Semua Bab The Baker's Billionaire : Bab 71 - Bab 80

MARION“I’m also here, Mother,” I teased as she turned to leave with Demetria.“You aren’t a guest, Marion. A little rejection won’t hurt. Right, Demetria?”“Of course, Mrs. Whitfield,” she replied smoothly, glancing back at me with a smirk that made my chest tighten.I shook my head, amused, and followed them into the living room.The room was the same as it always had been, polished oak shelves lined with books my mother insisted she would read one day, framed photographs of galas and family trips, and my father’s leather armchair planted like a throne by the window. The smell of roasted lamb drifted in from the kitchen, carried by the hum of conversation from the staff preparing the table.Mother moved with purpose, her hand lightly resting on Demetria’s back as if she had already claimed her as one of her own. “Darling, I’d like you to meet my husband, Maxwell Whitfield,” she said, her voice carrying that effortless warmth she reserved for people she approved of.My father stood,

MARION“Let’s head back inside, Wildfire. The sun’s already set.” I swung down from my black stallion, boots landing softly against the grass. The cool evening air brushed over us, the horizon fading into purples and grays. I turned, reaching up toward her.“Come on,” I said, my voice low but certain.She slid one leg over her mare, and for a moment, her body shifted into my hands. I gripped her waist, steadying her as she descended. Her weight pressed into me before she found her footing. But she didn’t pull back right away. Her eyes caught mine, warm and teasing, lips curving into that smirk that always made me want to take her right then and there.“Smooth, Mr. Whitfield,” she whispered.“Always.” My hands lingered a beat too long before I finally released her, but not without brushing my thumb along her hip.The horses were restless, pawing at the ground, sensing the change in the air. I patted my stallion, then whistled for one of the stable hands. “Take them in,” I instructed, w

MARIONI had a meeting with a landowner here in my resort, Oceanview, so I couldn’t drive Demetria to her bakery. Stephen did that. The meeting took place in my office at the resort. Floor-to-ceiling glass walls framing the Pacific Ocean, sunlight bouncing off the water straight into the room. Everything was deliberate, from the black marble desk to the Italian leather chairs, designed to remind anyone sitting across from me of who held the upper hand.Mr. Buckman sat opposite, nursing a glass of water my assistant had set down. He was on his third rambling story about how his grandfather first rode horses across those Santa Barbara acres back in the 1940s. Papers were already spread across the table, contracts drafted, ready for my signature.This land would be mine. The resort expansion in Santa Barbara would be another empire stamped with my name. The resort would fit perfectly into my portfolio, another jewel in the crown. I knew the numbers already. It would print money, just lik

MARIONThe moment Paula stormed out of my office, her perfume still hanging in the air like cheap arrogance, I knew I couldn’t stay another minute in my office inside the resort. I needed to get some reviews done, plus, there was only one person I wanted to see.Demetria. Not that I’d ever say it out loud.I worked for hours in the suite I shared with Demetria over the weekend. Reviewing financial budgets and also seeing the improvement of my businesses all around the continent. My office at The Whitfields Global, my empire, is under renovation. I’ll start working there next week on Monday. I needed to start traveling to oversee my hotels and casinos around the continent myself.I checked my wristwatch and it was now 3:30 pm. I grabbed my keys and left without another word. The resort could run itself for a few hours; my manager is also nearby. I drove with the top down on the Rolls, the Malibu afternoon sun blazing over the coastline as I headed toward Culver City. By the time I pul

MARIONThe week passed in a whirlwind of meetings, calls, and endless site visits. I felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on my shoulders, but my mind kept flicking to Demetria, to the moments I’d stolen over FaceTime and in texts. She had been my constant thought, even in the middle of land acquisitions and blueprint revisions.This morning, I met with my lawyer and Mr. Buckman, the landowner, to finalize the purchase of the plot in Santa Barbara for my new resort. The process had been methodical and detailed. My lawyer ensured every legal contingency was covered, including the zoning restrictions, environmental assessments, and utility easements. Mr. Buckman had been meticulous about the soil reports, access roads, and water rights. I signed the final documents with a flourish, imagining the resort rising over the coastal cliffs, private and secluded, a perfect getaway for a select few.“This land is perfect, Marion,” Mr. Buckman said, shaking my hand. “You’ve got the vis