Todos os capítulos de ALMS TO LOVE: Capítulo 151 - Capítulo 160

Morning in Makati dawned battered with stormlight.The Billion estate was abnormally still—too still to be a war house. Outside the high windows, reporters filled the gates, their voices swallowed up by glass, their cameras flashing silver, ravenous eyes.Within, Fiona stood in the mirror of the east parlor, her own image still. Her hair was tied back, a plain cream suit wrapping around her. No jewels. No cosmetics designed to hide. Just her—stable, white, unyielding.The door creaked open behind her.Charles stepped in, already on edge from calls and threats of the board. His tie lay loose, his eyes darkened. "You don't have to do this," he told her.Fiona didn't move. "If I don't, we lose more than reputation."He took a step closer. "They'll tear you apart, Fiona. These people—""Have already tried," she interrupted softly. "And I'm still standing."He halted. Her reflection confronted his. For a long second, there was no speech.Then there was another figure: Madam Jamaica, standi

The Billion business skyscraper towered over Makati like a symbol of power—steel, glass, and silent judgment. Within its thirty-fourth-story boardroom, the atmosphere was one of suffocating tension.Each director attended, their faces illuminated by the cold light of morning light streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. No cameras were allowed, but nothing prevented the air from crackling with unspoken scandal.At the table's head, Madam Jamaica Billion sat like royalty in black silk, her cane beside her chair. Her face was chiseled out of ice.Charles and Fiona arrived together nuptially wedded, freshly battered. The atmosphere changed as all eyes focused their attention their way. The rain outside may have cleared, but indoors, it was just starting.Charles straightened his cufflinks, his voice low and resolute. "Good morning, gentlemen. Madam Chair.""Morning," was a chorus, thinly disguised as fear.Fiona stood by his side, unruffled in a soft gray suit. No armor, no jewelry j

Marie's door slammed shut so forcefully the noise cracked through the rain and seemed to echo in her marrow.Within the black sedan she sat with both hands tightened against her temples as if she literally could push the boardroom picture—Jamaica's slow hand, the somber faces, the stomp of the security guards—out of her head. She tore the pearl clip from her hair with a motion she would subsequently not recall and tossed it onto the seat. It skittered, sparkled in the puddled streetlight, and came to rest like a tossed token of defeat."Humiliated me," she spat into the dark leather, voice tiny and menacing. She hit the steering wheel once, then she laughed, a brittle, splintered thing. "Before them. Before the men who once kissed my hand. That old hag—wipes me out like nothing."Her own reflection in the car window was a broken portrait: mascara smeared, lips stretched thin, eyes too bright. Rain ran across the glass and painted her face with red brake light. For a moment she saw aro

She looked out the window. Outside, the storm clouds massed again, dark and foreboding.“Let her burn herself out,” Jamaica murmured. “Then we’ll end this—for good.”The rain had returned by noon.It came down in thin silver curtains, streaking across the long windows of the Billion estate like ghosts that refused to leave.Fiona stood in the atrium, arms folded, eyes distant. She hadn’t slept. None of them had.Madam Jamaica’s instructions had been clear that morning: No interviews. No statements. Wait for the next move.But now there was one."Ma'am," one of the butlers said, moving inside. "A woman is here to see you. Says it's an emergency. Her name's… Layla Vern."Jamaica set aside her chair. "Send her in. Alone."The butler hesitated. "She appears… scared.""All the better," Jamaica said.Layla Vern appeared in the room as a specter, her hand

Fiona halted a yard in front of Marie and took a breath, the cameras devouring the hesitation. "Why are you doing this to me?" she asked, and the statement was not a question so much as an accusation. "Why are you constantly besmirching my reputation? Do you think Philip would be proud of this? I never—never—did anything to hurt you. Why persist in persecuting me—and even my daughter Liza? Tell me, Marie. Tell me now."Her voice shook with rage until it hardened to brittle steel. She advanced and took Marie's hands, clasping them with such force that the woman winced. The reporters' shutters stuttered in a blur.Marie's eyes were brimmed at the corners, fury and embarrassment intertwined. She managed to free one hand and spat the reply like a blasphemy. "Because you stole the one I loved. I loved Charles first, before Philip—before any of it. I cannot bear him happy with someone else. I won't let the Billion fortune pass into your hands."