All Chapters of Corrupt Temptation: Chapter 131 - Chapter 140

IVY The oppressive silence was the first thing that caught my attention. For a place that was supposed to feel like home, the thick heavy silence was much too profound. The back of my skull pulsed with a dull throbbing ache which was a physical representation of the mental haze that persisted. Glimmers of me taking a shower and a sense of being lost and confused were all part of my memories which felt like broken glass. It was similar to awakening from a fever with your thoughts a jumble of half-forgotten dreams and the surroundings familiar but distant. I forced myself to stand up slowly my muscles groggy and uncooperative. The gentle glow of the morning sun streamed into the room through the thick drapes. Even though it was a lovely calm and elegant room it wasnt mine. The last traces of sleep vanished as a wave of anxiety swept across my chest. The last clear memory I have was going into the bathroom and taking a shower. What had happened? Why was I here? Then nothing happene

IVETTEThe cold rage that had taken hold of me was a physical thing, a driving force that left no room for hesitation. The moment the call ended, I was already moving, my mind a storm of chilling possibilities. There was no time to lose, no time for second thoughts. Every tick of the clock was a countdown to a future I couldn't bear to let them have. My hands, once shaking with a cold righteous anger, were now steady, my movements precise. I grabbed a dark, silk scarf from a dresser drawer and wrapped it tightly around my hair, tucking the ends into the collar of my coat. It was a simple disguise, but in a place where I was meant to be seen as Sloan’s confidant, it was enough. I was an afterthought, a shadow, and in that moment, that's exactly what I needed to be.The house was silent, the kind of deep, opulent quiet that only exists in places where the staff have been dismissed for the night. I moved like a ghost through the long, marble hallways, my soft boots making no sound on t

VICTORIvette’s call had been a reckless, panicked mistake. Her carefully constructed house of cards had come crashing down, and now she expected me to salvage the wreckage. The child. That single, unforeseen variable had undone months of meticulous planning. My own advice, so casually dismissed, now echoed in my mind with a bitter, vindictive ring: end it when we had the chance. Her "elegant" plan was now a liability, and her desperation was a beacon, drawing all the wrong kind of attention. I couldn't afford to waste a moment. This situation was a fire that needed to be put out, not a delicate chess match. I had to go straight to the source, to the man at the center of this hurricane.The drive to the mansion was a blur. The streets, the traffic, the blaring horns—they were all just insignificant obstacles in my path. My thoughts were a cold, surgical calculation. The plan had been simple: Ivette would fill the void left by a forgotten Ivy. But a child was not a void; it was a pe

VICTORThe cold fury that had been simmering in my veins erupted the moment the heavy office door shut behind me. I didn't bother with the car, simply storming to my own private sanctuary on the other side of the compound. The door clicked shut, sealing me in with my anger, a suffocating, dense presence that was more tangible than the air I breathed. I stood in the middle of the room, my hands balled into tight, trembling fists. The nerve of him. To lecture me, to dismiss my counsel as if I were a child. His "my word is final" echoed in my ears, a testament to his inflated ego and a chilling reminder of the power he wielded. He was so utterly, hopelessly blind. Blinded by love.I moved to my desk, running a hand over the polished mahogany surface. Fool. He was a fool. A man of his stature, with his empire and his legacy, was being controlled by a sentimental, useless emotion for a woman he’d only known for a few months. He was burning himself down, turning his back on logic, on reas

VICTORThe air in my office was thick with the scent of old paper and the cold, unyielding tension that now crackled between us. Willa stood before me, her small frame trembling, her eyes wide and filled with a fragile mixture of shock and disbelief. She was a canvas, and I was about to paint on it with the blackest lies I could conjure. The more I looked at her, the more I saw the resemblance to her sister—the same striking green eyes, the same delicate bone structure. It was this resemblance that would make my plan so devastatingly effective. She was the key, the perfect pawn to topple a king.I gestured to the leather chair opposite my desk. "Sit down, Willa. We have a lot to discuss."She didn't move at first, her gaze fixed on me as if I were a venomous snake poised to strike. But her fear was a powerful motivator. Slowly, her knees buckling slightly, she sank into the chair, perching on the edge as if ready to bolt at a moment's notice. Her hands were clasped in her lap, her kn