes left on the cranberry scones and still no sign of a message from Christian. Not that I was staring at my phone like a lunatic waiting
The Billionaire's Bargain 61.
CHRISTIANThe scent of espresso lingered faintly in the air, but the bitterness on my tongue had nothing to do with coffee. It was barely past noon when Edward strolled into Hilton Tech like he still owned it. Technically, he owned it like five percent. But today, I wasn’t in the mood to play heir and dutiful son.My father wore power like cologne—woodsy, aged, and suffocating. The faint scent of cigars clung to his tailored jacket as he stepped into my office, uninvited as always.“Christian, Amanda said you were free,” he said casually, like he was asking about the weather. Like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on my life just nights ago.“I was,” I replied, not looking up from my laptop. “Emphasis on was, you don’t have a meeting scheduled.”“I didn’t come for business.”“Then you shouldn’t have come here at all.”“You haven’t returned my calls,” he said, as if that was surprising.“Didn’t think we had anything to talk about.”“We do,” Edward said, stepping further in. “About Alex. You wer
The Billionaire's Bargain 60.
PENELOPEIt was 4:07 a.m. when the first truck pulled up.The street outside the bakery was wrapped in darkness, save for the amber streetlamps casting long shadows across the street.Headlights swept across the asphalt, catching the shine of my lavender sports car parked just out front, as two delivery trucks rumbled to a stop in front of our shop. For a moment, none of us moved—just stared, wide-eyed, flour-smudged, coffee-fueled and sleepless.Jess was the first to bolt for the door. Maya right behind her. I followed, my heart was beating faster against my ribs as if the adrenaline finally remembered it had a job to do.The delivery men hopped out of the cab, very unfazed by the hour. “Hilton Logistics,” one of them called. “We’ve got two truckloads for a ‘Mrs. Hilton’? Hope you’ve got space, ma’am.”I blinked. “You’ve got… two?”“Actually,” the second one grinned, “two and a half. Boss said pack extra. Said you’d figure out what to do with the rest.”He opened the trucks, and my k
The Billionaire's Bargain 59.
PENELOPEIt was 12:03 a.m, and the bakery hummed with desperation. Jess sat cross-legged on the floor with her phone pressed to her ear, flipping through the supplier list on her iPad. Maya leaned against the counter, a notepad clutched in one hand and a pen tapping nervously in the other.I was hunched over my laptop, trying to cross-reference emergency distributors with 24-hour courier services, while praying someone — anyone — could deliver before sunrise.“Penny,” Jess called, “Arden’s out. They can’t meet the quantity.” I swore under my breath. That was our third fallback.“Maybe try Midtown Flour Co.?” Maya offered, squinting at her screen, yawning.I shook my head. “Tried. They don’t do bulk after 10 p.m.”We were unraveling. The First Lady’s event was in nine hours. We had nothing.“Maya, you should go home,” I said gently, not even looking up.She straightened. “I’m not leaving you guys. We’re a team, remember. I can dial numbers like the rest of you. Let me help.”I didn’t h
The Billionaire's Bargain 58.
PENELOPEI hadn’t slept in days.Not really. Maybe an hour or two here and there, but never long enough to forget his voice, or the way he looked at me when I told him I wished I married someone else.The bakery should’ve been my distraction. It usually was. But this week, I was off. Way off.“Penny,” Jess said, from across the counter, her voice soft, but edged with concern. “You just poured salt into the cupcake batter.”I blinked down at the bowl. Shit. “Sorry.”Jess gave me a long look. “You’ve measured the sugar wrong twice. You spaced out during a customer order. And now this. What’s going on?”I didn’t answer. I just dumped the batter and reached for a new bowl. Jess didn’t press, but I saw the way she watched me.When I finally told her—about Alex, about the dinner, about who he really was—her reaction had been… exactly what I should’ve expected.“Wait, wait, wait,” she’d said, gaping. “They’re brothers? Are you kidding me? No. No. Actually, it makes sense. The jawline. The wa
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