Todos os capítulos de Sold to the Devil: His Ruthless Vow: Capítulo 81 - Capítulo 90

I sat in the wingback chair by the unlit fireplace, watching the city lights of New York flicker below.It was 2:00 AM.The penthouse was silent. The only sound was the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway. It sounded like a countdown.I wasn't painting. I wasn't reading. I was just waiting.I heard the elevator ding. The heavy front door opened and clicked shut.Footsteps moved softly across the marble foyer. Heavy, tired footsteps.Julian walked into the living room. He was loosening his tie. He had shed his jacket somewhere in the hall. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, revealing the hollow of his throat.He didn't see me at first in the shadows. He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a glass of amber liquid. He drank it in one swallow, his head tipped back, his eyes closed.He looked exhausted. He looked defeated."Did you find him?" I asked.Julian flinched. The glass clattered onto the wooden surface of the cabinet. He spun around, his

I heard the sound of the downstairs door crashing open.It wasn't a key turning in a lock. It was metal shearing against metal. A kick. A breach.I froze. My brush hovered over the canvas.Heavy footsteps pounded up the industrial staircase. They were fast. Urgent.I didn't run. I didn't hide. I just set my brush down and wiped my hands on the rag. I knew who it was.The door to the loft flew open. It banged against the brick wall with a violence that shook the floor.Julian stood there.He was breathing hard. His hair was windblown. He wore a dark wool coat over his suit. His eyes were wild as he scanned the room. He checked the corners. He checked the windows. He looked for a threat.Then his eyes landed on me."Vivian," he breathed.He strode across the room. He grabbed my shoulders. His grip was bruising."Are you hurt?" he demanded. He looked me over, checking for blood, for injuries. "Why did you turn off your phone? I thought they had taken you.""I am fine," I said. I tried to

The morning sun hit the glass of the Thorne Tower executive suite, but it brought no warmth.I sat at my desk, staring at a digital receipt on my tablet.Payment Successful: $2.4 Million. Recipient: Chelsea Art Collective (V. Thorne).I rubbed my temples. I had bought every single piece. The sketches. The oils. Even the unfinished study she had clearly done in a rage.I told myself it was support. I told myself I was investing in her future. But deep down, I knew Elias was right. I couldn't stand the thought of some stranger owning a piece of her soul. If anyone was going to hang her pain on a wall, it should be me."Boss."Leo burst into the office. He didn't knock. His face was pale."The Feds are downstairs," Leo said breathlessly. "Agent Miller. And a tactical team."I stood up, buttoning my jacket. A grim smile touched my lips."Good," I said. "The inspection at the docks must have paid off. They found the dirt on Vanguard."Leo shook his head. He looked terrified."No, Julian. T

"We can't just walk in the front door," Julian said. He was pacing the length of the loft, dragging a hand through his hair. "The FBI has a perimeter set up on 5th Avenue. They have agents in the lobby. They have a sniper on the roof of the St. Regis across the street.""We aren't walking in the front door," Elena said calmly. She was sitting at the table, sketching a diagram of Thorne Tower on the back of a pizza box. "And we aren't using guns.""Then how do we get the server logs?" Julian demanded. "Elias hacked the digital manifest. The only proof that I didn't authorize that shipment is on the hard-line backup in the server room on the 40th floor. If the FBI gets to it first, or if Elias wipes it remotely, I go to prison for twenty years.""We need a Trojan Horse," Vivian said.She was standing by the window, looking at the city lights."A what?" Julian asked."A Trojan Horse," Vivian repeated. She turned around. Her eyes were bright. "The FBI seized your business assets. But they

The interrogation room was freezing.It was designed that way. Cold makes people uncomfortable. Discomfort makes people talk.I sat at the metal table, my hands cuffed to the bar bolted to the floor. I was still wearing my jumpsuit from the heist, but they had taken my belt and shoelaces.My mugshot was already flashing on the news channels in the lobby. Vivian Thorne. Accomplice to Treason.The heavy door buzzed and opened.Agent Miller walked in. He carried two coffees. He set one down in front of me."Black," he said. "Figured you needed it."I didn't touch it. "I want my lawyer.""Your lawyer is stuck in traffic," Miller lied. He sat down opposite me. He looked tired, but smug. "And frankly, Mrs. Thorne, a lawyer can't help you now. We have you on video pulling the fire alarm. We have you aiding the escape of a federal fugitive. That's twenty years, minimum.""My husband is innocent," I said calmly. "He was framed.""By who?" Miller scoffed. "The Easter Bunny? We found military gu