All Chapters of BOUGHT BY THE RUTHLESS CEO : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

CLARA'S POV Marcus Vance strode into the room. He wasn't smiling. Behind him stood two uniform police officers. Ares let go of my chin, his eyes turning to ice as he faced the intruder. "Vance. You have exactly five seconds to explain why you are interrupting my morning before I have security throw you out of the window." Marcus smiled a cruel, triumphant smile and tossed a red folder onto Ares’s desk. "I don't need security's permission, Ares," Marcus sneered, pointing a finger directly at me. "Officers, arrest that woman. That is Clara Sterling, and I am exercising a warrant for her immediate arrest for high-level corporate espionage. She just leaked your entire Project Acer mainframe data to my servers." The words echoed through the silent room, sharp and lethal. My blood ran cold, but I kept my posture perfectly rigid, refusing to let Marcus see the panic clawing at my chest. Espionage. For one blinding second, I saw prison bars instead of office walls. If Ares stepp

CLARA'S POV The red dot pulsing over the Grandview Residences remained steady, a digital proof of my innocence—and my uncle’s ultimate betrayal. Ares didn't speak. He closed the laptop with a decisive snap that echoed like a gunshot in the silent room. He didn't look angry; he looked focused. The calculating stillness that made him a terror in the corporate world had settled over him completely. "You knew," I whispered, the realization hitting me like a blow. I stepped closer to the desk, my professional mask slipping for a second. "You knew my uncle was in the city, and you didn't tell me." Ares slowly turned his head to look at me. He stood up from his leather chair, his massive frame completely cutting off the light from the window. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he walked around the mahogany desk, his steps slow and deliberate, until he stopped mere inches away from me. "I tell you what you need to know, little bird," he said, his voice dropping to a low pitch. "Your un

CLARA'S POV The microphone stayed live under the mahogany desk. It felt like a ticking bomb, waiting to catch a single wrong word or a breath that sounded too rehearsed. Ares stepped away from the console, his movements fluid and natural. He didn't look at me as he walked toward the bar across the room. He poured himself two fingers of scotch, the ice clinking sharply against the crystal glass. "You are moving too slowly, Clara," he said aloud. "The data migration should have been completed ten minutes ago." I kept my eyes on the secondary monitor, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. I had to play my part perfectly. Marcus Vance was on the other end of that frequency, listening for a crack in my composure, waiting to hear the proud Clara Sterling finally beg. "The encryption protocols on the Vance logistics network are tighter than anticipated, Mr. Volkov," I replied, my voice holding a faint, practiced tremor. "I am bypassing the third-party firewall now." Ares walked

CLARA'S POV Shame is a cold, heavy anchor. When my eyes cracked open to the pale grey light of dawn, the memory of the previous night rushed back with the force of a physical blow. The absolute vulnerability. The warm water. The amber scent of sandalwood. And Ares, holding me like something precious while my entire emotional facade shattered into pieces. I lay frozen beneath the charcoal linens of the massive bed, staring at the concrete ceiling. My stomach twisted with a profound, searing embarrassment. I had spent weeks building a wall of defiance, only to let him watch me dissolve on a bathroom floor. He had seen the real thing. He had looked past the Sterling heiress, past the corporate assistant, and looked directly into the bleeding core of my terror. I hated that he had seen me like that. More than that, I hated that a small, traitorous part of me couldn't remember fear in his eyes. Only concern. That memory unsettled me far more than the tears ever could. I spent ne

CLARA'S POV Time ceased to exist inside the obsidian-framed walls. The morning sun gave way to the deep, golden hues of afternoon, which eventually dissolved into the cold, ink-black shadows of midnight. We had been awake for nearly two days straight, fueled by nothing but bitter espresso and the frantic adrenaline of the hunt. The green and white code on my monitors had begun to blur into a shifting haze of light. My posture, usually so rigid and defensive, had completely collapsed. My shoulders ached, and my eyelids felt as heavy as lead blocks. Just one more logic string, I promised myself, my fingers stumbling clumsily over the keys. Just isolate the encryption origin... The screen flickered. The city lights outside the glass walls seemed to dance. My chin dipped toward my chest, my mind finally slipping past the threshold of consciousness, completely spent. My cheek still rested against my folded arm. The keyboard had left tiny impressions across my skin. For one strange,