Lahat ng Kabanata ng Seduced by my Bosses: Kabanata 21 - Kabanata 30

Elena Carter’s POVThe storm started just after nine.Thunder rolled low and slow across the sky, followed by sheets of rain that pounded the city like war drums. Most of the building had already cleared out, the office deserted but for the occasional cleaning staff and, of course, the man who never seemed to sleep—Alexander Wolfe.And me. His shadow. His assistant. His plaything—though we hadn’t yet put a name to it.I was finishing up last-minute travel arrangements on his behalf when the lights flickered once… then twice.Then the power cut.The hum of computers, the glow of monitors, the soft whir of the printer—gone.I froze.“Stay put,” I whispered to myself.But I didn’t.I grabbed my coat and phone and hurried down the corridor toward the elevator, hoping to get to the lobby before the storm got any worse. The emergency lights were on, casting everything in a dim glow.As I reached the elevator and hit the call button, a voice sliced through the quiet.“Leaving already?”I tur

Elena Carter’s POVThe invitation came in the form of a single text.8 p.m.My penthouse.No panties.That was it.No please. No explanation.Just a command that made my thighs clench and my breath hitch as I reread it for the tenth time.By 7:59 p.m., I was standing outside the sleek, black door on the 45th floor of Wolfe Tower, heart pounding beneath the soft silk of my dress. No panties, just like he said. My n*ppl*s already tight, my skin already flushed with anticipation.The door opened before I could knock.Alexander stood there in a black shirt—no tie, sleeves rolled up—his hair slightly mussed like he’d been running his hand through it while thinking dangerous thoughts.Thoughts about me.“You’re early,” he said, voice low, eyes trailing down my body.“You said eight.”“I said no panties.”I swallowed. “I followed instructions.”“Good girl.”His hand wrapped around my waist and he pulled me inside. No pleasantries. No wine. No dinner.Only heat.He slammed the door shut with

The office is empty.Most lights are off, casting the fifteenth floor in a dusky, silver glow. Rain taps softly against the massive glass windows, the storm outside just beginning to stir. I should’ve gone home an hour ago. But I wanted to impress him. Needed to.Or maybe I just wanted to see if he’d stay too.Of course he did.Damon Hart is still here, seated at his desk like he owns the d*mn night. His tie is loose, shirt open at the collar, sleeves rolled up—his usual armor undone. He’s reviewing something intensely, fingers tapping a pen against his jaw.I don’t know what makes me bolder—the low light or the steady hum of rain—but I step into his doorway without knocking.He doesn’t look up. “Still here?”“You are.”His eyes flicker up then. They land on me like a punch to the chest.“Some of us run companies,” he says coolly.“And some of us are trying to not get fired on day two,” I counter.He leans back, gaze darkening. “You think I’d fire you?”“I think you enjoy watching me

I’ve worked for Damien Holt for exactly nine months, sixteen days, and—if I check the time—forty-two minutes. Not that I’m counting or anything.Not that I’m counting the days I’ve spent biting my tongue and breathing through clenched teeth while he sits behind that glass desk with his jaw tight and his glacier-blue eyes colder than a January frost.I used to think I could break through his ice.I used to think the way he looked at me—like he was holding something back—meant something.Not anymore.I clicked my heels down the corridor toward my desk, fresh from a coffee run. The iced Americano in my hand was sweating just like I was—courtesy of this ridiculous silk blouse I wore to impress him. Again.Ridiculous. It wasn’t like he noticed.“Morning, Miss Vale,” came a snide voice from my left.I barely spared a glance at Naomi, the blonde from HR who looked at me like I was the help. “Good morning,” I muttered, plastering on a fake smile. She was just jealous. Or maybe just nosy. Ever

When I arrived at work Monday morning, the air felt different.I wasn’t sure if it was the scent of Damien’s cologne still clinging to my skin, or the echo of his voice in my head commanding me to “say it again” while I trembled around him on that desk.Maybe it was the bruises on my hips—delicious reminders of how he claimed me.Or maybe it was the way the elevator doors opened, and there he was, standing inside, staring at me like he hadn’t stopped thinking about me either.“Miss Vale,” he said in that deep, unreadable voice, cold and professional.So we were back to that.I stepped in. “Mr. Holt.”We rode in silence. But I could feel it. The heat between us hadn’t dimmed. It had just… gotten smarter. Quieter. Hungrier.When we reached our floor, he didn’t look back. Just walked away.But later that day, a calendar invite popped up on my screen:Private Meeting – 9:30 PM – Penthouse Suite.My heart stuttered.There was no message. No explanation.I clicked “Accept.”⸻At 9:29, I sto