All Chapters of SEDUCING MY ELDER BROTHER'S BEST FRIEND : Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

Jane’s POV The freezing Manhattan rain hit my face like shattered glass the moment I burst through the building’s side exit door. I stumbled into the dark alleyway, my wet sneakers skidding against the slick pavement as the door slammed shut behind me, cutting off the golden glare of the penthouse grid. I didn't stop running. I flew down the concrete corridor, the freezing downpour instantly soaking through my oversized sweater, plastering the wet wool against my ribs. The words parasite and cheap slut were screaming through my skull, repeating in Benjamin's cold tone until my ears throbbed with a physical ache. My chest heaved in ragged gasps. The independent runaway who had scrubbed grease traps in North Carolina to buy her freedom was gone. The girl who thought she could survive in the dirt without his ledger was dead. I had let my guard down, and my pride had been slaughtered in front of the woman he called his rightful owner. The embarrassment was evident, I wished I neve

BENJAMIN’S POV The penthouse felt less like a home and more like an observation deck for the end of the world. The double doors clicked shut behind Leo and Jane, the sound of the latch engaging like a tombstone falling into place. I didn't move. No, I couldn't. My legs were too heavy to move. I stood in the center of the parlor, my hands balled into fists at my sides, the blood from my jaw slowly drying into the stiff, white fabric of my shirt. The room was still. The air was heavy with the mechanical hum of the wall sensors. I knew the Syndicate monitors were peaking, analyzing my heart rate, my facial micro-expressions, every spike in my cortisol. "You did it darling," Victoria whispered, stepping out from the shadows of the sofa. She didn't offer a drink. She didn't offer comfort. She walked toward me, her eyes tracking the blood on my lip with a predatory satisfaction. "You finally broke the leverage, Benjamin. You’re back. This is my Benjamin" I didn't turn toward her. I st

BENJAMIN’S POV The digital numbers on the corner console of my master terminal bled into a continuous countdown: 02:14:09. Two hours remained before the formal board session, and the air inside my study felt thin, stripped of oxygen by the weight of the lie I was forcing my lungs to filter. I stood by the wet bar, my right hand bracing the heavy medical gauze binding my lower left ribs. Across the polished mahogany wood, my mother stood unblinking, her black floor-length coat unbuttoned just enough to expose the rigid, tailored lines of her blazer. "Sarah is going to panic within thirty minutes, Benjamin," She murmured, her voice a sharp vibration that slipped underneath the room's ambient monitoring network. "She knows my European banking auditors are tracking her wire handshakes. A woman like that doesn't hold her ground when the legal execution of her career is initializing. She will run straight to Victoria to save her skin." "Let her run," I growled softly, my split lower lip

BENJAMIN’S POV It was 7:15 AM. Victoria sat at the head of the secondary conference table, her fingers dancing over a sleek tablet as she reviewed the initial liquidation drafts for Leo's assets. She looked flawless—a pristine vision of corporate dominance in a cream-colored tailoring suit, completely unaware that the ground beneath her stiletto heels had already liquefied. The air in the room dropped ten degrees the moment my mother stepped through the threshold. Eleanor didn't sit. She walked to the opposite end of the table, her black silk trench coat trailing behind her like a shroud. She placed her leather briefcase flat on the polished mahogany wood, the metal latches snapping open with a sharp, echoing crack that made Victoria’s fingers freeze mid-air. "You’re early, Eleanor," Victoria murmured, her voice carrying that sharp edge she used to command the Vance Group board. She didn't look up from her screen. "The formal merger press line isn't scheduled to go live for a

VICTORIA’S POV The private investigator’s encrypted status logs dropped onto my secondary terminal screen at 11:42 PM, a series of dull, digitized red flags that offered absolutely nothing. Target Lost: Sector 4 (Georgia Wilderness). Footprint Scrubbed. No active network handshakes detected. I slammed my palm flat against the glass screen, the vibration rattling the expensive crystal tumbler on my desk. Leo Williams was playing a masterful game. He wasn't just hiding; he was actively employing deep-tier Syndicate counter-surveillance protocols to mask his sister’s trail. Every time my extraction team closed in on a potential geographic coordinate in the rural South, the digital signature decayed into a ghost loop. They were ghosts. And ghosts cannot be bargained with. "If I can't catch them physically," I whispered, the darkness of the empty penthouse bedroom closing in around my shoulders, "I will use the space they left behind. I will do anything to gain back control." If Be