Bound By The Cruel Tycoon's Deal

The Waldorf Astoria ballroom was filled with laughter, champagne, and the watchful eyes of New York's elite. Dee stood beside her fiancé, Donny Monroe, wearing the perfect bride's smile.

She lifted her chin slightly, greeted each guest with flawless grace, and never let her expression falter. No one noticed her fingers tightening around Donny's arm, her nails pressing into her palm beneath the fabric.

Her hand remained cold against his arm.

"You look beautiful tonight, darling," Donny whispered, his warm breath brushing against her ear. The heavy scent of his cologne made her uncomfortable.

Dee tilted her head, giving the practiced smile of a woman in love. "Only for you."

Her cousin, Brittaney Wallace, approached in a swirl of pink chiffon and false innocence, linking her arm through Dee's.

"Dee, sister, you and Donny are absolutely perfect together!" Brittaney said sweetly.

Dee's smile remained in place. "Thank you, Brittaney."

But the whispers about her father, Frank Wallace, the financial scandal, and his prison sentence followed her through the night. Every glance reminded her of the stain on her name, no matter how expensive the custom-made white gown she wore.

She tightened her grip on Donny's hand, holding on to him as if he were the only way out.

From a shadowed corner, a man watched. He stood apart from the celebration, a pillar of stillness in the swirling chaos. Guests spoke his name in hushed, reverent tones. Angelo Monroe. The true power in the Monroe family.

Donny's body went rigid when he noticed the stare. He gave Dee a quick, almost apologetic smile.

"I'll be right back," he said, before making his way toward the man in the corner.

"Cousin," Donny said, his voice laced with a respect that bordered on fear.

Angelo just gave a cold nod, his dark, bottomless eyes never leaving the center of the room.

A wave of exhaustion hit Dee. "I'm just going to the powder room," she told Brittaney, needing a moment's escape from the noise and the pretense.

The hallway was silent, the thick carpet muffling the sound of her heels. As Dee approached the corner leading to the lounge, familiar voices drifted from the partially open terrace door ahead.

Donny's voice, laced with greed and impatience. "That old fool is finally locked up. When do we get our hands on Dee's trust fund?"

Brittaney's laugh was like splintered glass. "Patience, darling. Once she signs that pre-nup, everything she has will be yours. She was so moved by your little speech tonight."

The shock hit Dee all at once. She covered her mouth, stumbling back until her shoulders pressed against the wall. Her heart raced as the realization sank in.

"My Brittaney is the smart one," Donny's voice turned slimy, intimate. "Not like that prude Dee. Engaged and she still won't let me touch her. "

The sound of a wet, sloppy kiss followed, then Brittaney's breathy moan. "So, are you sleeping with her tonight, or with me?"

Bile rose in Dee's throat. Her entire body went numb, then cold. She bit down on her lip, hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood.

She didn't storm in.

She simply backed away, silent. The tears that pricked her eyes were forced back down, replaced by a chilling, crystalline hatred.

She didn't return to the ballroom. She walked in the opposite direction, toward the long, polished bar.

Her target was clear. The man sitting alone in the corner, radiating an aura that screamed do not approach.

Angelo Monroe.

She slid onto the high stool beside him. The bartender started toward her, but stopped short, startled by the intense look in her eyes.

Angelo felt her presence, turning his head. His gaze was analytical, dissecting. A faint, almost invisible scar cut through his left eyebrow, catching the light.

"Whiskey. Neat," Dee said, her voice a raw scrape.

She downed the glass in one go. The liquid fire burned a path down her throat, incinerating the last of her reason.

She turned to him, her eyes locking with his.

"Mr. Monroe," she began, "can I ask you for a favor?"

He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something—amusement? contempt?—in his dark eyes. A woman who was about to marry his cousin, approaching him like this. He let out a low, noncommittal hum. "Hmm?"

Dee took a deep, shuddering breath. She leaned in, her voice a desperate whisper only he could hear.

"Take me out of here. To your room. Tonight, I'm yours."

The look in his eyes finally changed. The cold assessment shifted to a flicker of cold indifference. He looked at her flushed cheeks, the wild desperation in her eyes. He didn't answer.

She thought he would refuse. In a last, desperate act, her cold fingers closed around his wrist.

He glanced down at her hand, then back up to her face. A slow, cruel smile touched his lips.

"Of course."

He stood, pulling her from the stool. He ignored the shocked stares as he led her, not gently, toward the elevators.

As the doors slid shut, Dee saw them. Donny and Brittaney, walking back from the terrace, their faces a mask of smug satisfaction that melted into pure shock as they saw her.

The elevator shot upwards. Angelo pushed her against the cold, mirrored wall. His mouth came down on hers, a brutal, punishing kiss that swallowed her silent sob.

The next morning, Dee woke up in a strange, opulent suite. The bed beside her was empty. A single business card on the nightstand was the only proof the night had been real.

She dragged her aching body home. The moment she opened her apartment door, she saw her. Judith Monroe, Donny's mother, sitting in her living room, her face a mask of pure contempt.

Judith tossed a stack of blurry photos onto the coffee table. The images captured Dee and Angelo stepping into the elevator together.

"Dee Wallace," Judith spat, her voice dripping with venom. "You shameless whore. Not even married into our family, and you're already trying to crawl into another Monroe's bed!"