All Chapters of Sips of Seduction: The Billionaire Heiress: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The café opened to a gray morning. Celine moved quietly behind the counter, hands steady though her thoughts weren’t. She polished the espresso machine until its chrome gleamed, but the shine only betrayed her unease. Her reflection stared back at her—familiar yet unsettled, eyes just a fraction too slow to blink when she did. She exhaled sharply, muttering, “I need more sleep,” and forced herself to look away.Marites arrived soon after, arms full of supplies as though nothing had happened. She hummed softly while arranging milk cartons in the fridge, her precise and ordinary movements. Too ordinary.“Long night?” she asked without looking up.“Something like that,” Celine replied, keeping her tone neutral. She busied herself with wiping the counter, avoiding the weight of Marites’s presence.The morning rhythm returned—machines whirring, orders called, cups clinking. Regulars drifted in, bringing chatter that filled the café with a semblance of normal life. Yet for Celine, the atmos

Mateo Navarro kept the diary on his lap like a relic too fragile to trust. The leather was cracked at the spine, the corners softened by years of Jacinta’s touch. He had found the book boxed among linens after her funeral, buried with other keepsakes no one had dared disturb. It had gathered dust on his shelf for long, hidden like an inconvenient truth.Tonight, he had pulled it out. Not to discover what he already knew—Teofisto’s papers had revealed the truth two years ago—but to seek confirmation, context, perhaps even an explanation. Instead, what he found only sharpened the wound.The handwriting was smaller than he’d expected. Careful loops, neat strokes, tenderness threaded even into notes about deliveries and supplier disputes. At first, it read like a ledger of domestic life: christening lists, reminders for Teofisto, comments about which beans roasted best that season. Then he turned a page, and the date froze him: the day of his birth.November 1, 1986.Rosie was so young. To

Mateo’s penthouse was quiet, too quiet. The skyline outside stretched wide and glittering, a sea of lights like jewels scattered over black velvet. But instead of comfort, it brought him agitation. He sat before the wide glass, a tumbler of whiskey untouched on the low table, his fingers tapping impatient rhythms against the armrest.He could still hear Henry Co’s voice. Smooth, deliberate, each word sharpened like a blade: “With you, Navarro Coffee’s empire can be unmade. We can rebuild it—on our terms.” The man had leaned back in his chair with the calm arrogance of someone who was used to being obeyed. Money, resources, influence—it was all there for the taking. All Henry needed was what Mateo had always carried: Navarro’s weak spots, their cracks hidden beneath polished veneers.But it wasn’t Henry’s promises that haunted him most. It was the flicker of a woman passing by outside the office, the echo of her gait, the slight tilt of her head. For a heartbeat, recognition had flared

The file was heavy in his hands, though it wasn’t paper that weighed it down. It was ruined.Mateo Navarro sat in his study, the city glittering beyond the windows, the silence of the penthouse broken only by the faint hum of air-conditioning. Before him lay a thick folder bound in black leather and a laptop screen glowing with stolen fragments of a man’s life. The investigator had been thorough; the hackers, efficient. Every corner of Liam Reyes’s world was laid bare—debts, contracts, private emails, even the desperation hidden behind polite replies.Mateo skimmed the first page with a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You’ve been busy, Reyes,” he murmured. “Too busy to notice the cracks under your feet.”It was almost poetic. Two years ago, he had offered Liam a crown—an invitation to design the Navarro Coffee flagship headquarters wing, the kind of commission architects kill for. Mateo had been sure he would leap at it. Instead, Liam had smiled apologetically and declined.I’ve ju

The café felt smaller that morning. Not physically—its walls were still the same brick-and-wood warmth Celine had chosen months ago—but the air pressed tighter, as if the place had shrunk under invisible hands. Celine moved with practiced rhythm, setting pastries behind the glass, checking the espresso machine’s hiss and hum. Customers filtered in, chatting lightly about traffic and the weather. Still, every word seemed too distant, like voices traveling from the other side of a thick wall.Liam leaned against the counter, his presence grounding her. He had stayed overnight, not in her apartment but close enough—texting her until she finally slept, waiting outside in the morning when she unlocked the café. He didn’t say it aloud, but she knew what it meant: he didn’t trust her to face the shadows alone. She wasn’t sure if that comforted or frightened her.By midmorning, Marites arrived with her usual brisk efficiency, sliding into the routine like nothing was wrong. She greeted regula