All Chapters of Bought by the Devil CEO: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

I married my enemy. I signed the contract knowing one thing: Adrian Blackwood didn’t want a wife. He wanted a weapon. The lawyer slid the papers closer, the sound sharp against the glass table. “You can still” “She can’t,” Adrian cut in. His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Power never shouts; it waits. I didn’t look at him. I stared at the last page, at the words that would rearrange my life into something smaller, tighter. Wife. Exclusive. Silence. No exit without consent. “This is a cage,” I whispered. Adrian leaned back, calm as winter. “It’s shelter.” “From what?” His eyes lifted slowly, dark and assessing. “From what happens when you refuse men who don’t take refusal well.” My throat tightened. I knew exactly who he meant. I also knew why I was here. “And what do you get?” I asked. He stood, buttoned his jacket, and walked behind my chair close enough that my skin screamed. I could smell him: clean, cold, expensive. A man who never broke a sweat because ot

The first invitation arrived before noon. Black envelope. No return address. A location I recognized for all the wrong reasons. Adrian read it once, then handed it to me. “You’ll attend.” “That’s not a request,” I said. “No,” he replied. “It’s protection.” I looked at the address again. “This is where men go to pretend they’re untouchable.” “That’s why we’re going,” he said. “They behave when they’re watched.” “And when they’re not?” His gaze lingered a second too long. “Then they disappear.” The car stopped beneath a building that didn’t need a sign. Inside, the air smelled like money and secrets. Eyes followed us. Some curious. Some hungry. One familiar enough to make my spine stiffen. Adrian felt it instantly. “Who,” he asked quietly. “Later,” I said. His hand slid to my lower back public claim, private warning. We moved through the room like a statement. People smiled. People calculated. Then I saw him. Daniel Royce. Older. Louder. Still smiling like he’d never hear

By morning, the city knew my name. Not because I spoke because Adrian did. The statement dropped at nine sharp. Clean. Controlled. No emotion. Mrs. Blackwood is under my protection. Any attempt to approach, contact, or harass her will be treated as a direct threat to my interests. Interests. Not me. Phones rang. Messages stacked. Invitations dissolved. Fear learned a new address. “You didn’t ask,” I said, watching the headline pulse across the screen. “I don’t negotiate safety,” Adrian replied. “You weaponized me.” He met my eyes. “I insulated you.” The car took us to a charity luncheon glass, smiles, philanthropy polished to a mirror. Cameras followed. Adrian’s hand settled at my back like punctuation. “Smile,” he murmured. I did. My jaw ached. Inside, donors leaned in, eager to be seen agreeing with power. A woman in white clasped my hands. “You’re so brave.” I pulled free gently. “I’m just married.” Her smile faltered. Across the room, I saw Sofia. Not smiling. S

The river swallowed sound. The boat cut through black water, engine low, lights off. Wind burned my cheeks; salt clung to my lips. Adrian stood at the bow, phone dark in his hand, eyes scanning reflections like they were lies waiting to be told. “Tell me now,” I said. “Or tell me never.” He didn’t turn. “They won’t negotiate anymore.” “That’s not an answer.” He exhaled. “Your father’s name was never removed from the ledger.” My stomach dropped. “You said my family was done.” “I said the file was closed,” he replied. “Not forgiven.” The shoreline blurred. A bridge rose ahead concrete ribs, blind spots. The boat slowed. “Why here?” I asked. “Because this is where people make mistakes,” he said. “And think no one is watching.” The engine coughed. Once. Then again. I felt it before I heard it the wrongness. The hesitation. “Adrian,” I said. He moved instantly, crouching, opening a panel near the console. His fingers flew. “Fuel line’s been nicked.” “That’s not an accident

I learned the rules of Adrian Blackwood’s house the way people learn the laws of gravity by falling.The first rule was silence.Not the absence of sound, but the absence of permission. I could walk, breathe, exist but only within the invisible lines he had drawn. The house was vast, all glass and shadow, designed to impress and intimidate in equal measure. It wasn’t a home. It was a statement.You are small here.The second rule was observation.Someone was always watching. Not guards in uniforms, but cameras embedded so seamlessly into the architecture that they felt like part of the walls themselves. I caught my reflection in a dark window and wondered how many versions of me he could see at once.The third rule arrived with him.Adrian didn’t announce himself. He never had to. The air shifted when he entered a room heavier, colder, as if the house itself responded to him. I felt it before I saw him.“You’re early,” I said, breaking Rule One without meaning to.He stopped a few ste