All Chapters of Warm My Bed, Little Pumpkin!: Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

QUEEN'S eyes stayed fixed on Orlanda’s, that raw, cautious question hanging thick in the stale air between them. She exhaled slowly, forcing herself not to look away. She needed this girl to trust her, just enough to get her to step out of this cage.“Why do I want to help you?” Queen echoed, her voice softer now, almost gentle, but her mind spun fast beneath the calm. She sank back onto the rickety chair, crossing one leg over the other, hands resting on her knee like she was weighing truth against convenience.She gave a little shrug. “Well, because you don’t deserve this. No one does, especially not for… whatever sin Oswald thinks you committed. I have seen the kind of man he is. He doesn’t let go of grudges. He doesn’t forgive. He uses people, Orlanda. Twists them, cages them. Like he has done to you.”Orlanda’s eyes flickered, searching Queen’s face for any crack, any sign of a lie. She didn’t find one, only the polished calm of a woman who had learned to wear half-truths like pe

THE house was a tomb. The hallways breathed with silence and secrets, the walls pressing close around Orlanda as she crept behind Queen. Each step made on the tiles felt like a gunshot in her chest. Her pulse drummed in her ears louder than her footsteps, and every shadow felt like Oswald’s cold eyes waiting to drag her back.Queen walked two paces ahead, calm but sharp-eyed, pausing at every corridor to tilt her head, listening for footsteps. She had chosen the time perfectly, mid-afternoon, when the daily hired kitchen staff are out for deliveries, when the few guards inside were lazy and half-blind with heat and routine.They passed what used to be the servants’ quarter quietly, then down the narrow hall that led to the basement corridor. Just before the bend, Queen motioned for Orlanda to stop, pressing her flat against the cold wall. Orlanda’s breath hitched as Queen leaned forward, peering around the corner.Two guards were there. Just as Queen predicted, standing by the door tha

THE clink of cutlery and the faint aroma of slow-roasted lamb drifted through the dining hall as the hired cook for the evening moved briskly, arranging the final settings on the long polished mahogany table. Crystal goblets gleamed under the soft chandelier light, and the faint hush of jazz playing from the distant speakers filled the air with an illusion of warmth the house itself never offered.Oswald stepped in, tall and broad-shouldered in his usual dark suit, his eyes sharp and cold as they swept over the table. The cook straightened immediately, murmured a respectful greeting. Oswald answered with nothing more than a grunt, a sound more suited to dismissing a dog than acknowledging a person, then pulled out the heavy chair at the head of the table and sank into it with that predator’s calm that made grown men hold their breath.The cook, unbothered, or perhaps just accustomed to such frost, quickly moved to dish out the first course: buttered asparagus and garlic baby potatoes b

THE moment Carlson dropped the call on Queen, his phone lit up again — Diego Morales. He let it ring once, twice, before swiping it up, forcing his voice to stay steady.“Boss.”Diego’s voice was like ice cracking over a deep lake. “What is the delay, Carlson? You promised me leverage. I need that girl out now, or did Queen fool you too?”Carlson’s jaw ticked, his right fist curling so tight his knuckles popped. He swallowed the curse clawing up his throat. “I know, Diego. I know. She is dragging this out longer than necessary, but I have got her on a short leash. She won’t get away with anything stupid.”“Handle it,” Diego snapped, then the line went dead, no goodbye, no room for excuses.Carlson dropped the phone onto the table so hard it skidded, rattling a whiskey glass beside it. He stood there, staring at the wall, the muscle in his jaw twitching. Queen. Foolish woman thinks she’s clever.The door behind him clicked open and Stanley stepped in, a single glance at Carlson’s tau

CARLSON let the phone drop onto the polished mahogany table with a dull thud. He tilted his head back against the chair, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to squeeze out the irritation pulsing in his temples.“Can you imagine?” he scoffed, voice laced with mocking disbelief. “Your wife called me.”Stanley, lounging in the high-backed armchair across from him, let out a low chuckle, the corners of his mouth twisting with wry amusement. “Ex-wife you mean” he corrected smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip. “I made sure of that many years ago, remember?”Carlson rolled his eyes, his lips curling in contempt. “Whatever. She has the same nerve she had back then. Acting all righteous like she is still my mother, like she deserves any piece of my life.”Stanley raised a brow, studying his son’s face as if reading the layers underneath the anger. “What does she want? She sounded desperate, didn’t she?”Carlson leaned forward, resting his elbows on hi