All Chapters of The Baker's Billionaire : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

DEMETRIA“Who is calling?” Marion asked, his brows furrowed like the person was interrupting a good morning between us.“It is Anastasia calling.”“Okay, I’ll give you space. I’m in the hall when you’re done.”Marion got up and sat a few feet away with a tablet in his hand, leaning back against the sofa, giving me space. That in itself surprised me.I swiped to answer. “Anas?”Her laugh hit me immediately, teasing and loud in my ear. “Well, well, look who finally decided to wake up. Don’t even try to deny it, you spent the night at Marion’s, didn’t you?”Heat rose to my cheeks. “Good morning to you, too.”“Don’t dodge, Demetria. I know that tone. You’re glowing through the phone. I know that for sure.” She made an exaggerated kissy noise. “Spill. How was the birthday dinner? And don’t you dare lie to me. Did you two… You know?”I sighed, sinking into the corner of the couch. “You’re shameless.”“And you’re avoiding the question,” she fired back without missing a beat. “So… how was it?

DEMETRIAThe leather of Marion’s Bugatti was warm against my legs, the morning sunlight slipping in through the tinted glass. My body still carried the afterglow of last night, the laughter, the kisses, the thrill of a night unlike any I’d ever had. Now, heading toward Anastasia’s house, reality was creeping back in, though not in an unpleasant way.My phone buzzed, lighting up with a call from Papá. My chest softened. I hadn’t spoken to him since Friday, and guilt pricked at me.I answered quickly. “Papá, buenos días. Good morning.”“¡Mija, feliz cumpleaños atrasado! Happy belated birthday, my daughter!” His deep voice warmed my chest instantly.I smiled. “Gracias, papá. Thank you, Dad.”“How was it? Your birthday? ¿Te divertiste? Did you have fun?”I bit my lip, my eyes flicking to Marion’s hands on the wheel, his fingers steady, his wristwatch catching the light. I lowered my voice slightly. “Sí, papá. Yes, Dad. It was… special.”“Ajá,” he said knowingly, dragging the word. “Specia

DEMETRIA The week slipped through my fingers faster than I realized. Work at the bakery kept me grounded, orders piling in as though people had conspired to distract me from the man who had been living rent-free in my head. I'm interviewing two new workers on Monday because work is booming with lots of orders. Still, even in the middle of kneading dough or frosting cakes, Marion would find his way into my thoughts. His voice, his hands, the way he looked at me like I was already his. A few late-night calls, teasing texts, and one maddening voicemail where he only said “Wildfire, you’ll see soon enough” kept me balanced on the edge of curiosity and desire. Am I just a fling, or am I falling for him?By Friday evening, the air carried that familiar hum of anticipation, the kind that only came with the weekend. Marion wants me to spend the weekend with him. Again. My heart raced with the unspoken question: What would Marion pull this time?My phone pinged with a message, and I glanced

DEMETRIA“Wildfire.”The word drifted through my half-sleep, pulling me out of the warmth of my dreams. My lashes fluttered, and the first thing I saw was Marion standing by the side of the bed, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips. The morning sun poured through the glass windows, making him look like something I should have never been allowed to touch—too untouchable, too dangerous. And yet, here he was, waking me.I groaned, burying my face in the pillow. “Marion, it’s too early.”“Too early?” he repeated, voice smooth like velvet laced with amusement. “It’s past nine, Wildfire. That’s practically noon for me.”“Some of us don’t run empires before breakfast,” I muttered, my voice muffled in the sheets.I felt his hand brush over my hair, tucking strands behind my ear. “Says the baker. Come on. Freshen up. Then we’ll eat.”I peeked up at him, narrowing my eyes. “You sound like my father.”He chuckled low. “Trust me, I’m nothing like your father.”Pushing myself up on my elbows, I st

DEMETRIAI looked back just as I heard the voice calling out to Marion. Oh, perfect! The same two women I’d run into at the grocery store, and again at the club. Paula’s so-called friends. Trouble in designer heels.“Marion Whitfield,” one of them crooned, the blonde. Her lips curved into a sly smile. The other with ginger hair, clutched a Dior bag like a trophy, eyes flicking to me and narrowing just slightly.“Ladies,” Marion said smoothly, voice calm, detached, as if he were addressing strangers on the street. His arm brushed mine lightly, the smallest gesture, but enough to remind me he wasn’t rattled.“Shopping for Paula today?” the first one asked, tilting her head. Her tone was sweet, but the sugar was poisoned. “She’ll love whatever you pick.”My stomach tightened. So this is how they played.Marion didn’t miss a beat. “Not Paula.” His voice was low, deliberate. “I don’t shop for the past.”The second woman gave a tinkling laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Interesting.