Semua Bab No Apologies, No Regrets: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Feelings don’t belong here.Fedora repeated the words again and again to herself.She had done this before—played the role of a devoted fiancée, a doting wife, a woman head over heels in love.It was all just business. A performance. A transaction.So why did Judah Carlstone make it feel… different?Why, after days had passed, could she still feel the warmth of his lips ghosting over hers?She had asked for the kiss. She had dared him to prove that he could sell it—that he could make her and any other person believe it.And he had.God, had he.Judah hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t smirked or teased.He had closed the space between them in a way that stole her breath, his fingers threading into her hair with an ease that shouldn’t have felt so natural.No rush. No force. Just patience. Precision. Possession.The first brush of his lips had been devastatingly slow—a mere whisper of a touch, meant to pull her in, to make her want more.And she had.Because when he angled her face just so, deep

Maria Carlstone had always been the kind of woman who saw beyond the surface.At 30 years old, Maria Carlstone had built a formidable career as an investigative journalist based in Washington, D.C., known for unearthing secrets powerful people wished would stay buried. She had an instinct for deception—a sixth sense that had never failed her.Before marrying her high school sweetheart and relocating to California, she was a firebrand reporter for one of D.C.'s most fearless investigative entertainment magazines, Capital Truth Weekly. Her sharp pen and unrelenting curiosity carved her name into circles where truth was a dangerous currency.Her biggest breakthroughs came while covering the rapidly growing African diaspora entertainment scene in the U.S.—particularly the booming Nollywood-America crossover industry that had taken root in Atlanta, Houston, and Los Angeles.The first was “The Gold Circle Scandal.” Maria had uncovered a secret cabal of directors and producers operating unde

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting a warm, amber glow over the sprawling mansion nestled on the outskirts of Mexico City. Judah and Fedora stood side by side, their fingers intertwined, their hearts heavy with the weight of what was to come. They had spent days preparing for this moment—no longer just a ruse of a marriage, but an operation that could change everything.It had started with a message—a quiet, discreet invitation delivered by one of Judah’s most trusted connections in the underground world. Marco de la Cruz, a man with ties deep in the cartel and an eye for opportunity, had relayed the news that the infamous drug lord, El Padre Rivas, had heard rumors of Judah’s reputation.The world believed Judah Carlstone was a rogue agent—a man still on the CIA’s payroll but with a reputation for bending the rules and letting certain drug shipments slide through. In truth, Judah was the best of his kind: a highly decorated operative with a spotless record and an unshakable sen

Two weeks had passed since their first dinner with the Mexican drug cartel leader, El Padre Rivas. Then, like a whisper on a still night, the call came.Judah was sitting in his apartment, sorting through intercepted files, when a secure message flashed on his burner. It was from “Delgado”—Rivas’ right-hand man."El Padre requests your presence. You and your wife. Two nights from now. Bring no one else. Private estate. You’ll be met at the airstrip."The message vanished seconds later.Judah knew the place. Or rather, of the place. Deep in the Sierra Madre mountains, surrounded by jagged rock and layered jungles, the estate was whispered about like folklore—El Padre’s personal fortress. It wasn’t just a home. It was a nexus of deals, decisions, and disappearances. Anyone who entered needed a plan to get back out.Judah leaned back slowly, eyes narrowed. That escalated quickly. He hadn't expected Rivas to reach out again so soon—two weeks barely counted as a breather in their line of w

The morning after the rooftop hangout, the silence between them said everything.Judah brewed coffee in the penthouse kitchen, trying not to look at the bedroom door where Fedora still lay. He hadn’t slept. Not really. The kiss replayed in his head like a glitching film reel—over and over again, her hands in his hair, his mouth on her neck, the sharp pause that yanked them both back to reality.It wasn’t supposed to happen.She wasn’t supposed to matter like this.He stared into his mug, the bitter aroma rising in slow spirals. “She’s just a partner,” he whispered aloud, as if saying it would snap the line tightening around his chest, or calm his pulsating groin.But it didn’t.And when Fedora finally emerged, wrapped in a soft grey robe, hair still damp from the shower, her presence hit him like a punch to the ribs. She didn’t look at him for long—just a flicker of eye contact before turning toward the kitchen—but it was enough. The air shifted. Thick now. Heavy with something neithe