Married To The Vengeful Billionaire Chapter 75
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Married To The Vengeful Billionaire:
🔸(His Sweet Torture)🔸
“Happy birthday!” Camila shouted, throwing confetti at him, but Alejandro stood still, looking as though he couldn’t believe what had just happened.
His fists clenched tightly, his eyes darkening with anger. He was taken back to his childhood, a small house, balloons, and a cake…
“Who did this?” His voice was a dangerous whisper, trying to control his fury.
Diego and Camila exchanged nervous glances.
“I thought…” Camila began, but Diego interrupted her.
“I planned it, boss. I noticed you’ve never celebrated your birthday, so I wanted to do something special for you,” Diego explained.
Alejandro shot him a blood-chilling glare, and Camila felt a wave of fear. She had never seen him like this before.
“Do you want to lose your job?” Alejandro asked coldly.
“No, boss,” Diego shook his head.
“Then get this mess out of my office—now!” Alejandro commanded before storming off.
Camila swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I didn’t expect him to react this way,” Diego apologized.
“It’s fine, Diego. Just share the cake with the employees instead of wasting it. But take the balloons away,” Camila muttered.
Diego nodded, calling the cleaners to remove the decorations. He instructed them to distribute the cake.
“I hope you’re not too upset, ma’am. You spent so much time planning this,” Diego said with concern.
“I’m fine,” Camila forced a weak smile.
Minutes later, Alejandro returned. His face was clean, the confetti gone, but he ignored Camila and walked straight to his desk.
“What’s my schedule for the day?” he asked Diego without looking up.
“There’s a meeting with Mr. Mo from China, and in the afternoon, you have a lesson with your new Irish teacher—”
“Hand me the list,” Alejandro interrupted, holding out his hand. Diego quickly handed over the document. Alejandro scanned it, his face twisting with displeasure.
“Is this all I have for today?” he asked, clearly unimpressed.
“Yes, boss,” Diego answered cautiously.
“Add more to it. I don’t have time to waste,” Alejandro said, handing back the list. Diego nodded and left.
Alejandro turned to his laptop, ignoring Camila. She bit her lip, gathering the courage to speak.
“Hubby?” she called softly, but there was no response.
“Hubby?” she repeated, but he continued typing as if he hadn’t heard her.
“Alejandro,” she said firmly, and this time he looked up. Camila’s heart ached at the coldness in his eyes, but she pressed on.
“I know you’re upset, but I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she mumbled.
“You should’ve minded your own business, Camila,” Alejandro replied, and for the first time in a while, he said her name.
“I’m sorry,” Camila whispered, her chest tightening with emotion.
“You forget things too easily, Camila,” Alejandro continued. “I made it clear in my rules—my business is mine alone.”
Rules? He still held onto those? Camila could hardly believe it.
“I’ve updated your schedule, boss,” Diego said, re-entering the room. He immediately sensed the tension between Alejandro and Camila.
Camila stood abruptly and walked out. Alejandro’s eyes followed her until she shut the door behind her. Diego had more to say but wisely kept silent.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
LUCIA’S PLACE***
Lucia watched George cook with admiration, smiling as he skillfully handled the fries and chopped vegetables.
“Who taught you to cook like this?” she asked, impressed as she tasted the mashed potatoes.
“My grandma,” he replied, adding oil to a pot. The flames that rose startled Lucia, making her jump from her chair.
“Where’s the fire extinguisher!” she shrieked, running around in a panic. George simply stood there, arms crossed, amused.
She finally found the extinguisher but paused when she realized there was no fire.
“Where did the fire go?” she asked, bewildered.
George gently took the extinguisher from her hands. “If you’d let me explain, I would’ve told you it wasn’t real fire,” he said, smirking.
“Oh,” Lucia mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. George chuckled.
“How’s your grandma?” Lucia asked, resuming her seat.
“What about your family? You’ve never talked much about them,” she added.
George’s expression tightened, focusing on the food in front of him.
“George?” she called again, but instead of answering, he presented a spoonful of soup to her.
“Can you taste this for seasoning?” he asked.
Lucia got the message—he didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t push. She tasted the soup, and her eyes lit up in delight.
“It’s delicious! You should open your own restaurant one day,” she said.
“Oh, please. Don’t flatter me,” George playfully rolled his eyes.
“I’m serious! I don’t know whether to be jealous or happy. I can’t cook, and my mom’s always on my case about it. She says no man will marry a woman who can’t cook,” Lucia pouted.
“That’s nonsense! I don’t care if you can’t cook—I’d cook for you every day,” George winked.
“Cheesy,” Lucia giggled.
George turned off the stove, having finished. He plated the food and, with a smile, lifted her onto the counter.
“Open up,” he said, feeding her a spoonful.
Lucia smiled and ate, then returned the gesture, feeding him. They laughed and ate together, enjoying each other’s company.
TO Be Continued
