All Chapters of BOUGHT BY THE RUTHLESS CEO : Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

CLARA'S POV The glass doors of the main boardroom on the fiftieth floor were so polished they looked like liquid silver. I could see my own reflection before I even stepped inside. The dark green silk blouse Ares had selected felt cool against my skin, and the structured black blazer gave my shoulders a sharp, defined edge that I didn't entirely feel on the inside. My fingers tightened around the leather folder containing the Sterling integration documents. My phone had registered three missed calls from my uncle’s attorney since 7:00 AM, but I had ignored them all. The time for backroom negotiations was over. Ares walked a half-step ahead of me, his long strides steady and projecting absolute ownership of the corridor. He didn't look back to check if I was keeping up. He didn't need to. He knew the stakes just as well as I did. When the security guard cleared the biometric scanner, the heavy doors glided open to reveal a room filled with tension. Twelve men sat around a mas

CLARA'S POV The biometric lock on the private elevator did not beep when we reached the penthouse floor. Usually, the sharp, digital chime served as a constant reminder that my movements were being tracked, recorded, and approved by the central mainframe. Today, the doors simply slid open in silence, letting in the quiet warmth of the afternoon sun. I walked into the main living room and stopped. The two security guards who normally stood stationed near the entrance to the corridor were gone. The brass stanchions that marked the boundary of my permitted walking zone had been removed completely, leaving the dark hardwood floors wide open and unobstructed. I turned around to look at Ares as he stepped out of the elevator behind me, discarding his suit jacket onto the leather armchair. "Where is the detail, Ares?" "I reassigned them to the lower lobby," he said, rolling up his sleeves as he walked toward the kitchen. "You don't need a physical escort inside my home anymore, Cla

CLARA'S POV The high-power corporate success of the logistics gala faded the moment the private elevator opened back into the quiet penthouse. The silence here felt different now—less like a prison and more like a shelter. I kicked off my sapphire heels, leaving them by the doorway, and walked barefoot into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Ares had gone straight into his private dressing room to handle an international shipping call from the Tokyo branch. I could hear the low, rhythmic rumble of his gravelly voice echoing faintly from down the corridor. As I walked back through the living room, my gaze caught a stack of brass-bound leather folders sitting on the edge of the mahogany desk. They hadn't been there when we left for the ballroom. A small post-it note from Mrs. Gable was attached to the top: Delivered from the Sterling estate storage units per the integration decree. My breath caught in my throat. These were the legacy archives of my family’s original shipping

CLARA'S POV ​The leather chair across from Ares’s massive glass desk was practically starting to feel like my second home. ​In the beginning, sitting in this office meant rigid shoulders, careful breathing, and an acute awareness of every single move he made. Now? I casually adjusted the iPad on my knee, tapped through the quarterly report for the Volkov Global tech acquisition, and didn’t even flinch when Ares let out a low, dissatisfied grumble from behind his laptop. ​Working with Ares Volkov was demanding, fast-paced, and ruthless—but somewhere along the way, it had become strangely familiar. We were still living inside the boundaries of a contract marriage. Neither of us had forgotten how this had started. But after weeks of working side by side, I had stopped measuring every silence between us and started recognizing the small things—the way he frowned at numbers he didn't like, the way he drank his coffee without ever seeming to taste it, the way he expected me to chal

CLARA'S POV The rain had been hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows of Ares’s penthouse study for over an hour, creating a rhythmic, somber background noise that made the massive room feel oddly small. For once, we had finished the day's work before exhaustion forced us to stop. The files were closed, the tablets were charging, and the usual high-octane frenzy of Volkov Global had quieted down into a rare calm. Ares was sitting on the dark leather sofa near the fireplace, a glass of amber scotch resting untouched in his hand. He wasn't working. He was just staring into the flames, his expression distant in a way I had rarely seen. I poured myself a cup of chamomile tea and walked over, sitting on the opposite end of the couch. He didn't move, but I knew he registered my presence. The man noticed everything. "You're quiet tonight," I said softly, resting my tea mug in my lap. "Just thinking," he replied, his voice low and smooth like silk over stone. I leaned back, wat