Todos os capítulos de Married to the Enemy CEO : Capítulo 111 - Capítulo 120

The worst part about prison wasn't the bars or the concrete or the constant noise. It was the sameness of it all.Every day identical to the last. Wake at 6 AM to the harsh clang of bells. Breakfast at 6:30—watery oatmeal or powdered eggs. Work detail from 8 to 11. Lunch at noon. Rec time. Dinner. Lights out at 10.Repeat. Forever.Damian King sat on the edge of his bunk in Cell Block D, hands clasped between his knees, and tried to remember what fresh air smelled like.Three months. He'd been here for three months, and it felt like three years."You gonna eat that?" His cellmate, Marcus Webb, gestured to the untouched dinner tray on Damian's bunk."Not hungry.""Can't afford to skip meals in here. Gotta keep your strength up."Marcus was sixty-two, with silver hair and the kind of face that had probably been handsome once, before prison and age wore it down. He was in for embezzlement—fifteen years, already served eight. He'd been Damian's cellmate since day one, and in that time, he

Roman stood in the elevator at King Holdings, watching the floor numbers climb. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight. Thirty-nine.His heart was racing. His palms were sweating. The walls felt like they were closing in.Forty. Forty-one.He couldn't breathe. The air was too thin, too hot. The elevator was too small, too confined, too much like—The doors opened on the forty-second floor, and Roman practically fell out into the hallway, gasping."Mr. King? Are you alright?" His assistant, Jennifer, hurried over from her desk."Fine. I'm fine." Roman straightened his tie, trying to compose himself. "Just... took the stairs too fast."Jennifer looked confused—she'd clearly seen him get off the elevator—but she didn't push. "You have the strategy meeting in ten minutes. Conference room A.""Right. Thank you."Roman made it to his office and closed the door. He leaned against it, trying to slow his breathing, trying to push down the panic that threatened to consume him.This was getting worse, not b

Roman grabbed Ava's arm. "Back door. Now."They moved quickly through the coffee shop, Elena following close behind. The two men across the street were already crossing, weaving between cars with practiced ease."This way." The barista, a young woman with purple hair, gestured toward the kitchen. "Through here. Alley exit."They burst through the back door into a narrow alley. Roman pulled out his phone, already dialing."Who are you calling?" Ava asked."Agent Mitchell. If these guys are connected to Russian intelligence—"A black SUV screeched to a stop at the alley entrance, blocking their path."Other way!" Elena shouted.They ran toward the opposite end of the alley. Behind them, Ava could hear footsteps, shouts in Russian.They emerged onto a busy street. Roman hailed a cab with the desperate urgency of a man who'd been hunted before."JFK Airport," he told the driver. "Fast. I'll pay double."As the cab pulled away, Ava looked back. The two men stood on the sidewalk, watching t

Agent Mitchell arrived at the King residence within thirty minutes, accompanied by three other FBI agents and a digital forensics specialist.They spread the photos across the dining room table, analyzing them with the cold precision of people who'd seen too many threats to be shocked anymore."The crosshairs are digital, added after the photos were taken," the forensics specialist said, examining the images with a magnifying glass. "But the photos themselves are recent. Within the last forty-eight hours.""How do we know?" Roman asked."This one." She pointed to the photo of Ava leaving the foundation. "She's wearing the blue jacket she wore Tuesday. And this one of Ethan—your parents' car has a parking permit that was just issued this week.""So someone's been surveilling us. Recently. Closely." Ava's voice was tight."Yes. And not just watching—documenting. Building a pattern of your movements, your routines." Agent Mitchell looked at them both. "Thomas Crest is planning something.

The flight back to Seattle was quiet.Ava sat by the window, watching clouds pass beneath them, her hand intertwined with Roman's. They hadn't let go of each other since leaving the consulate—as if maintaining physical contact could keep them tethered through whatever storm was coming.Agent Mitchell had arranged for FBI protection on the flight and at the airport. Four armed agents sat scattered through first class, watching for threats that might never materialize.Or might materialize at any moment."I'm sorry," Roman said suddenly.Ava looked at him. "For what?""For trying to control you. For trying to protect you instead of supporting you. For making you feel like you couldn't trust me with your plans.""Roman—""Let me finish. Please." He took a breath. "When I was being held captive, the thing that scared me most wasn't the pain or the possibility of dying. It was the thought that I'd never see you again. That I'd never get to tell you how sorry I was for all the ways I'd fail