All Chapters of BOUGHT BY THE RUTHLESS CEO : Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

~CLARA'S POV~ "Going once... going twice... Sold for fifty million dollars to the gentleman in the shadows." The strike of the mahogany gavel sounded like a gunshot in the plush, suffocating silence of the underground room. I closed my eyes, my nails digging into my palms until I broke the skin. I was standing on a literal stage, dressed in a silk gown that felt more like a shroud. Around my neck was a delicate, heavy silver collar—the symbolic brand of the Midnight Gala. I had just sold my life. My freedom. My body. Everything. Fifty million dollars, I thought bitterly. Just enough to pay off the fraudulent debts and keep my father out of a federal penitentiary. "Step forward, Item 43," the masked auctioneer droned, his voice devoid of any human empathy. I forced my trembling legs to move, stepping down the stairs toward the private V.I.P. booth where my buyer sat. The lighting in the gala was intentionally dim, keeping the identities of the monstrously wealthy men hidd

CLARA'S POV When the clock on my desk finally struck eight, Ares didn't say a word. He merely stood up from his mahogany command center, shrugged into his overcoat, and walked toward the private executive elevator. I followed a step behind him like a well-trained shadow, my hands clutching the handles of my briefcase so tightly the leather groaned under the pressure. The ride down to his private garage was a countdown, the heavy silence in the enclosed space pressing against my ribs until I could barely breathe. By the time his sleek, midnight-black town car pulled into the subterranean garage of his residential fortress, the city had completely dissolved into the dark. We rode the private elevator straight to the top floor. When the doors slid open, the scale of Ares’s private kingdom hit me all at once. The penthouse was a masterclass in architectural arrogance—floor-to-ceiling glass walls offering a panoramic view of the glittering skyline, wrapped entirely in shades of obsi

~CLARA'S POV~The bathroom of the guest suite was as cold and sterile as the rest of Ares Volkov’s kingdom.I turned the heavy metal dial until the shower water ran near-scalding, letting the steam thick with the scent of high-altitude ozone fill the marble space. Stepping under the spray, I didn't cry. I didn't let myself freeze. Instead, I took the expensive, unscented soap provided in the stall and thoroughly scrubbed my skin, desperate to wash away the lingering warmth of his touch, the scent of his cedarwood cologne, and the absolute humiliation of being left broken and discarded on his floor.The heat turned my skin into a dark, angry pink, but it couldn't penetrate the permanent frost settling deep within my core.By the time I stepped out and pulled on a simple, oversized silk robe from the closet, the clock on the nightstand read 2:14 AM. Less than five hours remained before my administrative shift at Volkov Global officially began.Sleep, however, was a luxury I could no lon

~CLARA'S POV~ The obsidian office of Volkov Global felt less like an executive suite and more like a high-tech panopticon. From the forty-fifth floor, the city below was reduced to a grid of blinking, insignificant lights. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, my hands clasped neatly behind my back, maintaining the perfect posture of a dutiful, broken administrative assistant. "I have an emergency on the Tokyo floor," Ares said. His voice was like low-grade thunder—tight, cold, and entirely devoid of warmth. He adjusted the cuffs of his tailored charcoal suit, not even bothering to look at me as he spoke. "Do not touch the desk. Do not answer the personal line. If the board calls from Zurich, tell them I am unavailable until midnight." "Understood, Mr. Volkov," I replied, keeping my voice smoothly professional. Ares paused at the heavy double doors. His piercing gaze swept over me, cataloging my rigid spine as if searching for a fracture in my resolve. A slow, dangerous smirk

~CLARA'S POV~ "Where are they taking him?" The words cut through the sudden silence of the empty boardroom. I didn't care about the rules anymore. I didn't care about the rigid posture or the professional facade. I turned on Ares, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Ares didn't look up immediately. He calmly closed his leather-bound portfolio, the scratch of his fountain pen signing off on the meeting minutes the only sound in the room. When he finally lifted his dark eyes to meet mine, there was no surprise in them. Only a cold, calculating assessment. "You speak Russian," he stated flatly. It wasn't a question. "My mother was a linguist," I fired back, leaning against the heavy mahogany table to steady my trembling hands. "Answer me, Ares. What high-security facility? The court sentence said minimum security. He’s supposed to be in a medical wing!" Ares stood up, towering over me. The proximity brought back the scent of his cedarwood cologne, a suffocating rem