Bound By The Billionaire's Golden Leash
For two years, I lived as a ghost in the Horn manor, a world built on blood money where my every breath was monitored. Fulton Horn, my stepfather’s nephew and the executor of my life, held the golden leash around my neck, forcing me to play the role of his secret mistress while he paraded a socialite as his fiancée.
Everything shattered at a high-society gala when the scent of raw seafood made me vomit at the feet of Fulton’s future bride. The ballroom erupted in whispers of a secret pregnancy, but Fulton’s reaction wasn't concern—it was cold, predatory calculation.
He immediately forced me into a clinical "inspection" to ensure his "merchandise" was sound, then destroyed my only chance at escape by framing my friend in a scandal and blacklisting my credit. He dragged me to his penthouse, ripped my clothes, and told me I was nothing but a "placeholder" for his dead first love, Arlena.
I was drowning in his obsession, forced to model his fiancée’s engagement gown while he claimed he was the only one who could "protect" me.
"You are what I say you are," he whispered, "and you belong where I say you belong."
I didn't understand how he could be so cruel, or why he was so determined to keep me in a cage of secrets. But when I looked closer at the photo of the "original" girl he loved, my blood turned to ice. It wasn't a girl named Arlena. It was a picture of me from six years ago, smiling and unbroken.
I realized then that Fulton hadn't just found a replacement—he had spent years carefully destroying the girl I used to be so he could keep the broken pieces for himself. Reaching for the hidden keycard, I finally made a choice: I would find a way to kill the ghost he loved before he finished killing the woman I had become.
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Chapter 1
The heavy velvet drapes smelled of dust and old secrets.
Eveline Delacruz pressed her spine against the cold oak of the library door, her lungs burning as if she had just sprinted a mile. She hadn't ran, though. You didn't run in the Horn manor. You glided. You smiled. You pretended you weren't suffocating.
Downstairs, the muffled strains of a string quartet filtered through the floorboards. Mozart. It was always Mozart when Alistair Horn wanted to pretend his family wasn't built on blood money and ruthless acquisitions.
Her phone vibrated against her thigh, a violent buzz in the silence. Eveline fumbled with the clutch, her fingers slick with sweat.
Hessie: Where are you? Janiya is looking for Fulton. Don't embarrass me tonight. We need this month's allowance.
Eveline stared at the screen until the words blurred. Her mother didn't ask if she was okay. She never did. The allowance. The trust fund. The golden leash that had been wrapped around Eveline's throat since her stepfather died and left his nephew, Fulton Horn, as the executor of their lives.
The brass doorknob turned.
It was a slow, deliberate sound. Metal grinding against metal.
Panic, sharp and cold, spiked in her chest. Eveline scrambled backward, her heels sinking into the plush Persian rug, and ducked behind the thick burgundy curtains just as the door creaked open.
Heavy footsteps entered. They didn't hesitate. They owned the floor.
The air in the room shifted instantly. The scent of old paper and wax was obliterated by a sharper, darker smell. Cedarwood. Expensive scotch. And the faint, lingering trace of cold tobacco.
Fulton.
Eveline held her breath until her chest ached. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to a God that had abandoned this house years ago. Just get a drink. Just get a drink and leave.
The clink of crystal against crystal echoed like a gunshot. Ice hitting the glass. Liquid pouring.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.
"Come out, Eveline."
His voice was low, a deep baritone that vibrated in her bones. He didn't shout. He never shouted. He didn't have to.
She didn't move. Maybe he was bluffing.
"I can hear your heart beating from here," he added, his tone bored. "Don't make me drag you out."
Eveline's trembling hand gripped the velvet fabric. She pushed it aside.
The library was dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the French windows. Fulton Horn stood by the antique liquor cabinet, his back to her. He was a shadow cut from the darkness, broad-shouldered and imposing in his tuxedo.
He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, not bothering to turn around.
"Who gave you permission to wear backless tonight?"
The question was casual, but the threat underneath was razor-sharp.
Eveline took a step forward, her legs feeling like they were made of water. "I'm done, Fulton."
He paused. The ice in his glass settled with a soft clink.
Then, a low, dark chuckle escaped him. It was a sound devoid of humor. He turned slowly, his grey eyes locking onto hers. In the shadows, they looked black. Predatory.
"Done?" He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. "Done with what, exactly?"
"This." She gestured vaguely between them, her voice shaking. "Us. You. I won't be your mistress while you parade Janiya Tanner around as your fiancée."
Fulton set the glass down on the mahogany desk. The sound was too loud. He began to walk toward her.
