All Chapters of Bought by the Devil CEO: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

The boardroom was colder than the rest of the building.Glass walls, steel table, men in dark suits who smiled like sharks that had already decided who would bleed. When I entered beside Adrian, the room stilled not because I mattered, but because I belonged to him.For now.Adrian took the seat at the head of the table without hesitation. Power settled on him like a second skin. I remained standing until he glanced at the chair beside him.“Sit,” he said.I did slowly. Deliberately. Heads turned. Eyes measured. I felt the weight of their assumptions press against my ribs.A man with silver hair spoke first. “Mrs. Blackwood. Congratulations.”I met his gaze. “Thank you.”“You’re adjusting well,” another added. “Given the… circumstances.”“Circumstances are a matter of perspective,” I replied. “I find clarity improves adaptation.”A ripple of interest moved through the room.Adrian didn’t intervene. He watched.The presentation began numbers, projections, futures written in clean lines

We left without lights.The car slipped into the city like a shadow that knew where it belonged. Elena drove. Adrian sat beside her, silent, eyes tracking reflections. I watched the city fall away glass towers dissolving into darker streets where names mattered less than timing.“Where are we going?” I asked.“Somewhere unregistered,” Adrian replied. “No cameras. No favors.”“Does that exist?” I asked.He glanced at me. “For a few hours.”The road narrowed. Trees replaced buildings. The air cooled. When the car finally stopped, the place looked abandoned an old estate swallowed by ivy and time. Windows dark. Gates rusted open like an invitation that had stopped caring who entered.Inside, the house smelled of dust and rain. Power hummed back to life with a switch generators, prepared. Of course.“This was never meant for people,” I said.“It was meant for mistakes,” Adrian replied.He checked rooms with a practiced ease, doors opening and closing, corners cleared. Elena disappeared in

Morning came without permission.Light slipped through the broken curtains, thin and pale, like it was afraid of what it would reveal. I hadn’t slept more than minutes at a time. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt it again Adrian’s hand at my jaw, the hesitation in his breath, the way he stopped himself like stopping was an act of violence.The door opened quietly.He didn’t look at me.“Coffee,” he said, setting a mug on the table. “Drink it.”“I didn’t ask for ”“You need it,” he cut in, still not meeting my eyes.That hurt more than the kiss.I wrapped my hands around the mug, letting the heat steady me. “You’re avoiding me.”“I’m recalibrating,” he replied. “There’s a difference.”“You kissed me,” I said. “Then you ran.”He finally looked at me then, his expression tight. “I stopped.”“After you crossed the line.”“I crossed it because I misjudged the situation,” he said. “And I won’t do it again.”The certainty in his voice landed like a door slamming shut.“Good,” I said, thoug

The silence went viral before the lie did.By nightfall, everyone had seen the leak and noticed what didn’t follow. No denial. No statement. No frantic cleanup. Adrian Blackwood stayed quiet, and in his world, quiet meant bloodless violence waiting its turn.I watched the numbers climb on my phone shares, comments, speculation stacking like dry timber. People filled the gaps with their own conclusions. Sofia’s work hid inside the noise, clever and incomplete.“They’re asking why you haven’t responded,” Elena said from the doorway. “Media’s circling.”“Let them,” I replied.Adrian stood at the window, city lights mapping his profile in sharp lines. “She expects outrage,” he said. “Or fear.”“She’ll get patience,” I said. “That scares her more.”He turned to me. “You’re certain.”“I’m calm,” I answered. “There’s a difference.”We moved into the study maps replaced by timelines, faces by patterns. Adrian slid a tablet across the desk. “Your past,” he said. “Everything she could twist.”I

Sofia didn’t issue a denial.She issued a narrative.By noon, it was everywhere opinion pieces dressed as analysis, sources “close to the matter,” speculation polished into certainty. My name threaded through it all like a cautionary tale. A woman protected by power. A story orchestrated by a husband with something to hide.Adrian read it without comment.I watched his face for cracks. Found none.“She’s framing motive,” Elena said, pacing. “She’s not disputing facts she’s questioning intent.”“Smart,” I said. “Intent is harder to prove.”Adrian’s phone buzzed again. He ignored it.“What?” I asked.“Editors,” he said. “Three of them.”“And?”“They want me to comment,” he replied. “They want you quiet.”I met his gaze. “Then we do the opposite.”A beat.“You’ll name her,” he said.“Yes,” I replied. “On record.”“That escalates,” Elena warned.“Good,” I said. “She escalated first.”We moved fast. The conference room filled with light and lenses controlled access, neutral backdrop. Adria