All Chapters of Married To The Arrogant Billionaire Heir: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

Ryan’s POV. For seven days, I had been reduced to a spectator in my own life. I sat behind the wall of my office—the fishbowl Sebastian had graciously assigned to me at the far end of the corridor—and I watched. I watched the hallway like a hawk circling a field, waiting for movement. I watched every time Grace walked past, her heels clicking a rhythm that seemed to echo straight into my chest, mocking me with every step. Since she had officially joined his team in the annex, the dynamic had shifted into something impenetrable. It was as if she had stepped into a fortress where the drawbridge was permanently raised against me. I leaned back in my ergonomic chair, my eyes tracking them as they moved toward the main conference room. They walked in perfect sync, steps matched, shoulders brushing. To the untrained eye, it looked like professional synergy. To me, it looked like possession. Sebastian moved with her like a shadow. He didn't just walk beside her, he shepherded her. He po

Sebastian’s POV. The suitcase stood by the door of my bedroom, packed and sealed. It was a sleek, black monolith that signaled my departure, but every time I looked at it, I felt a surge of irrational resentment. It was 2:00 AM. My flight to Chicago was scheduled for 6:00 AM. I should have been asleep. I needed the rest. The AvariTech negotiations were going to be a bloodsport, so the CEO, Marcus Thorne, was known for grueling, twelve-hour sessions designed to break his opponents mentally. I needed to be sharp. I needed to be the cold, unyielding machine that the business world feared. But sleep was a distant country I couldn't reach. I paced the length of my suite, the silence of the house pressing against my eardrums. It was usually my favorite time—the hour when the world stopped making demands—but tonight, the quietness felt heavy. It felt like the calm before a detonation. My mind kept circling back to the office. To the glass annex. To Ryan. “Acting Head of Operations.” T

Ryan’s POV. The air on the executive floor tasted different today. It tasted like ozone. It tasted like victory. I sat in Sebastian’s chair—the massive, ergonomic throne of black leather that cost more than a mid-sized sedan—and spun it slowly, surveying the kingdom. The office was vast, intimidating, and silent. The city of New York sprawled out behind me, a submissive grid of steel and glass, but for the first time in my life, I didn't feel like I was looking up at it. I was looking down. Sebastian was gone. He was thousands of miles away in Chicago, trapped in a conference room with boring investors, while I was here, holding the scepter. "Acting Head of Operations," I said aloud, testing the weight of the words. They rolled off my tongue like honey. My father had finally come through. For years, I had been the spare, the backup plan, the disappointment. But today? Today I was the Knight in charge. My phone buzzed on the blotter, vibrating against the wood. I checked the ID.

Chloe’s POV. The temporary office the admins on Sebastian’s floor had forced me into was nothing short of a prison cell disguised as a workspace. It was a glass box situated uncomfortably close to the breakroom on the periphery of the executive floor. It ensured that I was subjected to the smell of burnt coffee and the incessant, banal chatter of junior interns every hour of the day. I sat behind the generic laminate desk, my manicured nails digging into the cheap fabric armrest of a chair that squeaked every time I shifted my weight. I was fuming. My skin felt too tight for my body, hot with a prickly, suffocating layer of rage that had been building since morning. Through the glass wall, I had a direct line of sight to the main corridor leading to the executive suite. I had been watching it for the last hour, ignoring the stack of busywork files Sebastian had dumped on me before he left for Chicago. I wasn't here to file reports. I wasn't here to be an admin. I was here to watch

Sebastian’s POV. The boardroom on the forty-fifth floor of the AvariTech Tower in Chicago was a study in sterility. It was a world of chrome, glass, and polished marble, populated by men in five-thousand-dollar suits speaking in hushed, reverent tones about synergy, acquisition costs, and legacy. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, Lake Michigan stretched out like a sheet of hammered steel, gray and unforgiving. I stood at the head of the table, a Montblanc pen in my hand, ready to sign the final clause of the merger. This was it. The culmination of three years of aggressive maneuvering. The deal that would double our market share, dilute my father’s voting power, and finally—finally—make me untouchable. "Mr. Knight," Benjamin Ken, the AvariTech CEO, said, smiling like a shark who had just secured his golden parachute. "We are ready when you are." I uncapped the pen. The ink tip hovered millimeters above the paper. My phone, sitting face down on the polished table, vibrated. I