บททั้งหมดของ Burning Desire: A Tale of Love and Betrayal : บทที่ 51 - บทที่ 60

Jacqueline’s POVBlackwood sat too close, his gaze fixed on me like he had already decided something. Every time his eyes lingered, my pulse jumped, and I hated how much it thrilled me.I told myself to focus on Allison’s chatter, on the music thrumming in the background, on anything but the man beside me. But the moment his knee brushed mine, my breath faltered. The noise in the bar blurred, distant. I knew then, I was already too far gone.He didn’t ask. He didn’t speak. He simply rose, reached for my hand, and I followed. God help me, I followed.My heels clicked against the polished floor as he led me down a narrow corridor. I should’ve pulled away, I should’ve reminded myself who he was, who I was, but every ounce of willpower had bled out of me the second his fingers closed around mine.The door shut behind us with a soft click. Before I could think, my back hit cool tiles, and he was there. His breath fanned against my lips, rough and unyielding, and then his mouth crushed mine

Jacqueline’s POVThe email hit my inbox just as I was organizing the last of last quarter’s reports. The subject line was bland enough, “Policy Amendment: Authorization Protocol.” But the further my eyes traced down the words, the tighter my throat felt.Effective immediately… exclusive authorization of the Chief Accountant… all outgoing funds… temporary restructuring…My name wasn’t in the memo, but everyone knew who the Chief Accountant was.By the time I looked up, the entire floor was buzzing. Heads tilted toward me, conversations cut short whenever I walked past. I could feel the weight of a dozen curious stares pressing against the glass walls of my office, as though they were waiting for me to either gloat or crack.I sat there for a moment, staring at the screen, wondering how a single memo could make my desk feel less like a workspace and more like a battlefield. My signature, just mine, would now decide which money left this building. The responsibility was dizzying. The dan

Jacqueline’s POV Three days later, an email slipped into my official inbox.The sender was masked, “anonymous.external” with no subject line, no introduction. For a moment I considered deleting it, but instinct overruled. My finger hovered, then tapped.A single link blinked back at me.My heart hammered as I clicked.The page that loaded wasn’t casual spam. It was a dashboard, our company’s internal financial performance charts, bleeding red across the screen. Decline: 36.99%.Thirty-six point nine nine.I shot up from my chair, breath catching in my throat. That wasn’t just a dip, it was a free fall.The Phoenix Group was collapsing.And yet… no one had said a word in the board meeting. No whisper, no warning.By the time I reached the office that morning, my determination was carved into my face like stone. If they thought they could hand me “financial oversight” as some ceremonial role, they had picked the wrong woman.I buried myself in records, crawling through the spreadsheet

Jacqueline’s POVI should have collapsed.The moment I held Kimberly’s discarded drafts in my hand, my body wanted to fold in on itself, to curl up in denial, to scream until my lungs burned. Betrayal doesn’t just stab, it lingers, a poison that spreads. And this one? This one was blood-deep.But I couldn’t collapse. Not today. Not when Phoenix Group’s future still lay in front of me in a mess of files, invoices, and half-formed patterns that refused to stay still in my head.I swallowed, hard, and tucked the folded scraps of Kimberly’s handwriting beneath a pile of unopened letters on the counter. Out of sight. Out of reach. But not out of mind. They throbbed like a bruise I couldn’t stop pressing.“Jacqueline?” Allison’s voice was cautious, searching. She had seen my face whenever I found those anonymous notes, and I knew she was holding back, afraid to say too much, afraid I’d shatter.But I didn’t shatter. I straightened my shoulders and forced my voice to steady. “We’ll deal with

Jacqueline’s POVThe apartment was a mess of papers, files, and highlighted invoices scattered across the coffee table. My laptop hummed beside me, tabs upon tabs of transactions blinking like an unsolvable puzzle.I rubbed my temples, exhaustion clawing at the back of my skull, but I couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when I was this close.“Jac,” Allison’s voice broke through, sliding another printed invoice toward me. “Here. Look at this one. Paid three weeks ago. Supposed to be twenty sets of imported conference chairs.” She tapped the paper with a sharp nail. “Never delivered.”I snatched it from her, heart pounding. Another one. Another damn ghost transaction.“How many does that make?” I asked, my voice hoarse from hours of silence.Clara flipped through the thick file we’d labeled LOOPHOLES. Her brows pinched. “Twenty-six so far. Different items. Different suppliers. Same trail.”I leaned back against the sofa, my chest tightening as the truth formed in bold strokes: someone was blee