All Chapters of His Earthly Desire : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

‎Johnson arrived at 8:17 p.m.‎‎On time.‎‎Of course he was.‎‎The elevator doors opened with their usual muted chime, and he stepped into the penthouse like he had a hundred times before — composed, hands in his coat pockets, expression neutral.‎‎He wasn’t expecting me in the study.‎‎He thought he was meeting only with Jayden.‎‎I saw it in the half-second delay when his eyes found mine.‎‎Not shock.‎‎Not fear.‎‎Calculation.‎‎Jayden stood near the windows, city lights carving sharp lines across his profile. He hadn’t turned around yet.‎‎“Johnson,” Jayden said calmly. “Thanks for coming.”‎‎“Your tone suggested it wasn’t optional,” Johnson replied lightly.‎‎He removed his coat and draped it over the chair without being invited to sit.‎‎He looked at me again.‎‎“You okay?”‎‎The familiarity of it made my stomach turn.‎‎I didn’t answer.‎‎Jayden finally turned.‎‎There was no anger in his face.‎‎Which somehow made everything heavier.‎‎“We traced the breac

‎The first thing I noticed was the quiet.‎‎Not the tense, brittle silence that had hovered over the penthouse for weeks. Not the kind that made my heart jump at every vibration of my phone.‎‎This quiet was… ordinary.‎‎The city hummed beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. A distant car horn. The faint rush of early traffic far below. The soft mechanical whisper of the air conditioner cycling on.‎‎Normal sounds.‎‎I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the anxiety to follow.‎‎It didn’t.‎‎No unknown numbers.‎‎No new updates from the detectives.‎‎No sudden alarms from security.‎‎Johnson and Andrew were gone.‎‎Not arrested. Not found.‎‎Just gone.‎‎And for the first time since everything began, I wasn’t bracing myself for impact.‎‎I went to Jayden's room and climbed his bed. ‎‎Empty.‎‎The sheets were still warm.‎‎I pushed myself upright, slipping into one of his oversized shirts that hung over the back of the chair. It swallowed me whol

‎If peace had a scent, it would’ve been perfume and silk.‎‎The boutique was drenched in gold lighting and mirrors that made everything look more expensive than it already was. Mannequins stood like silent royalty, draped in gowns that whispered power.‎‎Malia walked ahead of me, her heels clicking sharply against polished marble.‎‎“You cannot show up in something safe,” she said, glancing over her shoulder. “This isn’t a charity dinner. It’s a battlefield in couture.”‎‎I laughed lightly. “It’s a corporate anniversary.”‎‎“Exactly,” she replied. “Corporate wars are the most vicious.”‎‎She ran her fingers over a rack of gowns, pushing hangers aside with surgical focus.‎‎For the past three days, she had been unstoppable—calling designers, sending lookbooks, scheduling fittings. She’d taken control of the gala preparations with an enthusiasm I hadn’t expected.‎‎It was helpful.‎‎Almost too helpful.‎‎“Try this,” she said suddenly, pulling out a deep emerald gown with a str

The emerald gown no longer felt like certainty.‎‎It hung in the walk-in closet beneath soft lighting, its rich fabric catching the glow like it owned the room. Two days ago, it had represented strength. Poise. Readiness.‎‎Now, it felt like a question.‎‎“Are you sure about that color?”‎‎Malia’s voice drifted in from behind me.‎‎I turned slightly. She stood at the doorway of the closet, arms folded lightly, her expression thoughtful—not critical. Just… evaluating.‎‎“It’s elegant,” I replied.‎‎“It is.” She stepped closer, fingertips brushing the fabric with familiarity that made something tighten in my chest. “But elegant can disappear under heavy flash photography.”‎‎I frowned. “Disappear?”‎‎“Cameras wash out depth. You need contrast. Something sharper. More commanding.”‎‎I hadn’t thought about that.‎‎And now that she said it, doubt crept in.‎‎“I thought emerald was strong,” I murmured.‎‎“It’s beautiful,” she said gently. “But beautiful isn’t the same as unforg

The applause rolled across the ballroom like a slow wave.Mr. Roberts stood at the podium beneath the crystal chandeliers, the weight of a thousand eyes fixed on him. The light from the stage lamps sharpened every line of his expression, turning him into something almost untouchable—composed, commanding, impossible to read.Behind him, the company’s anniversary banner stretched across the stage, gold lettering glittering under the lights.To his right stood Malia.Emerald silk draped elegantly over her figure, the gown shimmering whenever a camera flashed. Her posture was flawless. Her smile was steady.From a distance, it looked perfect.Exactly the kind of image the press loved—powerful CEO and elegant companion standing side by side at the company’s most important event of the year.But perfection was an illusion.And illusions never lasted long around Jayden Roberts.He adjusted the microphone slightly, the small sound echoing through the silent ballroom.“Good evening.”His voice