All Chapters of Bared To You : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Maximillian "In this age and time? Please." Edwina scoffed, her voice sharp and unapologetic as she tossed her braids over her shoulder like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "Besides, I'm not the only one thinking about it. Everyone born with sense knows that without King Leonidas's interference, Havindelle would still be in the stone age. He provided us with electricity, hospitals, and good roads. What has your king done for his people?"I decided to open my eyes again as Edwina started to speak. If they wouldn't allow me to have a shuteye, I'd just suffer through watching them.I lay on the mat beside the bench, watching the exchange unfold like a front-row spectator to a slow-burning fire. This wasn’t just a political spat—it was a battle of pride, and Edwina was clearly winning."Well, how can you compare someone like King Leonidas to King Anthony?" Williams shot back, his voice laced with defensiveness. "That man owns several companies around the world. What does King

EdwinaMy mind blanked for a second.“That bitch did what?” I hissed, the words barely making it out of my clenched jaw. Before Steven could respond, I tossed my machete and basket aside like they’d suddenly caught fire and took off down the path like a storm on legs. Like my life depended on it. “You know the way home, Justice!” I yelled over my shoulder without looking back.Honestly, everyone in the entire kingdom knew Agatha—Tony’s mother—was a menace. If trouble had a face, it’d be hers, complete with that overpainted lipstick and overly tight wrapper. She was more trouble than I was on a bad day—and that was saying something. The market men and women avoided her like a plague-infested rat, and apparently, with no one else to terrorize, she had chosen my meek, gentle mother as her next victim.My mother.Sweet, quiet, gentle Mama—who could barely swat a fly, let alone defend herself against that hurricane of a woman. And this was the part where Edwina Danielle Jonas lost all sens

Maximilian "It’s four a.m." Francis replied. "But that doesn’t matter. I was on my way home when I passed by your farm and I saw it on fire."My heart skipped a beat. Fire? At Cyril’s farm? That had to be a mistake. A joke. A sick one maybe—but still a joke. It couldn’t be real."What?!" Cyril exclaimed. "Francis, you like to play pranks. Today is not April 1st. Please don’t scare me like that."I wanted to believe Cyril. I really did. I wanted this to be a joke. But the way Francis was breathing, the sheer panic in his eyes, the tightness in his jaw—it told me this was no prank.Francis let out a sharp, exasperated huff, his nostrils flaring as he dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his skin like he was trying to hold himself together. His eyes burned with frustration, jaw clenched tight enough to crack."It’s not a prank, I’m serious," Francis insisted, his voice carrying a weight that made something sink in my chest.He wasn’t lying. No man—no sane man, at least, w

EdwinaThe hallway to the ICU felt longer than any road I’d ever walked. Every step echoed off the tiled floor like it was measuring my guilt, my fear, and the weight of the unknown that lay behind the door ahead.I paused just outside, staring at the faded “Authorized Personnel Only” sign like it was a final warning. But a nurse had already waved me through. “Five minutes,” she’d said gently. I wasn’t sure if five minutes would be enough to hold back the flood I felt inside, or if it would break me completely.The door clicked shut behind me, sealing me in with the beeping machines, the antiseptic air, and the man who had built his life with soil-stained hands and an unshakable will.My father—Cyril Jonas—was barely recognizable.He lay still, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. Tubes snaked from his arms, and a monitor beeped steadily beside him like a countdown. There was oxygen hooked under his nose, and the usual deep brown of his face looked ashen under the hospital lights.My h

Maximillian Truce.Edwina liked to throw that word around like it cost her nothing. Like it was some sort of magical spell. As if saying it could wipe the slate clean. I'd lost count of how many times she'd said it before, only for us to be at each other’s throats again the next day.I’d heard her use it before—casually, flippantly, like tossing breadcrumbs to pigeons. I never believed her—not really. But this time felt different. Maybe because we were all too exhausted to keep up the usual sparring. Given the circumstances—the fire, the chaos, her father’s heart attack—it wasn’t about peace anymore. It was about survival. I figured we had, what, a month? Maybe a few weeks if we were lucky before one of us lost our heads and the usual bickering resumed. But for now, we were pretending to be civil. It was kind of nice. Strange, but nice.By seven a.m., I figured someone had to do something useful, so I went out to get toothbrushes, toothpaste, and something edible. I knew no one want