All Chapters of OWNED IN THE DARK: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

CIARAThe glass doors slid open with a soft hiss, and Louis stepped into the room. He wasn't holding his usual encrypted tactical terminal. Instead, he was carrying a sleek, silver briefcase lined with crimson velvet, and his face was frozen in a look of profound, professional disbelief."Ciara" Louis said, stopping exactly two inches from the edge of my desk. "The Kremlin cyber division has officially completed their midday data delivery. They didn't just re-install the secure communication line on Mary’s tablet. They bypassed your entire corporate firewall to deliver these."He popped the latches of the silver briefcase. The lid snapped back to reveal several pristine, heavy titanium cards stamped with the official state emblem of Russia, alongside two massive, glittering gold keys.Mary stopped her pacing, her eyes widening into saucers as she stared at the contents. "What are those, Louis? Is that a localized biological hazard? Is he trying to poison me because I rejected the Casp

MATHEW"Mathew," Louis’s voice crackled quietly in my earpiece as I watched her laugh—a real, unedited, throaty laugh that made my chest tighten with a savage, possessive heat. "Ciara is experiencing severe cognitive impairment. She just tried to explain our secondary encryption logs to the Russian Minister of Defense using an analogy about a cheese board. I highly suggest getting her out of there.""I'm on it," I growled, already moving through the sea of black tuxedos and military uniforms.When I reached her, she was leaning lightly against the marble ice trough, her cheeks flushed a soft, stunning pink that contrasted wildly with the crimson of her gown. Her dark eyes were slightly unfocused, but when they locked onto me, a slow, incredibly wicked smirk touched her lips."Ah. Look, Carlista," Ciara purred, her voice dropping into a thick, syrupy register that sent a violent tremor straight down my spine. "It's my security official. My very large, very unyielding shield. Come to ch

CIARAThe double-shot of espresso I had downed before leaving the Surrey estate was currently waging a violent, chemical war against the remnants of the Kremlin’s premium vodka.By the time the private executive elevator hissed open on the forty-fourth floor of the Horizon Holdings headquarters, my corporate ice was firmly locked back in place. I stepped out onto the polished marble, my heels clicking in a sharp, lethal rhythm, my navy blazer buttoned tight, and my reading glasses sitting perfectly on the bridge of my nose.I expected to see Russian intelligence operatives. I expected to see a phalanx of stone-faced legal counsel drafting a hostile infrastructure merger.Instead, the reception lobby was entirely empty, save for Louis, who was standing near the glass entrance doors with his encrypted terminal under his arm, looking remarkably unbothered for a man whose operational grid had supposedly reached critical pressure."Louis," I said, my voice dropping into that deep, flat pla

CIARAIt was 11:30 PM on a Saturday, and my system was already rejecting the environment. The club was a subterranean labyrinth of polished concrete, flashing crimson strobe lights, and a bass line so violent it made the liquid inside my crystal glass vibrate in perfect, concentric circles.I didn't want to be here. I had spent the last seventy-two hours mapping a brutal liquidity shift in our offshore accounts, and the lingering fatigue from my recent, uncharacteristic lapse in sobriety was still hovering at the edge of my consciousness but Carlista had insisted that Mary’s official bachelorette exit from the corporate grid required a high-tier venue. Naturally, my bestie had abandoned me at the VIP booth ten minutes ago to negotiate a bulk liquor distribution contract with the venue’s managing partner.I sat back against the dark leather banquette, my navy silk blouse unbuttoned just enough to breathe, my reading glasses safely tucked into my handbag. I was trying to execute a stand

MATHEW The smell of antiseptic still clung to the fabric of the sofa, or maybe it was just burned into my retinas. Two weeks. Two weeks since I watched the monitors flatline, since the doctors shoved me out of the ICU, since I thought I’d have to figure out how to breathe in a world that didn’t have Ciara in it.She was sitting on the edge of our bed now, looking entirely too fragile and entirely too stubborn. The bruises from the IV lines were fading into ugly yellow-green blotches on the backs of her hands. She was alive. She was home and I was so goddamn furious I could taste copper."Mathew," she murmured, her voice still a little raspy from the intubation tube. She reached out, her fingers brushing the hem of my shirt. "Stop pacing. You’re going to wear a hole in the floor."I stopped, but I didn't look at her right away. If I looked at her, she’d see the storm. She’d see that behind the dutiful boyfriend who had spent fourteen days bringing her ice chips and fluffing her pillow