All Chapters of Oops, I Kissed My Villain Boss : Chapter 91 - Chapter 97

(FLASHBACK: ANTHONY’S STORY)My mother’s name was Karla. She came from old money, the kind that valued discretion over everything. Her marriage to my father, Alistair St. Louis, was the front page of every society section. A merger of empires. No one asked if they loved each other. It wasn’t relevant.Karla was an artist. Her world was one of color and light, trapped in a gilded cage of expectations. She was quiet, observant, and possessed a stillness that people mistook for passivity.My father was a businessman, heir to a sprawling corporate legacy. He was also a man who believed everything, including people, were assets to be acquired. His most public acquisition was Karla. His most private was a woman named Antonia.Antonia was everything Karla was not—fiery, outspoken, from a flashy new-money family that scandalized the old guard. She was my father’s mistress for two years before the wedding, and he had no intention of letting her go after it. He enjoyed the thrill. The refined,

Florence POV.We were asleep when the first door exploded.It wasn't a knock or a kick. It was a deafening, splintering BOOM that shook the entire apartment and tore me from a shallow, troubled sleep. I sat bolt upright in the narrow bed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped animal. My ears rang from the shock of the sound.Another crash followed immediately—the sound of the deadbolt tearing free from the frame. Heavy boots thundered in the hallway outside the apartment door. Men shouted, their voices rough and commanding in a language I didn't understand.Anthony was already a moving shadow in the dark. He grabbed my arm, his grip like iron. "Floor. Now."I didn't argue. I rolled off the mattress and onto the cold hardwood just as a staccato burst of automatic gunfire ripped through the room. TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT! Muzzle flashes lit up the darkness like violent strobe lights. Plaster erupted from the wall above the bed where my head had been seconds before. The window behind

Florence POV The false calm of the safehouse lasted until dawn. Angel, sedated from another dose Javier administered to keep her fever and trauma in check, lay on the narrow bed in the small back room, her breathing shallow but steady. The quiet was a fragile, precious thing. We had slept in shifts, but my sleep had been thin and haunted by the sounds of breaking glass and gunfire. Still, for a few hours, there was no pounding on the door, no shattering windows. We thought we had a moment to breathe.I was wrong.The note came in the cold, gray light of morning.Javier had left just after first light on a quick, quiet run for bottled water, basic food, and more medical supplies. He’d been gone twenty minutes. I was in the kitchenette, trying to force down a piece of dry toast, when I heard the soft, unmistakable click of the apartment’s front door closing. It wasn’t the sound of someone entering. It was the final, definite sound of it shutting.A cold finger of dread traced my spine.