All Chapters of Oops, I Kissed My Villain Boss : Chapter 51 - Chapter 59

FLORENCE'S POV.My hand trembled so violently the phone felt like a live thing trying to escape my grasp. The screen was a stark rectangle of light in the dim room, the red recording icon a pulsating wound. Calling her was pointless. My mom built walls when life got hard, and she was currently buried deep behind them. This voicemail was my only chance. I pressed the record button. The soft click sounded like a gunshot in the quiet. I swallowed, but the hard lump in my throat refused to budge.“Mom… it’s me,” I whispered. My voice broke on the second word, the sound thin and reedy. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to force the tears back. “I—I don’t know if I’ll be back… but I need you to know I’ll be fine. I’m going somewhere I have to go. Somewhere dangerous, but I’ll be careful… I promise.”A hot tear escaped and traced a path down my cheek. I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against the cool, rough wall. The physical pressure was a small, solid point in the swirling mess inside

Florence's POV.The cold, circular muzzle of the guard’s pistol was a dark void an inch from the bridge of my nose. I could smell the faint, oily scent of gun cleaner and the metallic tang of the steel. My entire world had narrowed to that single, menacing point. The man’s knuckle was white, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. I could hear the faint, precise click as he applied the first bit of pressure, the sound impossibly loud in the tense silence.To my left, Anthony shifted his weight. It was a minute adjustment, a transfer of balance from his left foot to his right. His right hand twitched, his fingers curling slightly near his waistband, where I knew a small, ceramic knife was hidden. The movement was small, but the guard saw it.“Don’t,” I whispered. The word scraped out of my throat, which was as dry as sandpaper.The guard’s eyes, a flat, hard brown, flickered from me to Anthony and back. He barked out a series of guttural syllables in a language I didn’t recognize. H

Florence's POV My eyes opened to a brown canvas ceiling. For one disorienting second, my mind was blank. The air carried the distinct smells of woodsmoke and unfamiliar spices. Then the memories returned in a violent rush: the gun in my face, the shattered gate, the exploding truck, the long walk through the cold desert. The escape.I sat up quickly, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was on a low, rough-woven mat on the sand floor of a large tent. Three tribal women were sitting nearby, folding blankets and speaking in low, melodic tones. My father was not with them. Anthony was gone, too.A sharp spike of panic drove me to my feet. I pushed aside the heavy woven curtain that served as a door and stepped out into the late afternoon. The sun was a huge, orange ball sitting on the horizon, casting long shadows across the dunes. The camp was a small cluster of brown tents. About fifty yards away, a group of men were gathered around a large, crackling fire. A big black pot hung over

Florence's POV The air seemed to solidify around us. My father’s words, “Give me up,” hung there, stark and impossible. Anthony didn’t let them settle.“No,” he snapped, his voice a low, sharp crack in the darkness. He turned and gripped my father’s arm. “You are not sacrificing yourself. Not after everything we went through to get you out.”My father’s face was etched with a deep exhaustion, but his eyes were clear and resolved. “Anthony, be logical. If they take me, their focus will be entirely on me. The rest of you can get to the plane and leave. It’s the only way.”“We are not discussing this,” Anthony cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are coming with us. That is the end of the story.”Inspector Amish moved closer, keeping his body low behind the metal drum we were using for cover. He peered toward the lit hangar. “I count ten, possibly twelve of them. All armed with automatic rifles. The pilot is alive, but he is tied up in the cockpit. The longer we stan

Florence's POV The pilot’s voice came over the intercom, announcing our initial descent into London. I looked out the window again as the plane began to slowly descend through the cloud layer. The city appeared below, a vast, sprawling map of countless tiny lights, soft and glowing against the dark earth. It didn’t look like the end of a nightmare, but it felt close enough.I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. For the first time in weeks, the constant, gnawing fear in my stomach was gone. In its place was a profound and simple fatigue.As my father drifted into a fitful sleep beside me and the steady hum of the jet engines filled the cabin, I whispered the words to myself, a quiet affirmation.“We made it.”The low, constant drone of the engines was the only sound. It wasn’t a peaceful quiet, but a drained one, the silence of people who have nothing left to say.Mira sat beside Ame’s stretcher, holding his hand. Her own hands were trembling. She kept whispering