"Janiya is a business arrangement," he said, closing the distance. "You know that."
"I don't care!" Eveline backed away until her hips hit the edge of the heavy desk. There was nowhere left to go. "I won't be a shadow in her life. I won't be a cheap copy of Arlena."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
Fulton stopped inches from her. He loomed over her, stealing her air, stealing her light. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw. His fingers were calloused, rough against her soft skin.
"Do not," he whispered, his thumb pressing hard against her cheekbone, "say her name."
"Why? Because I look like her?" Eveline's eyes filled with hot tears. "Because I'm just a placeholder until you find a way to bring her back into the fold?"
Fulton didn't answer. He didn't deny it. That was the cruelest part.
Instead, he moved his hand from her jaw to her throat, his thumb resting over her pulse point. He could feel it fluttering like a trapped bird. His grip was a manacle, the pressure just shy of crushing, promising a bruise that would bloom by morning.
"You are what I say you are," he murmured. "And you belong where I say you belong."
"I'll leave," she choked out. "I'll take my mother and we'll leave New York."
"With what money?"
The words were a bucket of ice water.
Fulton leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Hessie has six figures in gambling debts this quarter alone. The medical bills for her 'migraines' are astronomical. You leave, and I cut the trust. Tomorrow, your mother is on the street."
Eveline's stomach twisted. He knew. He always knew. He held the strings, and she was just the marionette.
"You're a monster," she whispered.
"I'm your trustee," he corrected. His hand slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. "I'm your owner."
He kissed her then.
It wasn't romantic. It was a claim. A branding. His mouth crushed hers, demanding submission. He tasted of whiskey and dominance. His teeth grazed her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth.
Eveline's hands balled into fists against his chest, pushing weakly, but her body betrayed her. It melted into him, conditioned by two years of this toxic dance.
A knock at the door shattered the moment.
"Mr. Horn?" The butler's voice was muffled but clear. "Miss Tanner is asking for you."
Eveline gasped, tearing her mouth away. Panic flared in her eyes. "Let me go," she hissed. "If she finds us..."
Fulton didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the door. He kept his arm locked around her waist, staring down at her swollen, red lips.
"Let her wait," he said loud enough for the butler to hear.
"Sir?"
"Tell her I'm busy."
Fulton released Eveline abruptly. The loss of his heat left her shivering. He straightened his tie, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on his jacket. In a second, the beast was gone, replaced by the impeccable Wall Street tycoon.
He reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic key card onto the desk. It slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of her.
"Penthouse. Tonight."
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Eveline stared at the white card.
A wave of nausea rolled over her, violent and sudden. It started in the pit of her stomach and clawed its way up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, dropping her clutch, and sprinted for the adjoining bathroom.
She collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving dryly, her body rejecting more than just the fear.
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9.5
In the glittering shadows of New York City's elite, impoverished artist Elena Vasquez clashes with the enigmatic billionaire tycoon Alexander Hale. What begins as a chance encounter in a rain-soaked alley spirals into a whirlwind of passion, betrayal, and redemption. As Elena fights to reclaim her stolen dreams, Alexander's guarded heart unravels, forcing them to confront family secrets, corporate intrigue, and the ruthless divide between their worlds. Will their forbidden love survive the storms of jealousy, scandal, and loss, or will it shatter like the fragile art that brought them together? Shattered Canvases is a steamy billionaire romance that explores the raw edges of desire and the healing power of vulnerability.
8.5
I was Landon Mercer's secret girlfriend and loyal assistant for four years. I thought my absolute devotion would eventually win his heart.
But he casually announced his engagement to a wealthy heiress, reminding me I was just a convenient nobody from an orphanage.
When I got trapped in a horrific car crash and begged him to call an ambulance, he just hung up on me, annoyed that my bleeding was ruining his romantic getaway.
He even blackmailed me with my orphanage's land lease, forcing me to attend his engagement party as a prop.
At the party, his elite family and friends brutally humiliated me.
They deliberately crushed my broken arm, poured red wine over my head, and kicked me into a freezing pond.
When Landon finally pulled me out, he didn't care that I was suffocating and turning blue.
"Are you out of your mind? You come out here and cause a scene during my engagement party?"
He threw a stack of cash at my shivering body, furious that I had embarrassed him in front of his wealthy guests.
Looking at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy water, my four years of foolish love completely died.
To him, I wasn't even human; I was just a cheap toy he could abuse and pass around.
I didn't cry, and I didn't beg.
I dragged my soaked, battered body into a car and headed straight to the penthouse of his biggest billionaire rival.
It was time to burn Landon Mercer's world to the ground.
