บททั้งหมดของ His velvet obsession : บทที่ 31 - บทที่ 40

Xavier povThe notification on my screen wasn't a market alert. It was a ping from the penthouse security mesh. I swiped the glass, my thumb lingering over the icon.​Status: Subject 01. Activity: Nutrients consumed. Location: Gym.​I felt a microscopic shift in my chest—the kind of relief I usually only felt when a competitor’s CEO signed over his soul. She had eaten. It was a small victory, but in the war I was waging for Astrid’s survival, it felt like a breakthrough.​My private line buzzed. I didn't have to look at the caller ID to know it was Ava. I pressed the phone to my ear, leaning back in the chair that still felt like a predator’s seat.​"Report," I said. My voice was clipped, the CEO persona still vibrating in my throat.​"She finished the plate, sir," Ava’s voice was as steady as a sniper’s breath. "Standard compliance. No outward resistance, though the resentment is... palpable."​"I don't pay you to measure her resentment, Ava. I pay you to ensure she s

Astrid pov The silence between us was no longer empty; it was heavy with the things he knew. Xavier took my hands back into his, his touch shifting from a cold command to something agonizingly gentle. He rubbed the bruised, angry skin of my knuckles with his thumb, his gaze fixed on the damage I’d done to myself. ​"I don't like seeing you get hurt, Velvet," he murmured. His voice wasn't a threat this time. It was worse. It was a soft, possessive caress that made me want to lean into him and scream at him all at once. ​He dropped my hands and moved toward the far wall. I watched, frozen, as he pressed a hidden panel in the cabinet—one I never knew was there. He pulled out a small tube of ointment. He didn't mention the office. He didn't mention the video of my father. My heart hammered against my ribs—did he not know I’d seen it? Or was Ava playing a much more dangerous game than I realized, letting me see that cage just to see what I would do? ​Xavier walked back to the bed an

​Xavier’s POV ​The morning air in the gym was sharp, but the heat coming off Astrid was sharper. ​She stood there, breathing hard, looking like a chaotic masterpiece I was tempted to ruin. She’d traded the oversized sweaters for actual training gear, and it was a problem. She was wearing a pair of high-waisted leggings and a cropped tank top that clung to her in ways that made the "CEO" part of my brain short-circuit. I’d always known she was beautiful but seeing her like this, flushed and defiant, was a different kind of torture. ​She had curves that made the tight compression of her gear look like a challenge. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the taper of her waist—it was a distraction I hadn't budgeted for. I felt a tightening in my gut that had nothing to do with adrenaline. ​"Again," I said, my voice sounding rougher than I intended. ​She didn't hesitate. She stepped back into a stance, and that’s when I saw it. ​The way she shifted her weight wasn't the clumsy,

​Xavier’s POV ​The boardroom doors were double-thick oak, reinforced with steel, designed to keep the secrets of the Mattoe empire in and the prying eyes of the world out. As I stepped through them, the low murmur of thirty high-level executives died instantly. It wasn't a fade; it was a decapitation of sound. ​I didn't go to my chair. I walked the perimeter of the room, my boots clicking with a slow, rhythmic finality against the polished floor. I could see them sweating. Men three times my age, titans of industry who had survived recessions and coups, were currently vibrating with a primal, lizard-brain fear. ​"I spent my morning on a mat," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried to every corner of the room. "I spent it learning how to find a weakness and exploit it. How to take a strike and return it with interest." ​I stopped behind Arthur Sterling, the Head of Legal. He was a man who prided himself on his composure, but today, his collar looked three sizes t

Astrid’s POV After the stifling tension of breakfast, I needed to disappear. I spent the next hour navigating the endless, silent corridors of the penthouse, refusing to give Ava the satisfaction of asking for directions. Eventually, I pushed open a pair of heavy, soundproofed doors at the end of the north wing, and the air shifted. The home theater was a dark, opulent sanctuary. Low-slung, crimson velvet loungers were arranged in tiers, and the walls were bathed in the soft, rhythmic glow of red LED strips that made the room feel like the inside of a beating heart. At the back, a sleek black marble bar glinted with rows of crystal decanters—tequila, bourbon, and spirits I couldn't name—all reflecting the ruby light like liquid jewels. It was beautiful, expensive, and utterly lonely. Setting up the screen was a struggle that made my throat tighten with a sudden, sharp pang of grief. In my old life, I never had to touch a remote; there was always a maid or a technician a button