Bought by the Ruthless Billionaire 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 1 - 챕터 10

Every person Alina asked about Adrian Voss gave her the same response: a sharp deep breath, then silence, then the careful face of someone deciding how honest to be.She started with Priya at work because Priya knew everything about everyone and was constitutionally unable to stop herself from sharing it."Adrian Voss?" Priya put down her coffee. "Why? Alina, why?""I just need to know who he is.""Everyone knows who he is. He's the reason half the city's mid-tier property developers lost their jobs in 2021. He's the reason the Kellerman Group doesn't exist anymore. He—" Priya stopped. "Did he contact you?""I got a letter.""Oh God.""Priya.""No, I'm just — okay. Okay. What did the letter say?""That he wants to meet. That he has an offer."Priya was quiet for a moment. Then: "What kind of offer?""He didn't specify.""Right. He wouldn't." Priya picked her phone up, then put it down, then picked it up again. "Alina, men like Adrian Voss don't make offers. They make arrangements. Th

The contract was twelve pages long. Alina read every single word twice and still couldn't find the answer to the most important question: why her, when a man like Adrian Voss could have arranged this with anyone.She spread it across the kitchen table at midnight, still in her coat, because since she came home from the meeting and she did not quite make it past the kitchen. The eviction notice was still on the counter. The hospital bills were in a folder beside the fridge, where she put things she needed to see every day so she didn't let herself forget how urgent they were.She made tea. That she ended up not drinking.Past midnight she called Ethan. He picked up on the second ring, which meant he'd been awake."Tell me everything," he said."He admitted the photograph was from an investigation. He admitted I affected his business. He accepted all four conditions before I even finished reading them out."A long pause. "That's not reassuring.""No.""Men who accept everything yo

The penthouse didn't feel like a home. It felt like a chess board, and Alina was already standing on the wrong square. The car had brought her here in silence — her suitcase in the boot, the newspaper clipping still folded in her coat pocket, forty-eight floors rising above her before she could decide how she felt about any of it. The building's lobby had marble floors so clean she could see her reflection in them. There was a man at the desk who looked at her with the specific blankness of staff who had been trained not to register surprise at anything. She registered enough surprise for both of them. The elevator rose without a sound. The doors opened directly into the apartment — no corridor, no hallway, just the apartment itself, waiting like something that had been holding its breath. A woman was waiting there. She looked like she was in her mid-thirties, dark blazer, and a tablet in her hand. She smiled with the practiced warmth of someone whose job required it. "Miss Carte

Walking into Voss Industries with her hand on Adrian's arm felt like being led into the heart of something that had been waiting to consume her. That was dramatic, she told herself. She was being dramatic. It was a corporate headquarters. There were people at desks. It was one of the collegues birthday and they had brought in a cake ,the smell of sugar was drifting down the sixth-floor corridor. But the way people looked at Adrian when he walked in — that part was not dramatic. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Posture changed. A man in accounting literally put down his coffee and sat up straight, which Alina would have found funny if the collective response hadn't been so complete. It was the way a room responds to weather. Instinctive. Involuntary. She kept her expression neutral and her hand exactly where it was — lightly on his arm, close enough to be visible, not so close that it read as anything other than performed — and she thought: I need to understand this building befo

Victoria Lane smiled the way expensive things smile — beautifully, and at great cost to those around them. Alina had done enough research on the drive home the night before. Three phone searches, two social profiles, one archived society column that told her more than the other four combined. Victoria Lane: thirty-five, from old money and new connections, the kind of woman who existed in the same circles as Adrian Voss with such regularity that either they were still involved or they had decided, after being involved, to make a performance of their continued proximity. The column called her “long-time associate”.Which meant everything. She was at the coffee reception three days after the gala — another event, smaller and more targeted than the first, a lunch for a philanthropy board Adrian sat on. Alina had been told: two hours, low-key, mostly listening. She had not been told Victoria would be there. "Alina." Victoria appeared at her elbow as though she had materialized, which wa