9.0
Colette stepped out of the federal prison, finally breathing the air of freedom after two agonizing years.
But instead of a bus home, a black armored SUV blocked her path. Ferris Vance's men kidnapped her right at the gates. He forced her to sign a marriage certificate, threatening to completely destroy her father's legacy if she refused.
The nightmare had only just begun. She soon learned her father had been driven to suicide anyway. Dragged into the Vance estate, Colette was beaten bloody by the family of Ellie, the girl she supposedly wronged. Ferris paraded her in a pure white gown for the cameras, playing the fiercely devoted husband. But the second the lenses turned away, he forced her into a coarse maid's uniform, making her scrub the freezing marble floors on her hands and knees.
"Your life isn't even worth the dirt on my shoes."
Ferris whispered those words as he threw his muddy boots at her bruised face. She was nothing but a piece of bleeding bait, a prop meant to lure his missing lover out of hiding. She was tortured and humiliated for a crime she had absolutely nothing to do with. The sheer injustice of paying the price for another woman's disappearance tore her soul apart.
When he cornered her in the bathroom, the last thread of Colette's sanity snapped. She hurled a bucket of filthy water right into his face, broke out of his grip, and threw herself out a window into a freezing storm. This time, she chose to escape, even if it meant death.
9.4
Hayley was betrayed by those who should have loved her most. To save their precious adopted daughter from a punishment she deserved, her own parents sent Hayley straight into a living hell—an infamous prison where survival demanded cruelty, and weakness meant death.
Four years later, the girl who had entered those iron gates no longer existed. She emerged with a single, unbreakable rule carved into her soul: Every betrayal would be repaid tenfold.
The day she walked free, the world trembled. A convoy of luxury cars lined the road. A legion of loyal followers awaited her triumphant return.
Her father tried to buy her silence with money. But money had long lost its power over her.
Her adopted sister hid behind sweet words and false kindness. But empty smiles no longer fooled her.
Everything that had once been stolen would be reclaimed—piece by piece.
When her parents attempted to tie themselves to the city's most feared man by offering their adopted daughter, Hayley's lips curved into a cold smirk. "Not on my watch."
Backed by a legendary hacker, shadowy allies, and an entire prison willing to burn the world for her, Hayley dismantled her enemies with terrifying precision.
Then the tyrant noticed her. "You're interesting," he said. "Be my woman, and the city is yours."
Hayley raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You want to own me? Survive me first."
High society became their battlefield. Power collided with desire. Ambition clashed with obsession. In this ruthless game of dominance and temptation, only one would kneel first.
The girl once abandoned in hell rose from its ashes, crowned by fire and vengeance—And in the end, even the most feared ruler in the city would bow, offering his empire to the woman who had conquered both hell… and him.
7.9
On Christmas Eve, the snow fell in relentless sheets.
My grandmother and I were cast out into the snow as if we were nothing by my uncle.
My aunt cursed me as a bad luck charm, while my uncle's boot landed fiercely in my chest.
I knelt in the freezing snow, clutching my grandmother's body as it grew cold, my nails digging into my flesh, convinced that death awaited us tonight.
Suddenly, the blinding headlights cut through the night.
A convoy of Rolls-Royce cars, bearing diplomatic plates, silently blocked the entrance to the rundown neighborhood.
The elderly butler strode directly to my grandmother, who had been "blind" for forty years, and knelt on one knee, "Your Highness, forgive us for arriving so late."
8.7
I was trapped in a greasy diner by my own mother.
She was forcing me to marry my abusive cousin because he had paid her twenty thousand dollars.
To escape, I used a contract marriage app and begged a complete stranger to marry me at City Hall that very day.
Ethan drove a cheap Ford and wore a plain suit. I thought he was just an ordinary guy needing a fake wife.
When my mother found out, she brought thugs to destroy my flower shop—my only home and livelihood.
To protect Ethan from her endless extortion, I shielded him and screamed that he was bankrupt and drowning in credit card debt.
My mother fled in disgust, and Ethan took me into his apartment for the night.
But out of trauma and habit, I locked my bedroom door, muttering that he must be old and desperate.
He stormed out into the freezing night, leaving me terrified that I had ruined my only lifeline.
I didn't understand why he was so furiously offended, completely unaware that my "broke" husband was actually the most ruthless billionaire in New York, and I had just trampled his massive ego.
The next morning, his face was a mask of ice as he dragged me back to City Hall to annul the marriage and get rid of me.
"Annulment. Now," he demanded.
But the clerk just popped her gum and slid a pink paper across the counter.
"State law changed. Mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period."