All Chapters of DEADLY SEDUCTION : Chapter 51 - Chapter 59

For Alex Greyson, his high-rise office became a cage of glass, reflecting the city’s endless, rainynight.Alex loosened his tie as the elevator doors slid open. He had missed dinner again. Thedemanding pace of his life had swallowed yet another evening.Elena’s texts still sat unanswered in his phone, their quiet insistence pressing against his chestlike guilt he didn’t have time to feel. The personal realm constantly warred with the professional,and lately, the professional always won.“Mr. Greyson,” she said without turning, her voice smooth, deliberate. “You’re late.”“I was at a meeting,” Alex lied, setting his briefcase down. It was the easiest defense, a shield ofprofessional obligation.“You always are.” She turned, the diamonds at her wrist scattering light. Her steady, appraisinggaze made him feel stripped down to his bones.“I like to see how men carry their exhaustion. It says a lot about what they hide.” Varenne usedfatigue as a diagnostic tool.Her eyes lingered, t

It was too much. The sight of her, the feel of her, the way her name tore from his throat as hisown release crashed over him—he buried himself deep and came, his cock pulsing, his cumspilling inside her in hot, thick jets.They collapsed together, a tangle of limbs and ragged breaths, the desk groaning beneaththem. The city lights flickered outside, indifferent to the storm they’d just weathered. Butinside, the air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, the only sound the frantic pounding oftheir hearts.And for the first time in years, Alex didn’t give a damn about guilt, or rules, or the world waitingbeyond that door.Because right now, in this moment, she was his.And he was hers.The office smelled faintly of smoke and rain now, the air still pulsing with what had justhappened.Alex was fixing his cufflinks; Madame Varenne was already composed, like a woman who hadnever lost her breath. Her lipstick was perfect again, her eyes sharp.She watched him without apology. “Y

Paris was mercilessly beautiful that afternoon — the kind of light that made deceit look holy.Elena arrived at Varenne Holdings dressed in quiet perfection: a beige silk blouse that fell softagainst her skin, dark tailored trousers, and pearls that caught the sunlight just enough tosuggest wealth without effort. Her hair was pinned back, her expression calm.The receptionist looked up, startled by her presence. “Bonjour, madame. You have anappointment?”Elena smiled, that delicate, composed smile that could disarm anyone. “Yes. Elena Greyson. Ibelieve Madame Varenne agreed to see me regarding an investment partnership.”The words came smooth, believable. She had spent the night rehearsing them, tracing eachsyllable the way she once traced Alex’s excuses.Moments later, the glass doors opened.Madame Varenne stepped out — the same woman whose name had burned across Alex’smessages. Older, yes, but stunning in a way that made youth irrelevant. Black hair coiledperfectly, lips red

The chandelier light fractured across her champagne glass, turning the bubbles into tiny,glimmering lies. Elena smiled, poised, every inch the gracious host. Around her, laughter andperfume swirled through the ballroom — charity donors, investors, people who applauded inpublic and betrayed in private. She had learned to move among them with practiced grace, asmile that could freeze an entire room.Across the crowd, Madame Varenne stood in crimson silk, her gaze cutting through the noiselike a whispered dare. She didn’t look like a guest. She looked like the event had been designedfor her — a stage for power, temptation, and quiet control.Elena lifted her glass, pretending she hadn’t noticed the silent claim in Varenne’s eyes. But shehad. Every woman in the room had.“Your guest list keeps getting more interesting,” Claudia murmured at her side, lips barelymoving. She looked effortless as always — dark curls spilling over her shoulders, the calm ofsomeone who’d seen too much

The last guest left at midnight.The door closed with a hollow thud that echoed through the penthouse like a reminder thatbeneath all the sparkle and laughter, silence always wins.Elena stood barefoot in the living room, her sequined dress shimmering under the low amberlights. Her hair was loose now, falling over her shoulders in waves that had begun to frizz fromthe night’s heat. The city blinked beyond the glass walls — Paris never slept, but she could feelherself shutting down inside.Alex was at the bar, unbuttoning his shirt, pouring himself a drink with the kind of composurethat only guilt or practice could build. The clink of glass against marble sounded too precise.Too calm.“You didn’t enjoy yourself,” he said finally, his voice low, steady — the kind of tone that alwaysmade her wary. “You barely smiled.”Elena’s lips curved, but not into a smile. “Maybe I just didn’t like the company.”His gaze met hers in the reflection of the glass. The air tightened between them.