All Chapters of BOUGHT BY THE RUTHLESS CEO : Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

CLARA'S POV "We need to initialize the final ledger synthesis," I said, forcing myself to stand up from my desk to break the sudden, suffocating intimacy of the quiet office. "If we cross-reference the Vance routing codes now, we can—" I stopped dead in my tracks. Ares had stood up to walk toward the primary server terminal, but as the light from the desk lamp hit the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt, my breath hitched. A dark, blooming stain of crimson was rapidly spreading across the right side of his ribs, soaking through the expensive cotton. The wound from the gala warehouse. He had been ignoring it for forty-eight hours, pushing through the pain to secure the Project Acer files. "Ares," I said, my voice instantly dropping into a sharp, commanding tone. "Sit down." He didn't even glance at his side. He kept his eyes on the server monitor, his jaw clenching tightly. "It's a minor tear in the stitches. It can wait until the synthesis is complete." "It's not waiting," I

CLARA'S POV Three nights without real sleep had hollowed me out. My eyes burned, my shoulders ached, but the monitor in front of me refused to let me look away. If we failed before dawn, Marcus Vance would destroy everything. Ares stood directly behind my chair. He did not touch me, but his presence was a heavy anchor in the quiet room. His shadow fell over the keyboard, trapping me within his personal space. I could feel the intense heat of his body radiating against my back. It kept me sharp. It kept me awake. "Vance has truly taken the bait, little bird," Ares murmured. His deep voice was a low, gravelly vibration right near my ear. "Look at the volume metrics." On the main monitor, the trading logs for the ghost holding companies were lighting up in a chaotic green. These were the specific shell corporations containing the toxic debt of the old Sterling shipping lines. Marcus Vance was buying every single share he could find. Because he believed he was intercepting a secre

CLARA'S POV "Your father knew his inner circle was compromised long before Marcus Vance made his move," Ares said, his voice dropping into a low whisper right behind my ear. He leaned down, his chest pressing against my back, trapping me against the cold metal of the console. His breath was hot against the sensitive skin of my neck. "He knew your uncle Julian was selling pieces of the company to Vance. He knew the Sterling empire was going to fall, and he knew he couldn't stop it from the inside." I shook my head, my mind spinning as the pieces of the puzzle began to rearrange themselves into a terrifying new picture. "So he came to you? The man who was supposed to be his biggest rival?" "He didn't come to me as a rival, Clara," Ares murmured, his hand tightening slightly on the back of my neck, forcing me to remain still against his chest. "He came to me because he knew I was the only predator vicious enough to keep his remaining assets out of Vance's hands. He didn't lose his

CLARA'S POV The darkness of the subterranean wine cellar was a weight. It pressed against my eyelids, thick and suffocating, swallowing the silhouette of my own hands. The oak door had clicked shut with a loud sound, and the turn of the master deadbolt had sealed me away from the penthouse above. I did not scream. I did not fling my body against the reinforced wood. To do so would mean giving Ares exactly what he wanted—proof that his isolation tactics could shatter my resolve. Instead, I forced my breathing into a slow, rhythmic pattern. I slid my back down the cold limestone wall until my knees met my chest, the smooth silk of my trousers scraping against the rough stone. Beneath my fingers, the silver collar around my neck felt like an icy brand. It was a reminder of the contract, the forced proximity, and power the billionaire held over my life. For twenty-four hours, time ceased to exist. Hunger clawed at my stomach. Thirst burned my throat. But neither hurt as much as t

CLARA'S POV The morning sun didn't warm the penthouse; it merely exposed the fractures. When the clock struck 7:30 AM, I was already standing in the kitchen, a mug of black coffee gripped so tightly in my hand that my knuckles turned a ghostly white. I hadn't slept a single wink. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt the phantom pressure of his kiss again. The memory of Ares Volkov losing control refused to let me sleep. After leaving his office, I had slipped back to my guest room with the silver keycard hidden beneath the lining of my leather briefcase. I checked the lock twice before sinking onto the edge of the bed, my pulse refusing to slow. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the words engraved across the card. PROJECT ACER: BACKUP ARCHIVE. Now the silver keycard lay hidden beneath the lining of my leather briefcase, a silent weapon waiting to be used. But right now, the immediate threat wasn't the archive—it was the man about to walk through the door. The private elevator c