บททั้งหมดของ ALMS TO LOVE: บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

The scent of jasmine lingered. It clung to the east wing, the Billion estate, like a memory that would not let go, weak but persistent. Fiona woke up to rain-soaked wind rustling against the silk drapes. She thought at first that it was the voice of Liza, but when she turned, the child slept on, thin and weak in the grand four-poster next to her.Then came the knock, firm and deliberate.Fiona turned over, her arms going protectively to Liza's forehead before she slid out from under the covers.Charles stood on the other side of the door, dressed already in a steel-gray suit, phone held in his hand. His jaw was clenched in a recognizable fury."Something's happened," he said.Fiona pulled the robe around her and followed him into the drawing room. A tablet sat on the marble table, the screen lit up with a tabloid headline:"THE SECRET PAST OF FIONA GENERYS: BILLION'S FUTURE BRIDE OR FRAUD?"Beneath it, grainy images. One of her from years ago, outside a run-down Manila apartment build

The early morning sunlight cut through the tall arched windows of the Drams townhouse like judgment.Marie sat at the long breakfast table, untouched espresso growing cold in front of her. She was dressed in a spotless cream-colored suit silent armor and a color of lipstick called Power Play. The phone was already clutched in her hand. Her assistant stood at the kitchen entrance, tablet in hand, attempting not to wince."They've opened the archives," he filed in sternly. "Jamaica acted quickly. Board minutes. Employee records. Even files on the Foundation's offshore accounts."Marie didn't flinch. "They're late. I already cleaned out the bad stuff.""Yes, but.." He paused. "It's not the information that counts. It's the story."Marie's jaw clenched."Go on.The aide shifted on his feet. "They're reworking the narrative. Casting Fiona as the surprise matriarch-in-waiting. Quiet dignity. Selflessness. There's a whisper campaign beginning she's being pushed by unseen threats, stalkers, s

The words resonated within her head like a mantra as she stalked through her lavish London estate. She had no use for the shallow theatrics of an engagement. The game was on, and so were the new rules. She would turn the script on its head. The Billion legacy wasn't simply about money—it was about power. And power, Marie had long learned, was the most fragile commodity on the planet. One stumble, and it disintegrated.She was done with Charles, and done with Fiona, playing in a game she had already won. Fiona, with her guileless pretence and her so-called betrothal, was nothing more than a pawn in the master game Marie had been weaving since she was a child.She stood in front of a large mirror, smoothing out the snug black dress that clung to her. Her reflection stared back, a picture of elegance and refinement, but inside? Inside, there was only rage, seething and churning just below her surface.Marie needed to hit them hard, hit them fast. Fiona would be but a ghost in the media's

Marie Drams’s fingers hovered over her phone as the words lingered in her mind: "I’m just getting started."A chill ran through her veins. Her eyes narrowed in the image of the glass that faced her. She had been playing a long game, having waited for the perfect time to destroy all that lay between her and what she sought. But now..now, it was not just about her anymore. It was about Charles, about Fiona, about power and legacy.Her phone vibrated again. Another text from her informant. She paused before unlocking it."Charles is mobilizing. He's not accepting this lying down. His reaction isn't what you expect."The color drained from Marie's face. What did that mean? His reaction isn't what you expect?Charles had always been predictable. Even in his rebelliousness, he remained in the lines. But now. Now, it seemed he was playing a game she wasn't familiar with.With a quick movement, she slammed the phone onto her desk, the screen shattering against the richly polished wood with a

Fiona emerged into the chilly street, the dress still hanging upon her shoulders, though the material was lighter than the thoughts weighing her down. The photographer's planned shoot, the gown, the fitting, it was all of a pretence she had to don. As much as she might wish to, there was no escape now.Her phone beeped again.Charles.Charles: "How are you doing? Are you alright?"She stopped in her tracks, fingers closing around the phone, the screen looking back at her. His words, while plain, were a more searching question than she had an answer for. Was she fine? She wanted to lie. To tell him that she was fine, that everything was going along according to schedule. But she wasn't. Not quite. Not with the icy uncertainty of what things would bring.She stood there, alone in the bustling city streets, watching the world move around her, distant, out of reach.Fiona: “I’m fine.”It was automatic, a reflex. It didn’t even scratch the surface of what she was feeling. She tried to make