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.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 2
Cold water splashed against Eveline's face, shocking her skin but doing little to settle the turmoil in her gut.
She gripped the edges of the marble sink, her knuckles white. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost. Pale skin, wide, terrified eyes, and lips that were too red, too swollen.
Pull it together, Eveline.
She dabbed her mouth with a paper towel, reapplying a layer of nude lipstick to hide the evidence of Fulton's teeth. She couldn't stay in here forever. Absence was just as suspicious as presence in the Horn manor.
Taking a shaky breath, she smoothed the silk of her dress. The sterile quiet of the bathroom felt like a bunker, a temporary reprieve from the war zone of the party. She knew what waited for her on the other side of the door. The walk back through the hushed, wood-paneled corridor would feel like a mile, every step taking her from the private shame of the library to the public performance required in the ballroom. She steeled herself, her reflection offering no comfort, and pushed open the bathroom door.
The ballroom was an assault on the senses. The crystal chandeliers were too bright, the laughter too shrill, the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat too cloying. Eveline kept her head down, trying to weave through the crowd toward the periphery.
She just needed to survive the next hour. Then she could claim a headache and leave.
But the crowd parted like the Red Sea.
A hush fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Eveline looked up, and her heart stopped.
Fulton stood at the top of the grand staircase. Janiya Tanner was on his arm.
Janiya was perfection manufactured in a lab. Blonde hair cascading in carefully curated waves, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth, and a diamond on her finger that caught the light and threw it back with blinding arrogance. But up close, Eveline saw the faintest tremor in her manicured hand, the slight, unnatural dilation of her pupils that even the ballroom's light couldn't shrink. Her perfection was a veneer, stretched taut over something brittle.
Fulton's face was a mask of indifference. He looked bored. He looked like a king surveying his subjects. His eyes scanned the room and, for a fraction of a second, landed on Eveline.
There was nothing in that look. No heat. No recognition. It was as if the scene in the library had happened in another lifetime.
Eveline felt a phantom pain in her chest. Two years, she thought. Two years of my life, and I'm still just the dirty little secret.
"Look who it is."
The voice was sickly sweet. Eveline froze as Janiya steered Fulton directly toward her. The crowd formed a circle around them, eager for blood.
"Eveline," Janiya cooed, stopping two feet away. "You look... tired. Is the air in here a bit too rich for you?"
A few people chuckled. Eveline forced a smile. It felt like her face might crack.
"Congratulations on the engagement, Miss Tanner," Eveline said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. She tried to step back.
Janiya didn't let her go. "Thank you. It's a shame your mother couldn't be here. I heard she's having trouble with her... finances. Again." Janiya tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Fulton is a saint for putting up with you two. Most men would have evicted the parasites by now."
Eveline's gaze flicked to Fulton.
He stood with one hand in his pocket, watching the exchange with cold detachment. He didn't step in. He didn't defend her. He let his fiancée carve Eveline open in front of New York's elite.
The nausea returned, stronger this time.
A waiter passed by with a silver tray. Raw oysters.
The smell hit Eveline like a physical blow. The brine, the metallic tang of the sea, the raw flesh.
Her stomach convulsed.
She didn't even have time to cover her mouth.
Eveline doubled over, a wet, retching sound tearing through the polite conversation. Bile splashed onto the polished parquet floor, just inches from Janiya's custom Louboutins.
The silence that followed was absolute.
"Oh my god!" Janiya shrieked, jumping back. "Disgusting!"
"Is she drunk?" someone whispered.
"Maybe she's on something," another voice muttered.
Eveline gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. The humiliation burned hotter than the acid in her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to look up.
Fulton's mask cracked.
His pupils constricted. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out. But he stopped himself. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously.
He turned his head slightly. "Vance."
His personal assistant materialized from the shadows, a man in a black suit who looked more like a hitman than a secretary.
"Get her out of here," Fulton said. His voice was ice. "Take her to the hospital."
"No," Eveline croaked, backing away. "I'm fine. I just... I ate something bad."
"The hospital," Fulton repeated, his eyes boring into hers. There was a warning there. Do not disobey me.
Vance gripped Eveline's elbow. His fingers were like steel clamps. "This way, Miss Delacruz."
"Fulton, please," she whispered, looking at him one last time.
He had already turned back to Janiya, placing a hand on the small of her back, murmuring something to calm her down.
Eveline's heart shattered.
Vance dragged her toward the exit. The whispers followed her like a swarm of bees.
"Is she pregnant?"
The question floated in the air, loud and clear.
Eveline stumbled as Vance shoved her through the double doors and into the cool night air. A black sedan was waiting, engine running.
"Get in," Vance said, opening the rear door.
"I don't want to go to the hospital," Eveline pleaded, gripping the door frame. "Vance, please. Take me home."
Vance looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Horn gave an order. We need to know what's wrong with you."
He pushed her inside and slammed the door. The lock engaged with a heavy thud.
Eveline sank into the leather seat, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The secret she hadn't even dared to admit to herself was suddenly very, very real.
You may also like
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."