All Chapters of Purchased for My Sins : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

Mara’s POVThe alarm on my phone buzzed at 7:00 a.m., but I had already been awake for hours, staring at the cracked ceiling of the hospital room. Liam was still asleep in the narrow bed beside me, his small chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The oxygen mask fogged with each exhale, a tiny cloud that disappeared almost as soon as it formed. I reached over and brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead. His skin felt too warm, too fragile, like paper left out in the rain.Another day to hope. I told myself the same thing every morning: Today could be better. Today the numbers might improve. I had repeated it so many times it sounded like a prayer I no longer believed in.My phone vibrated again, a message from the nurses’ station.Dr. Rebecca would like to see you in her office. I kissed Liam’s knuckles, careful not to wake him, then slipped out into the corridor. The hospital smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like trapp

(Sebastian’s POV)“Fuck, Sebastian!”The redhead slut screamed it like a prayer, her voice cracking on the edge of another climax. Her fifth of the night. Maybe sixth. I’d stopped counting after the third time she shattered around me.Women.They were everywhere in this city, different faces, different names, same hunger. An endless supply of warm holes waiting to be fed, fucked, forgotten. They responded to one language only: rough hands, deeper thrusts, the promise of release they never quite earned. And I spoke it fluently.I had her wrists pinned above her head against the headboard, the silk tie I’d used earlier still dangling from one post like an accusation. Her legs were locked around my waist, heels digging into the small of my back as I slammed into her again and again. No rhythm, no mercy, just the brutal cadence of possession.She threw her head back, throat exposed, eyes rolling white. Another wave crashed through her. Her cunt clenched like a fist around my cock, milking

(Sebastian’s POV)The rest of the day passed in a slow, satisfying hemorrhage.The ticker on the wall screen never stopped moving.Lang Holdings opened down 11% the next morning. By lunch it was down 17%. Short interest spiked like a fever. Analysts who’d once called Victor “the future of aggressive M&A” were now writing obituaries for his strategy. CNBC looped the same clip of him on the floor of the exchange last year, grinning like he owned the world. The irony was delicious.I leaned back in my chair, feet on the desk, sleeves rolled to the elbows. The poison pill had done its job. Victor’s stake, once a menacing 15.1%, was now mathematically irrelevant. Diluted to 4.2% after the flood of cheap shares. He could buy more, but every dollar he spent now bought less power. Less voice. Less threat.And then the SEC inquiry landed.A breaking news alert flashed across my secondary monitor at 2:17 p.m.:SEC Opens Formal Inquiry into Lang Holdings for Potential Insider Trading and Market

(Sebastian’s POV)I stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled, tie loosened, watching the live feed from Lang Holdings’ headquarters on the wall screen. No sound, just the silent pantomime of destruction. Victor’s board members were gathered around a long oak table, faces pale under fluorescent light. One by one they spoke. Gestured. Shook heads. Victor sat at the far end, still in yesterday’s suit, hair disheveled, jaw clenched like he could bite through steel.Flora Vasquez sat to my left, laptop open, refreshing the stock ticker every thirty seconds. Her fingers moved with mechanical precision, eyes never leaving the numbers.Marcus Hale to my right, arms crossed, shark smile barely contained, already drafting the press release we’d never need to send.Darius Cole stood by the door, silent as always, arms folded, eyes never leaving the screen, tracking every micro-expression on Victor’s face like a sniper sighting a target.The vote began at 10:14 a.m.One hand rose. Then anot

(Sebastian’s POV)The clock on my office wall read 10:58 a.m.I hadn’t moved from the chair since 9:00.The room was silent except for the low hum of the city far below the glass. No distractions. I wanted my mind sharp, my anger cold. Victor would arrive smelling of defeat and desperation, and I intended to make sure he left carrying both.At 11:03 the intercom buzzed.Reception: “Mr. Lang is here, sir. Security is escorting him up.”I pressed the button once. “Send him in.”The door opened thirty seconds later.Victor Lang stepped inside, alone as instructed.He looked like a man who had been dragged through hell and hadn’t bothered to wash off the ashes. Suit wrinkled from the overnight flight, collar open, tie missing. Eyes bloodshot, skin sallow, stubble thick enough to scrape. He reeked faintly of whiskey and airplane air. Not sober. Not even close.He stopped just inside the door, briefcase hanging limp at his side like he’d forgotten it was there.I didn’t stand.I leaned ba