All Chapters of The CEO’s Temptation : Chapter 221 - Chapter 230

--- *****************************POV: Liz*************************** The hallway outside Claire’s room had become something of a ritual for me. I’d walk past. Then again. Then again. Each time pretending I had somewhere to be. A file to drop off. A phone call to take. My footsteps would slow near her door, and I’d stare at the hard mahogany wood like it might suddenly swing open, like maybe she’d feel me out there and invite me in. But she never did. Until today. I stood in front of it now, clutching my hands together so tightly my knuckles ached. My heart was hammering. You’d think I was about to step into a war zone, not into the room of the girl I used to call my best friend. I lifted my hand to knock. Stopped. Then, lifted it again, half hoping she wouldn’t answer. But her voice drifted through the door, soft and steady. “Come in.” I paused. Something about her tone—like she already knew I was there, like she’d been waiting—unraveled something tight inside me. I

*******************************POV: Morgan ********************** --- The cameras flashed like a hundred tiny bombs detonating across the front lawn of the Ministry. Bright. Unforgiving. Hungry. I adjusted my tie with the calm precision of someone who’d done this too many times to count, though my hands weren’t as steady as I wished. Behind me, the flag of our nation hung low against the backdrop of gray sky. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled. Perfect, I thought grimly. Even the weather had opinions today. “Ready, sir?” my press secretary murmured, holding out the statement we’d agreed on. I didn’t take it. Instead, I stepped forward and approached the podium, clearing my throat as the chaos of voices hushed into anticipatory silence. Microphones lined the stand like metal vultures, each one waiting to bite. “Good afternoon,” I began. “As many of you are now aware, former Intelligence Commander Liam Allister died three days ago during an unsanctioned internationa

****************************Eve's POV***************************** They called it a press conference. But it was a circus. Reporters stormed the front of Agyis Headquarters like bees to a comb of honey—no, worse. Like starving wolves who’d scented blood in the snow. They swarmed toward Mack and Claire, microphones thrust forward like weapons. Questions came at them in rapid-fire, slicing through the air like serrated swords. The kind that don’t just cut skin—but memory. Dignity. Love. I watched from my drawing room, frozen. The television cast pale, flickering light across the rug, the tea untouched in my porcelain cup, long gone cold. My fingers remained curled against the handle, unmoving, like the rest of me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. Claire stood beside Mack, draped in white like a lamb presented for worship. Her hair was loose, romantic. She wore his name like a badge of survival, a miracle wrapped in lace and silence. And beside her, the golden boy

******************************Aliana’s POV********************* The news ran on every channel. I wasn’t even watching the television, but I could hear it through the thin walls of my apartment. The neighbor upstairs had his volume turned up high, and the newscasters’ clipped voices pierced through like arrows dipped in gasoline. Words like "Claire’s escape," "Liam Allister" "CEO Mack Allister," and "Agyis conspiracy" scattered the air like shrapnel. --- I didn’t think I could feel anything for him anymore. Not after everything he did. Not after the way he tossed me aside like I was a phase he needed to outgrow. I had buried those emotions so deep, I convinced myself they were gone. But the moment the anchor said his name—“Liam Allister presumed dead…”—I felt something crack open inside me. It wasn’t just a name on a screen. It was a dagger, sharp and precise, slicing straight through the numbness I’d worn like armor. My breath caught in my throat. My vision blurred. I didn’t sob.

********************************** POV: Henry********************* The silence in the house felt heavier than war. I sat in the study, untouched bourbon sweating against my palm, while the television flickered images I could not ignore. Claire's face had haunted every screen for hours, and now the noise outside the gates had turned into a riot of voices. Reporters. Protesters. Opportunists. The world was clawing at us like vultures sensing a wound too wide to heal. But I wasn’t thinking about the headlines or the chaos on the steps of Agyis Dynamics. I was thinking about her. Claire. That girl with the defiant stare and bleeding eyes, who had survived the worst of my son. My son. I leaned forward and let the glass slip from my fingers, shattering against the Persian rug. It didn’t make a sound loud enough. Nothing could drown out the echo of the things I never said. The man Liam became was a storm I watched grow, and now that storm had swallowed us all. I should have stoppe