Lahat ng Kabanata ng Married To The Disabled CEO : Kabanata 71 - Kabanata 80

The industrial slums on the city's western edge offered no comfort to the broken men who gathered in the shadows of a decaying rail yard. Arthur Johnson sat on a rusted oil drum, his hands trembling as he stared at the cheap burner phone in his palm. His empire was dust, his family name was radioactive, and his freedom was measured in hours. Standing before him were the last four mercenaries from Rex's shattered syndicate—scarred, heavily armed professionals wearing tactical vests loaded with high-explosive charges and suppressed assault rifles. "The main estate on the north ridge is a fortress," Arthur rasped, his voice cracked with paranoid desperation. "Even with an army, you couldn't breach it. But I know the layout. There's a private secondary guest house on the southern perimeter—the old orchard estate. Ethan is at downtown headquarters chairing the morning board sessions, and most of his heavy security detail went with him. Emma is staying there alone." The leader of the merc

The flashing red and blue lights of federal police cruisers bathed the cobblestones of the Johnson estate in an unforgiving, sterile glow. The chaotic nightmare of the early morning raid was finally over, leaving behind the crisp, quiet serenity of the southern hills. Two heavily armed federal marshals hauled a battered, sobbing Arthur Johnson across the courtyard. His expensive suit was caked in mud, his wrist hung at an unnatural angle from where Ethan had brutally fractured it, and his spirit was completely obliterated. As they shoved him roughly into the back of a reinforced transport van, Arthur caught a final glimpse of Ethan and Emma standing side-by-side on the stone landing. Ethan’s arm was protectively around Emma’s waist, his gaze cold and absolute. "You're facing multiple counts of corporate fraud, high treason against the conglomerate, and attempted murder of a protected citizen," the lead marshal stated coldly before slamming the heavy steel doors shut. The mechanical

The heavy steel cuffs hovered inches from Emma’s wrists, the metal gleaming coldly under the penthouse lights. But before the federal officer could secure them, a shadow fell across the room—dark, absolute, and suffocating. Ethan stepped forward. It wasn't a defensive posture; it was the terrifying, unyielding stance of an apex predator protecting its core. The raw, crushing authority rolling off him made the seasoned federal agents instinctively recoil a half-step, their hands tightening nervously on their sidearms. "Take those off her. Now," Ethan’s voice didn't boom; it dropped into a lethal, razor-sharp whisper that echoed off the glass walls, vibrating in the chests of everyone in the room. Was he stupid? Why would he allow them to take his wife away? For Forty Eight Hours? Director Max swallowed hard, adjusting his collar as he tried to maintain his official composure. "Mr. Johnson, the protocol for international data leaks of this magnitude requires immediate detention—" "

The rain-slicked asphalt of the private coastal airstrip glistened under the harsh glare of halogen floodlights. Out on the tarmac, the twin turbines of a sleek, black private jet whined with deafening intensity, sending gusts of hot exhaust swirling into the damp night air. The aircraft’s landing gear shifted as it began to taxi slowly down the runway, preparing to tear into the dark sky and vanish offshore. Inside the leading tactical SUV racing across the perimeter access road, the atmosphere was a masterclass in controlled fury. Ethan gripped the steering wheel with absolute command, his eyes locked dead-ahead on the moving aircraft. Beside him, Emma—universally recognized in scientific and medical circles as Dr. Edna Carlson—sat with calm, lethal composure, her fingers tapping rhythmically against her tactical tablet as she monitored the airfield’s security grid. "She's reaching takeoff velocity," Emma warned, her voice steady and razor-sharp. "If she clears the perimeter fence

The morning sun broke over the city skyline, washing the gleaming glass towers of the Johnson Group headquarters in a brilliant, golden hue. Inside the executive penthouse, the heavy, suffocating tension that had gripped the room twenty-four hours prior was entirely gone, replaced by an atmosphere of absolute, unassailable triumph. The private elevator chime echoed softly through the floor, announcing the arrival of visitors. Director Max stepped out of the elevator, flanked by two high-ranking officials from the International Regulatory and Narcotics Enforcement Bureau. Their posture was markedly different from their previous visit; gone was the cold, rigid formality of suspicion. In its place was a heavy, palpable sense of professional humility. Ethan stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, his arms crossed loosely over his chest, his gaze locked onto the federal officials with a cool, detached intensity. Beside him stood Emma—her expression serene, composed, and radiant in a tailo