บททั้งหมดของ The Baker's Billionaire : บทที่ 91 - บทที่ 100

DEMETRIA “Papá, really? You’re way too comfortable for someone with a flight in under an hour,” I said, shaking my head as I came out of my room, tugging on my light blazer. He was lounging like he owned the apartment, stretched across the couch with his legs crossed, a mug of coffee balanced in one hand and his phone in the other. He glanced at me lazily and smirked. “¿Vuelo? No tengo vuelo.” Flight? I have no flight. I froze. “What do you mean you have no flight? Your ticket—” He lifted a hand, silencing me like he always did when I was younger. “Marion offered me his private jet. Said I’d be more comfortable that way.” For a second, I just stared at him. “Excuse me?” Papá chuckled at my wide-eyed expression, clearly enjoying how rattled I was. “Mija, you should’ve seen the way he said it. Calm, confident. Like it was the most normal thing in the world. ‘Cancel your flight, I’ll call my pilot tonight,’ he told me. That man is serious.” I blinked, heat crawling up my neck. Of c

DEMETRIA “I love you, Marion Whitfield,” I whispered, no longer able to hold those words in. I stared into Marion’s eyes. No, this man wasn’t perfect, but he’s all mine. Yes. Mine. My Handsome Devil. And I was sure there were things in my past that would bother me. But that was the past. And I’d already lived through that, already argued about it, and made it past that. I needed to focus on my future with this handsome man who was so damn patient with me, even when I wasn’t patient with myself or with him. The man who touched me with such tenderness that it brought tears to my eyes. The man who spoke to me calmly, even when I tried to resist, even when I knew I was frustrating him. The man who was obsessed with me and my well-being fiercely. The man who was willing to fall into the abyss with me and pull us both out. The man who loved me so much that I could hear it in his voice when he talked to me. There was no mistaking it, I loved this man. His eyes widened, and his mouth droppe

MARION The morning light sliced through the curtains, brushing golden streaks across the suite’s grand bed. For a moment, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, then back down at the woman tucked against me. Demetria. My Wildfire. She was still asleep, breathing soft and steady, her curls spilling over my chest like a crown. And all I could think about was the words she’d whispered into me last night. I love you, Marion Whitfield. Jesus. Those words had echoed in my skull all night like a hymn, keeping me wide awake, my chest burning like someone had struck a match inside it. After all this time, after every fight, every doubt, every wall she tried to throw up between us, she finally said it. And I wasn’t sure if I was more relieved or terrified, because now I had something I couldn’t afford to lose. She stirred faintly, mumbling into my chest. I brushed my lips across the top of her curls. “Morning, Wildfire.” Her lashes fluttered open, and she blinked up at me, half-asleep

DEMETRIA A few days later . . . “Girl, you’re glowing. Look at you!” Anastasia shrieked the second I stepped through the glass doors of the boutique. Her voice carried over racks of satin and lace, earning a side-eye from one of the consultants in black heels. I laughed, cheeks warming. “Glowing? Please, it’s just jet lag mixed with too much gelato.” “Uh-uh,” she wagged her finger, strutting over in her oversized sunglasses. “That’s not jet lag, babe, that’s the ‘Marion Whitfield effect.’” I rolled my eyes, but she wasn’t wrong. The last few days had been straight out of a movie or one of my many daydreams I used to have when I was a teenager. All Marion and I had been doing was fucking or making love, until I forgot what day it was. We were eating either at the hotel or at different restaurants tucked around Monte Carlo, walking hand in hand on the Promenade des Champions with the Mediterranean breeze wrapping us in salt and sun, devouring gelato from Venchi — hazelnut for me,

DEMETRIA A few weeks later… “Welcome to Mexico!” I shouted, my arms stretched wide as soon as the warm air kissed my skin. The sun here had a way of wrapping around you—bright, golden, alive. The sounds of mariachi music and the chatter of people spilled through the terminal, and instantly, I felt at home. “I can hear you just fine, no need to shout, Wildfire,” Marion teased, smirking at me. God, he looked so damn good. Khaki shorts, a crisp summer shirt, dark shades that framed his face perfectly. My man looked like sin wrapped in vacation clothes. “You should take a picture, Wildfire.” “Please,” I scoffed, placing my hands on my hips, squinting at him. “Don’t remind me of the past, you devil.” He laughed, leaned down, and kissed me. That satisfied grin he always wore made my knees a little weak. “But you still love me. I won.” “Yeah, whatever.” I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. “Mhmm… come on, your ride awaits, Miss Hernandez,” Marion said smoothly,