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

70 Chapters

The Contract

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 Rules

I didn’t sleep. The apartment was silent in a way that felt intentional, as if sound itself had signed a non disclosure agreement. The city glowed beyond the glass walls, alive and indifferent, while I lay awake counting the ways I’d miscalculated. At six sharp, my phone vibrated. Wake up. No greeting. No name. Just a command. I dressed in the first thing I found black, of course and stepped out into the hallway. Adrian was already there, sleeves rolled, tie perfectly knotted, watching the sunrise like it owed him something. “You’re late,” he said without looking at me. “It’s six on the dot.” He turned. “You’ll learn that my time starts before the clock.” I bit back a response. Words were ammunition. I needed to ration mine. He handed me a tablet. “Your schedule.” Meetings. Appearances. Dinners with people whose names carried weight. My name newly his attached to every line. “I’m not your assistant,” I said. “No,” he agreed. “You’re my message.” We rode the elevator down

Exposure

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

The Warning

The knock came at 2:17 a.m. Not loud. Not urgent. Confident. I froze in bed, the city a distant glow beyond the glass. Another knock followed slower this time. Whoever stood outside knew exactly where I was. I didn’t open the door. My phone buzzed. Don’t move. Adrian Footsteps approached from the other side. The lock clicked. The door opened. Adrian stepped in, already dressed, eyes sharp. He scanned the room, the windows, the balcony. “Did you hear anything?” he asked. “A knock,” I said. “Twice.” His jaw tightened. He crossed to the door, checked the corridor, then closed it again. “Get dressed.” “Why?” “Because someone wants you scared,” he said. “And I don’t reward good timing.” We took the service elevator down. The garage smelled of oil and concrete. The driver waited, engine running. “Where are we going?” I asked. “To end a conversation.” The city thinned as we drove. Warehouses replaced towers. Silence replaced traffic. We stopped beneath a flickering streetlig

The Statement

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 Exit

We didn’t use the front door. Adrian led me through a service corridor hidden behind a panel I’d walked past a dozen times without noticing. The apartment wasn’t just a home it was a maze designed to erase footsteps. “Who built this?” I asked, breath tight. “I did,” he said. “After the first time someone thought they owned my nights.” We descended stairs that smelled like cold metal and oil. A second car waited below unmarked, engine warm. The driver didn’t look at us. “Phones,” Adrian said. I hesitated. “Now.” I handed mine over. He powered it down, snapped the back, slid out a chip, and crushed it between his fingers. “That was expensive,” I said. “So is tracking,” he replied. We merged into traffic like nothing had happened. My pulse slowly unclenched until Adrian’s phone vibrated. He read the message. Didn’t blink. “What?” I asked. “They’re closer than I thought.” “To where?” “To you.” The car took a wrong turn on purpose. Then another. We crossed a bridge, dipped

The Chase

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

The Truth Tax

We didn’t sleep.The boathouse stayed quiet after the sirens faded, the kind of quiet that pretends safety until you believe it. Adrian pressed gauze to his side, jaw set, eyes sharp despite the blood.“Sit,” I said.“I’m fine.”“You’re bleeding,” I replied. “That makes you negotiable.”His mouth twitched. He sat.I knelt, hands steady, and tightened the wrap. He watched me like he was memorizing the way I moved.“You broke my rule,” he said.“I made my own,” I answered. “I don’t run anymore.”A pause. Then: “That will cost you.”“I know.”Outside, water lapped against rotten wood. Inside, the truth waited.“You said my father’s name was still on a ledger,” I said. “Start there.”Adrian exhaled slowly. “Your family financed a shell company ten years ago. It laundered money through three cities and paid for favors that ended careers.”“I was nineteen,” I said.“I know,” he replied. “You weren’t involved.”“Then why am I here?”“Because leverage ages well,” he said. “And because someone

The Rules of His House

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

Dinner with the Devil

Dinner was a performance.The table was long enough to host a war council, yet only two places were set. Crystal glasses, silver cutlery, candles burning low like controlled flames. Everything in Adrian Blackwood’s world was curated nothing accidental, nothing excessive.Except me.I arrived at eight on the dot. Not a second earlier. Not a second late. I refused to give him the satisfaction of precision that wasn’t mine.He was already seated.Of course he was.Adrian didn’t look up when I entered. He lifted his glass slowly, the amber liquid catching the candlelight. Calm. Unbothered. As if time bent to him naturally.“Sit,” he said.I took the seat across from him, my spine straight, my hands steady despite the quiet hum in my chest. The house felt closer at night walls pressing in, shadows heavier.The food was exquisite. Untouched.“You don’t eat?” I asked.“I observe,” he replied.“Me?”“Patterns.”I picked up my fork deliberately. “Then observe this.”I took a bite.His gaze sha

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