All Chapters of His velvet obsession : Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

​Xavier’s POV ​I sat in my darkened office, the only light emanating from the six monitors embedded on the wall. My jacket was off, my tie discarded, and a glass of scotch sat untouched at my elbow. Most men in my position would be sleeping, dreaming of their next merger. But I don't sleep. Sleep is a vulnerability I haven’t been able to afford since the day I realized that everything I loved was a target. ​Especially her. ​My eyes were fixed on the feed from her bedroom. Astrid was hunched over her laptop, her fingers flying across the keys with a frantic, desperate energy. I watched the way her brow furrowed, the way she bit her lip—a habit she had when she was trying to solve a puzzle. ​"Beautiful," I whispered, leaning closer to the screen. "But so incredibly naive." ​I tapped a command on my keyboard, bypassing her local encryption in less than three seconds. I didn't even need to 'hack' her, tru

​Astrid’s POV ​When I finally blinked my eyes open, the world was a blur of throbbing pain and stinging salt. My eyelids felt like they’d been glued shut with dried tears, and my head was pounding with a dull, rhythmic ache that suggested my brain was trying to relocate to my neck. ​I didn’t move at first. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the uncomfortable bunching of the leggings and hoodie I’d worn for my "grand escape." I felt like a failure—a very tired, very rumpled failure. ​I rolled onto my side, my stomach letting out a low, predatory growl that echoed in the silence of the room. Hunger was a sharp, nagging needle in my gut. I sat up, rubbing my face and trying to piece together the wreckage of last night. The way Xavier had pinned me to the wall... the heat radiating off him, the absolute, cold fury in his eyes. ​He’s a monster, I reminded myself.

​Xavier’s POV ​The stinging heat of her skin was still vibrating through the palm of my hand. ​As I walked away from her room, the sound of the deadbolt sliding home felt like a serrated blade across my own throat. I hated locking that door. I hated the way she looked at me—that mix of terror and a defiance so bright it nearly blinded me. But she had to learn. In my world, a lapse in judgment doesn't lead to a lecture; it leads to a body bag. If the Scorpions had reached her before I did, she wouldn't be pouting in a blue lace dress. She’d be a memory. ​My hand curled into a fist, my knuckles white. Her skin had been so soft—dangerously so. When I’d struck her, every primal instinct I possessed screamed at me to stop playing the captor and start being the man who claimed her. I wanted to squeeze, to pull her flush against me until there wasn't a breath of air between us, but I couldn't. Not yet. Taking her now would be too fast, a fracture in the slow-burn torture of our proximity

Astrid’s POVI tossed the burner phone onto the duvet and collapsed back against the pillows, my heart performing a frantic tap-dance against my ribs. I couldn't believe I’d actually done it. I had called the Reaper of London—the man who currently had me under house arrest—and called him a neanderthal in front of his precious board members."Take that, you bossy monster," I whispered to the empty room, though my hands were shaking.The silence that followed wasn't peaceful; it was charged. I knew Xavier. He was probably vibrating with a mix of lethal embarrassment and possessive fury right now. But the way his voice had softened at the end—that low, sugary growl that promised 'consequences'—made a heat bloom in my stomach that had nothing to do with hunger.I reached for the bar of vintage dark chocolate I’d liberated from his secret stash behind The History of the Byzantine Empire. It was rich, bitter, and tasted like victory.If I’m going to be a captive, I’m going to be a well-fed,

​Xavier’s POV​The basement of the industrial warehouse in East London didn't smell like the penthouse. There was no scent of expensive scotch or cedarwood here. It smelled of stagnant water, rusted iron, and the sharp, acidic tang of terror.​I stood in the shadows, my coat draped over my shoulders like a shroud. I hadn't slept in four days. My eyes were gritty, my jaw tight enough to snap bone, and my soul felt like it had been scraped raw.​In the center of the concrete floor, Robert—the man I had trusted to run my Australian interests for five years—was stripped of his dignity and his clothes. He was trembling so violently that his knees knocked together, the sound echoing in the high-ceilinged room. Surrounding him were twelve of my most elite Bratva enforcers, their faces carved from stone, their silenced submachine guns held with casual, lethal familiarity.​I stepped forward, the light from the single overhead bulb catching the sharp edge of my silhouette.​"Please... Don Xavi