THE BILLIONAIRE STILL WANTS HER!
Chapter 112: For the work...

Chapter 112: For the work...

"And what?" he continued, his voice dropping lower, thick with emotion. "That’s the best defense you can give him? Even with the tears still fresh on your face?"

His words cut deeper than she wanted to admit.

Arthur lifted his hand, hesitating for a moment before reaching out to touch Angel’s cheek. But before he could make contact, she abruptly pushed his hand away, her expression firm and unwavering.

"That’s not the issue here, Arthur," she said, her voice laced with frustration. "Don’t jump to conclusions when you don’t even know the full story."

Arthur’s gaze hardened as he studied her.

The way she stood, her posture rigid and defensive, made it clear—she was ready to shield Tryson at any cost. His jaw clenched, and a scoff escaped his lips as he placed his hands on his waist, exhaling sharply.

"Not what I think?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. "Angel, are you seriously still defending him? Are you really going to cover up for Tryson? If he ever dares to hurt you, I swear, I won’t stand by and let it happen," he said, his voice growing rough with restrained fury.

"Arthur, just stop!" Angel suddenly yelled, her voice echoing through the room. She was overwhelmed, her heart pounding as frustration and hurt swirled inside her. She had never imagined hearing such words about Tryson—especially not from Arthur.

"And why should I stop, Angel?" he challenged, his eyes narrowing.

"Because you broke my trust, Arthur!" she snapped, her voice trembling with emotion. "You swore to me that you wouldn’t breathe a word about my pregnancy, but the moment you had the chance, you ran straight to the media and broadcasted it to the entire world! And now, after betraying me like that, you think you have the right to judge Tryson?"

Arthur exhaled sharply, his eyes flashing with frustration. "What did you expect me to do, Angel? I told you before—everything I do is for your own good."

"No, Arthur," Angel shot back, shaking her head, her voice steady but filled with disappointment. "That wasn’t for my sake. That was about you. You were being selfish. You only cared about yourself."

Arthur’s expression darkened. His fists clenched at his sides as his temper flared.

"You actually think he loves you?" he spat. "That he’s going to take care of you? You’re making a mistake, Angel. Mark my words, you’re walking straight into his trap, and when you fall, it’ll be hard—harder than you ever imagined."

Angel held his gaze for a long moment, her eyes reflecting both pain and resolve. Then, slowly, she shook her head.

"No, Arthur. I already told you—I don’t regret my choice. And do you know what’s even better?" A small, almost triumphant smile curled at her lips as she lifted her hand, displaying the engagement ring that shimmered on her finger. "This time, Tryson is mine. And no one—no one—can take him away from me."

The moment Arthur laid eyes on it, a fire ignited within him, burning with an intensity he could barely contain.

He had truly believed he could handle this situation with patience, that he could keep his emotions in check.

But Angel wasn’t making it easy—not when she so effortlessly dismissed him, not when she pushed his hand away as if his touch meant nothing.

His chest tightened as he watched her stride toward the door, her resolve unwavering. But just as her fingers reached for the handle, Arthur moved swiftly, closing the distance between them in mere seconds.

Before she could react, he pressed a handkerchief over her nose.

Angel’s heart pounded in panic. The shift in his demeanor—the sheer audacity of his actions—stunned her.

She struggled, twisting in his grasp, using every ounce of strength she had to break free. But it was no use. Her limbs grew heavy, her breath became shallow, and her vision blurred.

Weakness crept over her like a thick fog, consuming her entirely.

And then—darkness.

Angel’s body slumped against Arthur’s chest, her weight pressing lightly against him as the last remnants of consciousness faded from her.

He held her there for a moment, his heartbeat steady, watching as her breath grew slow and deep. Once he was certain she was completely unconscious, he slipped a hand into his pocket, retrieved his phone, and dialed a number.

The call was answered almost immediately.

"Boss," a voice spoke on the other end.

"She’s out. Come get her," Arthur said, his tone clipped and direct.

Without another word, he ended the call.

Lowering his phone, he looked down at Angel.

Her braids, now slightly disheveled, lay scattered across his chest, the mask she wore still concealing the delicate features of her face.

A flicker of something unrecognizable passed through his eyes—pity, perhaps? But that sentiment meant nothing now.

This was a battle.

A long, ruthless war between him and Tryson, and Arthur was determined to make sure Tryson never got what he wanted.

He had played his first move well, using Luca to keep Tryson on edge, to make him anxious about what might unfold at the ballroom.

But in the end, Tryson’s grand scheme had been nothing more than a pathetic excuse of a plan.

It didn’t matter what Tryson did now.

Angel was still his.

And when this was over, he would be the one holding all the power.

Arthur exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair before lowering his gaze back to her.

His lips curled into a smirk as he muttered under his breath, "Sweetheart, there’s so much you’re going to learn when you wake up."

Just then, a sudden knock echoed through the room.

His eyes snapped toward the door, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

Who could it be? He had made sure to place a ’Still Under Construction’ sign outside before entering, ensuring no unwanted guests would disturb him.

He stayed silent, waiting.

Then, a familiar voice spoke from the other side.

"Boss."

Arthur’s stance relaxed slightly. His men had arrived.

Without hesitation, he strode toward the door and pulled it open.

On the other side stood two men, impeccably dressed to blend in with the occasion, their presence cold and efficient.

Between them was a small trolley, and atop it lay a large sack—the very thing they would use to transport Angel.

With swift precision, they carefully placed Angel inside, securing the sack tightly.

The next step was simple.

It was time to take her exactly where they needed her to be.

And nothing—not even Tryson—was going to stop them.

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