Todos os capítulos de STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS : Capítulo 71 - Capítulo 80

CINNAMONThe house felt off without Mom.It was too quiet, too empty, as if all the air had been drained away.People milled about, Mrs. Hartley had organized refreshments despite my objections. Sandwiches that no one would touch. Coffee that would soon grow cold. The awkward routine of post-funeral etiquette.Dove, Mrs. Moretti, and Thessa kept their distance, close but not intrusive, giving us space while signaling they were available if needed.Eventually, Thessa broke away and climbed onto my lap. She didn’t say a word; she simply curled up and held my hand.I welcomed her presence; her warmth was the only thing anchoring me to reality."Cinnamon." Mrs. Hartley appeared next to me, wringing her hands nervously. "I know this might be inappropriate timing, but I need to give you something."She handed me a folded piece of paper that looked official, legal in nature."Your mother drafted this the night before she... before." Mrs. Hartley's voice trembled slightly. "She transferred al

DANTE"Technically," I said calmly, "I had you brought to me because you refused to meet with me.""That should've made it clear that we want NOTHING to do with you!" Risa's voice escalated with each word."I understand. But I can't live without Cinnamon.""Well, you'd better start getting used to it!" Khloe strode toward the door. "Now let us leave before I lose my temper."My bodyguard—six-foot-four and a former military man—blocked the exit. I knew what Khloe was capable of. Her words weren't empty threats. I saw what she did to Marcus during the funeral reception which gladdened my heart. She should've put him in a coma.Khloe spun around. "Tell him to move. NOW."Just then, my phone rang. Perfect timing.I checked the caller ID and saw my private investigator's name. Finally."Talk to me.""You'll receive a file within the hour," he said in a steady, professional tone. "Everything you've requested. The truth about what happened that day—all of it."Six months of investigation. Si

CINNAMON The thought exploded in my mind. These past months of pain, turning us into outcasts in this town, and it was Max Moretti behind it all. I almost began to question my own father.My chest felt constricted around my heart, which pounded against my ribs as if trying to escape.I had been saving for months. Three careful months of budgeting, every spare dollar set aside because I had decided just yesterday to hire a private investigator to finally reopen the case myself and clear Dad's name before I completely lost my mind.And now this.What did we ever do to deserve this? The question pierced me deeply, filled with anger. My family had suffered for nothing, victims of a crime committed by a man who had enough wealth to distort the truth, pointing fingers at an innocent man while watching him drown in accusations. We lost everything. Dad's reputation, Mom's health, my entire childhood, all collateral damage in whatever twisted game Max Moretti had been playing.But then anothe

DANTEDistance had its bite, and it had been gnawing at me for over a month since my last effort to reach out to her. Every attempt to connect with Cinnamon had spectacularly backfired. The cabin incident, my desperate act, had only driven the knife deeper. I had seen it in her eyes before she left: not just anger but something more profound—betrayal. The kind that solidifies into permanence.Mom and Dove were no help. "Handle this yourself," they said, their voices gentle yet firm. "Truly earn her forgiveness. You hurt her, Dante."As if I didn’t already know. As if I didn’t wake up each morning feeling the weight of it constricting my chest.But how? How do you win back someone who would prefer to erase your existence?I adjusted my tie, the silk tightening around my throat as I stood at the podium. Cameras loomed like weapons, lenses focused on me, waiting for any sign of weakness. Behind me stood the Moretti estate—Dad's legacy, Max's mausoleum, the backdrop for today’s performan

CINNAMONThe press conference played on my laptop screen. Dante looked composed, all too in charge reciting from the speech he'd probably memorized. I could see choreography—manipulation disguised as remorse. I snapped the laptop shut and zipped my suitcase decisively.Mom's room was now empty. I'd spent two days boxing up her belongings, folding memories into cardboard boxes, letting go of the shrine I had created around her absence. The process had totally broken me some more. I thought the process would've been healing, giving me room to breathe again. I was wrong. It did the opposite.My own bags were packed too. I had decided to move to New York, get a motel room while I figured out my next plan or direction. I had quit my job on Tuesday through an email as I didn't know my boss before walking away with only what was left in my bank account. Meadowbrook had turned into a graveyard of everything I'd lost. It was time to bury it.Risa and Khole still didn't know. We hadn't spoken s