All Chapters of Wrecked by my enemy : Chapter 121 - Chapter 130

The rapid, continuous alarm emitting from Rafe Morale’s terminal near the double doors did not sound like a network failure or a corporate security alert. It was the sharp, distinctive high-frequency chime reserved for global media syndicate wire breaks—the kind that bypassed firewall filters to land simultaneously on every terminal on Wall Street, Fleet Street, and the Hong Kong Stock Exchange.Inside the quiet dark of the private suite, Damien Blackwood did not immediately pull away.His broad, heavy hands remained anchored on Elias Hawthorne’s waist, his thumbs pressing firmly through the dark fabric of Elias's trousers, keeping him secured to the edge of the obsidian desk. His silver-gray eyes stayed fixed on Elias’s face, holding that fragile, absolute moment of quiet surrender between them for three additional seconds before he slowly turned his head toward the door.Elias leaned back against the edge of the desk, his dark hair disheveled, his dark shirt unbuttoned at the throat

The low, amber safety lights along the baseboards cast long, distorted shadows across the executive suite. The silence after the electrical cut was heavy and dense, broken only by the ragged, synchronized breathing of the two men standing near the obsidian desk. Outside the thick, reinforced windows, Lower Manhattan lay buried in a soft morning mist, the skyline grey and indifferent to the economic earthquake rippling through its financial arteries.Damien did not loosen his hold on Elias. His right hand remained firmly planted against the small of Elias’s back, pressing him close enough that Elias could feel the steady, hard thrum of Damien’s pulse through his shirt. For all the corporate collapse occurring around them, the heat radiating off Damien was the only grounding force in the room."Rafe," Damien said, his voice low, gravelly, and tight with suppressed tension. "Bring up the secondary exchange feed."Rafe Morale scrambled across the room, his tablet casting a harsh blue glow

The air inside the glass-walled sub-command suite on the third basement level of the Greenwich estate was cold, sharp with the ozone smell of overdriven server racks, and heavy with exhausted silence.Outside the subterranean bunker, four hundred feet above them, the pre-dawn rain beat down on the manicured lawns. Inside, the world was reduced to glowing monitors, cascading red lines of security code, and the soft, dry hum of cooling fans.Rafe Morale sat hunched over the primary terminal, his jacket discarded over the back of an ergonomic chair, his dark sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by dark, bruised shadows that bore witness to seventy-two hours without sleep. His fingers moved across the mechanical keyboard with practiced, robotic efficiency, but the slight tremor in his knuckles betrayed the sheer physical and mental collapse looming just over his horizon.Damien Blackwood stood three feet behind him, towering in the dim blue light. He wore a

The pre-dawn light was nothing more than a faint, bruised line of violet pressing against the iron-grey clouds over the Hudson Valley. Inside the master suite of the Greenwich estate, the air had grown cold, settled in the quiet hours following the storm. The vast room felt isolated from the rest of the world, shrouded in low shadows and the heavy stillness that always settled before the market opened.Elias lay tangled in the dark, heavy silk sheets, his body resting against the broad width of Damien’s chest. His skin was warm, marked by flushed patches along his ribs and collarbone—faint, bruised reminders of the intense, desperate intimacy they had shared hours before. His breathing was soft, shallow, and even. Every muscle in his body had finally surrendered to exhaustion, sinking into the mattress as if the walls of the estate could actually keep the outside world at bay.Damien wasn't sleeping. He lay on his back, one arm thrown over the edge of the mattress, his silver-grey eye

The air inside the glass study had turned thick and rigid, so cold it burned the back of Elias’s throat with every shallow breath.The red numbers on Rafe’s handheld tablet flickered with relentless precision, counting down seconds that felt like physical blows. Fifty-nine minutes. Fifty-eight minutes. Fifty-seven.Damien didn't move. He stood behind his broad mahogany desk like a monument carved from dark stone, his broad shoulders braced against the storm, his silver-grey eyes fixed entirely on Elias. There was no sudden panic in his posture, no desperate scrambling for a contingency plan. There was only that same heavy, quiet, terrifying stillness—the absolute willingness to stand inside the blast radius and absorb the full hit.Elias lowered his phone from his ear. His hand was shaking so violently the sleek glass casing slipped against his palm, dropping onto the hardwood floor with a sharp, hollow clatter.The silence that followed was suffocating.You were holding the gun. You