All Chapters of NAKED LIES OF THE BILLIONAIRE: Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

The news spread like wildfire.One morning it was just whispers in group chats and the occasional sideways glance from colleagues; by afternoon, his face was everywhere. Billboards along the major highways, digital screens flickering in traffic roundabouts, even the sidebar ads on news sites I scrolled past during lunch. Daniel Morgan, serious expression, arms folded across his chest in that signature power pose, suit impeccable, jaw set like he was already halfway to victory. I tried to stay focused on work, but the company’s site had been updated too. Fresh press releases, a new “Leadership” page with his bio expanded and polished to a high sheen. No mention of my name anywhere, , no credit to the team that had actually executed it. Just his name, bold and prominent. I closed the tab. Opened it again five minutes later, like picking at a scab. Closed it again. Mails started trickling in, former colleagues forwarding articles with subject lines like “Saw this and thought of you” or

Adrian’s hands found my breasts in the dark, warm and sure, thumbs brushing over my nipples in slow, deliberate circles that pulled me straight out of sleep. The room was still heavy with night, curtains drawn tight, only the faint blue glow from the digital clock on his nightstand cutting through the black. I gasped softly, body arching before my mind fully caught up. We were on his bed. Our bed, now, technically, though I still thought of it as his. The sheets were cool against my back, but his palms were hot, possessive, kneading me with that quiet confidence he always carried, even half-asleep. His breath fanned across my collarbone as he shifted above me, weight braced on one forearm so he wouldn’t crush me completely.“Morning already?” I murmured, voice thick with sleep and something lower. He didn’t answer with words. Instead his mouth replaced one hand, lips closing over my nipple, tongue flicking once, then sucking hard enough to make my hips jerk. A low sound escaped me, ha

His jaw tightened for a second. I could see the old anger flicker there, brief, muted, but real.“She was in the hospital for a whole year. In and out, mostly in. Tests, infusions, specialists flying in from other cities. I spent half my nights on those shitty vinyl chairs, holding her hand while machines beeped and nurses came and went. She hated it, hated being seen like that. Weak. Dependent. She’d cry sometimes when she thought I was asleep. Quietly. Like she didn’t want to wake me with it.”He looked away then, toward the ceiling, like the memory was written there in the shadows.“When she finally got better, enough to come home, anyway, she stayed at home. A lot. Like… a lot. The apartment became her whole world for a while. She’d sit on the couch with her laptop, scrolling through industry news, but she didn’t go back to work. Couldn’t, physically. Or maybe , wouldn’t. I don’t know. She said she needed time to ‘recalibrate.’ I didn’t push.”His fingers flexed against my shoulde

I was in my car when the lawyer called.The engine was off, windows cracked just enough to let in the late-afternoon breeze that carried the faint smell of rain on hot asphalt and distant street food, grilled plantain, maybe, or someone frying akara a few blocks over. I’d pulled into the small lot behind Aurex Media after leaving Adrian’s place, needing a moment alone before walking into the office. The phone buzzed in the cup holder, sharp, insistent. I glanced at the screen: Mr. Okon, the family lawyer. Not my divorce lawyer, the one I’d hired after Daniel filed, but the old one, the one Daniel and I had shared when we were still pretending forever was a contract we could both sign and honor. We’d chosen him right after the wedding: mid-fifties, calm voice, always smelled faintly of menthol cough drops and expensive aftershave. He’d handled the prenup, the property deeds, the small trust we’d set up for “future children” we never quite got around to having.I hadn’t told him I’d si

“Yes baby,” he breathed against my ear, hips rocking once, slow and deliberate, letting me feel every inch of him through our clothes. “You feel so good. Always do.”I reached back, fingers threading into his hair, holding him there while his mouth worked my neck and his hand worked my breast. The desk was right in front of me; I braced one palm against the wood, the other still tangled in his hair, trying to anchor myself as sensation built and built.He slid his free hand down, lower, cupping me through my trousers, pressing the heel of his palm against my clit in slow, firm circles. Even through the fabric the pressure was perfect, enough to make my thighs tremble, not enough to push me over the edge yet.I turned my head, found his mouth with mine, hungry, messy, desperate to drown out everything else. He groaned into the kiss, tongue sliding against mine, hand slipping inside my trousers now, fingers finding slick heat and circling my clit with devastating accuracy.My hips rocke