บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire's Unwritten Promises: บทที่ 11 - บทที่ 20

"Lyka, please, it’s for the art," Gina groaned, already slathering the bright red pigment onto Lyka’s lips. "Just a quick stamp on the jawline and two on the neck. Otherwise, Logan is going to fire an intern, and we'll be here until midnight."Lyka looked like she wanted the earth to open up and swallow her whole. She stood there, her lips painted a vibrant, dangerous red that made her skin look incredibly fair, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. She looked at the lipstick, then looked down at me, her gaze darting to my smirk. If looks could kill, my character wouldn't even make it to the torture scene; I’d be dead right here in the makeup chair."Don't look at me like that, Forth," I taunted softly, leaning my head back against the headrest, completely exposing my neck and jaw to her. The absolute irony of the situation was intoxicating. She had spent the entire morning denying last night, pretending she didn't remember a single thing, and now, by pure cosmic alignm

By the time the director finally yelled a definitive "Cut and wrap!" the sky outside the studio tents had long since turned into a deep, heavy indigo. Evening had bled into night, and the sheer exhaustion of the day was catching up to both of us.I looked over at Lyka, who was trying, and failing—to hide a massive yawn behind her tablet. My own body felt entirely drained, the kind of deep ache that settles into your bones after hours of high-tension shooting. But a movie star's day doesn't end when the cameras stop rolling. We still had a mandatory wrap dinner with the core staff, followed by a grueling, hour-long production meeting to fix the scheduling disasters caused by the morning delays.By the time we finally walked out to the parking lot, the dashboard clock read 9:00 PM.Usually, on nights like this, the routine was set in stone: I would have the driver drop her off at her apartment so she could finally get some well-deserved rest. But the moment I turned the key, my phon

Lyka POVWow. I did not expect to wake up this morning only to deal with a literal leech pounding on the front door at eight o'clock in the morning.Dealing with her was entirely too much for Leo, and the last thing I wanted was for her to trigger my boy. So when Aya Mendez appeared on the doorstep wearing so little dress that it shouldn't even legally qualify as clothing, demanding where Sean was in that whiny, unsophisticated voice that sounded exactly like a bleating goat, I just told her the truth. I simply did not have the time or the emotional bandwidth for her drama. Let Sean handle his own messes.So when Sean came sprinting out of the eastern wing like his life depended on it, looking completely disheveled, hair a chaotic mess, those gray sweatpants still hanging low on his hips, he threw me a look that practically screamed I had betrayed him.Of course, I just smiled sweetly and played the part of the obliging assistant. "I just couldn't say no to Miss Aya here, Sean," I s

Did Sean complain about the sudden wave of work? No. Not even a single peep. Because apparently, the great Sean McGregor would do absolutely anything to secure his golden ticket to London and find the mythical blue door of Hugh Grant.The man was entirely shameless. He literally quoted the ending of the movie to me, word-for-word, with a hand over his heart, looking far too proud of himself. To make matters worse, he had spent the last three days mapping out an extensive sightseeing itinerary, and he had even been practicing his British accent around the mansion. I wanted to hate it. I wanted to scoff and tell him he sounded ridiculous, but the absolute nerve of the guy—he managed to completely nail it. It was smooth, rugged, and entirely too charming for my own peace of mind.Then came the actual day of our trip.Now, sitting inside the plush leather interior of his ultra-luxury private jet, I wasn't sure if I was about to scream or jump out of the emergency exit. The pure, unadult

Up until that exact second, Leo had been completely hidden behind me, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of my yellow blouse as he used my legs like a shield against the roaring tide of the Forth family. But as I moved to guide him toward the car seat, the shield slipped.All hell broke loose.My father, Henry Forth, was the first to react. Now, my dad is not a soft, cuddly man. He’s a gruff Londoner who treats everyone with a sort of stern, old-school respect. He didn’t drop to his knees or baby the kid; instead, he stepped forward, bent slightly at the waist, and extended a massive, calloused hand toward my four-year-old charge."Henry Forth," my dad said, his thick accent echoing as if he were greeting a middle-aged business partner at a local pub. "Pleasure to have you in the country, young man. Hear you’re a bit of a detective."Leo’s eyes went incredibly wide. He looked at the giant hand, then looked up at my dad’s stone-faced but twinkling expression. For a second, I braced