Semua Bab His to Punish:Claimed by the CEO's amnesia: Bab 11 - Bab 20

Noah's POVThe bell above the door chimed at half past six.I didn't look up from the phone I was repairing. Mike had left early, something about his daughter's recital, and the shop was mine to close.Two men walked in. Their shoes made sharp sounds on the linoleum. Dress shoes, polished to a shine that looked out of place among the cracked screens and dusty cables. I registered this without much interest and kept my head down."You the repair guy?" one of them asked. His voice carried the clipped impatience of someone who was used to being answered quickly.I set down the screwdriver and straightened on my stool. "I am."He was tall and lean, with a jaw that looked like it had been sharpened against bad deals. His companion was heavier, balding, with a nervous energy that showed in the way his fingers tapped against his thigh. Both wore suits that cost more than I made in a month."My laptop crashed in the middle of a trade," the tall one said. He set a silver machine on the

Noah's POVMonday morning came gray and cold through the grime of the shop windows. I was at the workbench with a tablet that refused to charge. Mike was in the back, shouting at a supplier about a shipment of screens that had arrived cracked.I kept a small browser window open on the shop terminal, tucked behind the diagnostic software.OmniVance. The ticker blinked green. It was moving. Not much at first, a few cents here and there, the kind of drift that meant nothing to anyone not watching for it.Then the volume spiked. The price line jagged upward. I set down the multimeter and watched. The number climbed past my buy price, kept climbing, hit double. My pulse stayed flat. My hands stayed steady. This felt familiar in a way I couldn't explain, watching numbers rise and knowing what came next.When it tripled, something in my head spoke. Not a voice, not words, just a certainty. Sell now. Like an instinct I didn't know I had.I sold. The confirmation flashed on the scree

Ella's POVEric raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?""No. We can argue about your politics later. But the fork. You're wrong about the fork." Noah picked up his knife and fork, repositioning them with a precision that looked automatic. "Continental style uses the fork in the left hand, tines down, while cutting. But once the food is cut, the fork remains in the left hand and the tines stay down while you bring it to your mouth. You don't switch hands. You don't put the knife down. You don't rest your wrists on the table. You keep both hands visible at all times."He demonstrated as he spoke, his movements fluid and effortless, like someone who had done it ten thousand times before."Table etiquette isn't about showing off. It's about not insulting your host by hiding a weapon. Historically, anyway." He set down his utensils and met Eric's stare. "If you're going to lecture someone, at least get it right."The silence at the table was absolute.Eric's face flushed a deep, ugly red.Lucy'

Ella's POV The evening shift left my feet aching and my patience thin. I pushed through the coffee shop door and stepped into the cold, my bag heavy on my shoulder. The street was quiet, the last light fading fast.A car horn blared twice.I looked up. A black sports car sat at the curb, sleek and low, its engine purring. Eric leaned against the driver's door with his arms crossed and a smile that made my skin crawl."Ella," he called. I kept walking. He pushed off the car and fell into step beside me. "Come on. Don't be like that. I bought a new car. A McLaren. You know what that is?""I don't care about it.""The old Bentley was a base model. Lucy liked it fine, but I wanted something with actual horsepower." He gestured at the black machine. "This thing does zero to sixty in three seconds. You should let me take you for a drive."I stopped and faced him. "Where's Lucy? Shouldn't you be harassing her instead of me?""Lucy is shopping." His smile didn't waver. "She doesn't hav

Noah's POVThe bell above the door chimed, and I knew it was trouble before I looked up.The footsteps were too many and too heavy. The cheap linoleum groaned under the weight of at least five men.I straightened on my stool.Eric stood at the front of the group, a purple bruise still blooming along his jaw where my fist had connected three nights ago. His split lip had scabbed over, giving his smirk a ragged, uneven quality. Behind him stood four others, broad-shouldered men with hard faces and harder eyes. The kind of men who got paid by the hour to look threatening."Afternoon," Eric said, his voice carrying that same oily confidence I remembered from the steakhouse. "Hope we're not interrupting."Mike emerged from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag. He took one look at the group and stopped dead. "Can I help you gentlemen?""You can stay out of the way." Eric's eyes never left my face. "This is between me and your repair boy."I stood up slowly. My hands were steady. "Y