Lahat ng Kabanata ng A GAME OF LIES: Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Montez… please, just listen to me.” Amira’s voice trembled, the words spilling out too quickly as she stood in front of him, hands twisted together, eyes pleading desperately for his understanding. Her body leaned forward slightly, as though closing the distance between them would soften the hardness in his expression. Montez didn’t move. He sat at the edge of the couch, one elbow resting on his knee, his hand curled into a fist beneath his chin. His dark eyes fixed on her, sharp and unyielding. The silence between them felt unbearable. “Listen to you?” he asked at last, his tone measured but cold. “After I find out you’ve been keeping secrets from me? After I watched that bastard lay his filthy hands on you, and you said nothing?” Amira flinched at the bite in his words. Her throat tightened, but she forced herself to hold his gaze. “I was afraid,” she whispered. “Afrai

The sun filtered lazily through the tall windows of the mansion, spilling light across the dining room where Montez sat with a glass of black coffee in hand. He had barely touched his breakfast. His mind was already racing with the day’s work ahead when Amira entered quietly, her steps light but hesitant. He looked up immediately, his eyes softening just slightly at the sight of her. She took the seat opposite him, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked nervous, as though she had been rehearsing something all morning. “I want to talk to you,” she said finally, her tone steady but gentle. Montez leaned back in his chair, studying her face. “Go on.” Amira folded her hands together, forcing herself not to look away. “I’ve been living here for two months now. The mansion is beautiful, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve given me, but… I’d like to go home.” The words hit him

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the laptop screen. Montez leaned back in his chair, one hand pressed against his temple, the other resting on the edge of the desk. His eyes never left the faint line of sound waves moving across the screen. Every word captured by the phone’s mic was distorted, muffled by background noise. He could hear the low murmur of Amira’s voice, then another voice — deeper, male — responding. But the words were impossible to piece together. Montez’s jaw tightened. He knew that voice. He would know it anywhere. Nathan. The faint sound of Enzo’s footsteps broke his focus. He stepped into the study, carrying a glass of whiskey in one hand which he had previously gone out to get. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Montez hunched over the laptop. “Don’t tell me you’re still listening,” Enzo said, his tone half amused, half exasperated. “Boss, this is

The night air carried a sharp chill as Montez adjusted his cufflinks and slipped into his private study. The room was dim, only the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating his face as he picked up the phone. His voice was low, almost dangerous. “Is he there?” Montez asked. The man on the other end hesitated before answering. “Yes, boss. We have him at the warehouse.” Montez’s jaw tightened. “Good. Keep him on his knees until I arrive.” He ended the call without another word, sliding the phone into his pocket as he grabbed his jacket. His steps were measured, deliberate, echoing down the long marble hallway. Rage brewed quietly in his chest, not just at Nathan, but at the possibility—however slim—that Amira had lied to him. The drive to the warehouse was silent. His driver knew better than to speak when Vitalio’s expression carried that familiar storm. By the time the car rolled up

The moment Montez’s sleek car rolled up to the grand hotel, camera flashes exploded like fireworks across the night sky as reporters and paparazzi swarmed the entrance, shouting his name, jostling for a picture of the infamous billionaire. Amira instinctively shrank into her seat, her hands tightening against her lap as she watched the mob outside. The door swung open, and Montez stepped out first, towering, and commanding. The crowd roared louder at the sight of him. Then his hand reached in for her, firm and insistent. She placed her palm in his, and the instant her feet touched the red carpet, his arm wrapped around her waist possessively. The world outside blurred into chaos. Lights flashed mercilessly, questions were hurled at them, and microphones shoved too close. Yet Montez’s hold anchored her. She felt both shielded and suffocated by the way he pressed her against his side, his hand firm against the curve of her waist as