The CEO’s Temptation のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 181 - チャプター 190

*****************************POV: Liam************************** --- There was a moment just before the fire spreads—before the spark touches dry timber—when the world goes utterly, impossibly still. No sound. No movement. Just breath, held in anticipation of something irreversible. That’s where I stood now. Right on the edge of the matchstick. And I was about to strike. --- They think they’ve backed me into a corner. The media. The so-called security team. Rowe with his righteous anger. Mack with his fists and that desperate edge of a man who’s clinging too hard to what he’s afraid to lose. They think because I’ve gone quiet, I’m cornered. They couldn’t be more wrong. I’m calm because I’ve made a decision. I’m going to take Claire. And I’m going to marry her. No more games. No more whispered threats or carefully crafted distractions. This time, it’s direct. Risky? Absolutely. But obsession doesn’t wait for the perfect moment. And I’ve waited

****************************POV: Liam******************** They think I’ve disappeared. They whisper in courtrooms and boardrooms like I’ve folded. Like the walls are closing in and I’ve finally stopped breathing. Headlines scream for justice, faces I used to trust now line up behind microphones and mutter words like "guilty" and "psychopath." But they forget—I built empires out of worse storms. And I don’t need public sympathy. I need her. Claire. The only thread left in this tangled web of betrayals and false accusations. The only thing that has ever felt clean in my hands. Even when I was drowning in lies, her voice still cut through the chaos like it belonged to another world. One where I wasn’t the monster, where things could be rewritten. I could almost believe in redemption again—until she ran. Until she chose them. Mack. Rowe. Liz. Traitors wrapped in righteous armor. But it doesn’t matter now. Because I’ve made my decision. No more games. No more cryptic

***************************** POV: Mack*************************** --- My hand acted on instinct-reaching across the mattress in the gray blur of early morning, my fingers seeking the familiar warmth that should've been there. But there was nothing. Just cold sheet. My brows furrowed, still half-asleep, my palm swept across the fabric like maybe she'd just shifted.... maybe she curled at the edge, tangled in the blanket. But the emptiness was too sharp. Too final. My eyes snapped open. The bed beside him was undisturbed—untouched. Not a wrinkle. Not a trace of her scent. Not a single strand of her hair on the pillow. The first thing I noticed was the silence. Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that comes with birdsong or lazy sunrises. No, this silence had teeth. It was screaming. I sat up in bed too fast, my pulse already kicking. The clock beside me blinked 8:21 a.m. Claire should’ve been up. Walking the garden. Her routine wasn’t just predictable—it was sa

****************************POV: Liz**************************** --- The surveillance room was colder than i remembered. Not physically—though the chill from the concrete walls seeped into my skin—but in the way the air settled. Too still. Too aware. I moved to the monitor chair slowly, like my limbs weren’t fully mine, like every step might betray the panic I was trying to smother. I sat, my hands clasped tight on my lap, my eyes scanning the quiet monitors without really seeing them. My heart was a mess—half in guilt, half in something i didn’t want to name. And when i heard the door creak open behind me, I didn’t have to look to know it was Rowe. His presence filled the space before he even spoke. I could feel him—too tall, too close, too calm in a way that made my insides riot. The air grew thicker, charged with everything we hadn’t said and everything we almost did. And still, neither of us moved. The screen flickered with static, the dull blue light washing over our faces i

****************************POV: Mack*************************** --- The war room—our fortress of digital firepower—felt suffocating tonight. Every screen cast a ghostly glow on sharp features and taut expressions. None of it mattered. Only Claire’s face, frozen on a monitor from the morning before her disappearance, pulled at my heart. She’d been taken. I paced the center of the room as Blake Reeves, a former CIA operative turned private asset, mapped out the known facts. “No trace of her on any domestic surveillance feeds or GPS pings,” he said. “Cameras, border crossings—all clean. Whoever did this, did it well.” My chest tightened. “Meaning?” I barked put of anger. “She’s not in the country.” He said. Silence dropped over us. “How far?” I asked. “Possibly offshore. Coastal region.” He muttered turning his gaze to the door. I exhaled hard. “It has to be somewhere remote. Discreet.” I rasped. "I found an offshore property under Liam's mother." Rowe,