All Chapters of Trapped in a One Night Stand relationship with an ex-lover : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

—Noah, turn off the television.The command was calm and resolute.—Those fake soars are ruining the taste of my coffee.Camelia slowly sipped her strong black coffee from a white cup, then set it down silently on the glass table.With her slender, steady fingers, she scrolled quickly on her tablet, skimming the latest headlines.Her name sat at the very top of every list.On the sixty-five-inch screen mounted on the penthouse wall, news reports played on a loop.Vivian appeared, her face streaked with manufactured tears, sobbing and striking dramatic poses.Beneath the footage, a red banner flashed continuously:“SCANDAL AMONG THE ELITE! Camelia stole her own sister’s fiancé to seize their fortune!”Noah rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows, sighed deeply, and pressed the remote to switch off the screen.—It is not just the television, Miss.His tone grew more serious.—Barely four hours since the agreement was dissolved, there are already over two hundred thousand posts across

"Lower your hand before I make every TV station cover your bankruptcy."Camelia cut through the throng of reporters crowding the double-door hallway of the Grand Ballroom at the Grand Palace Hotel. Her voice was not shrill, yet it carried a cold frequency that instantly halted the movements of two burly security guards who had been about to block her path. The guards froze, their wide-eyed stares locking with Camelia’s commanding gaze—forcing their outstretched hands to slowly withdraw.The ballroom’s polished white marble floor mirrored Camelia’s steady, measured strides. Each click of her crimson stilettos against the tiles sounded like a countdown for those waiting on stage. She wore a sharp-cut black blazer dress with stiff, structured shoulders—highlighting her graceful silhouette while radiating the aura of an untouchable ruler. Her wavy dark hair fell loose, accentuating her slender neck and vivid red lips, which bore not the faintest trace of a polite smile.Behind her, Noah w

"Every charge has been locked tight, Miss Camelia," her lead counsel said, straightening the stack of red-bound documents before them. "Electronic defamation, distribution of obscene content without consent, and premeditated attempted poisoning. We have named Vivian’s personal assistant, Maya Sastro, as the accomplice on the ground, and Vivian Clarissa as the mastermind."Camelia leaned back in her black leather chair, crossing her legs with effortless grace. A faint, cold, calculating smile curved her lips, painted in deep crimson."Make sure these files land on the Chief of Police’s desk before lunch," she murmured—soft, yet sharp as a blade cutting through the silence. "I want no room for bail or delays, no matter how much Bagaskara is willing to burn to bribe his way out.""Understood, Miss. The summons and search warrant have already been signed by the duty judge," the lawyer replied with a respectful nod.Camelia did not answer cruelty with screams or hysteria. She chose to wrap

Camelia walked calmly toward her black sedan. An expensive leather bag hung from her left arm, while her right hand reached into her blazer pocket for the digital key fob.BEEP-BEEP.The luxury car’s headlights flashed twice, cutting through the basement gloom. But just as her fingers brushed the door handle, her sharp ears picked up the scrape of sneaker soles on damp concrete from behind a massive support pillar.Camelia froze. She did not scream or panic. She only tilted her head slightly, staring at the three broad shadows stretching across the concrete floor, reflected in the car’s glass.“Come out,” Camelia’s voice rang steady, breaking the silence without a tremor of fear. “I don’t have time to play hide-and-seek with cheap hired killers.”Three burly men stepped out from behind the pillar. They wore tattered black leather jackets and tight face coverings, each wielding an iron baton and a folding knife glinting under the neon lights.“Pretty girl has sharp ears,” sneered the t

"Two hundred billion. Drain his last breath, but make it look like heart failure."Bagaskara slammed a worn leather briefcase onto a rough wooden table. The heavy thud of banknotes filled the cramped, dusty room—reeking of mold and cheap tobacco—in the old port district. In the flickering glow of a sputtering bulb, stacks of red cash glinted from the half-open briefcase.Across the table, a pale middle-aged man with a long burn scar running from his eyebrow to his neck stared without blinking. His thin, dry fingers—stained with black chemical residue—reached for a tiny glass vial no bigger than a thumb. Inside, a clear, colorless liquid swirled quietly—ordinary to look at, but deadly."This is synthetic neurotoxin, Mr. Bagaskara," the man’s voice rasped like crumpled paper dragged across concrete. "Odorless, tasteless, and vaporizes with air when triggered by certain room temperatures. Once inhaled, the active compound slowly binds to motor nerve pathways. In twelve hours, muscles go