Bound To The Ruthless Wall Street Butcher
I was trapped in a velvet booth at Le Bernardin, Arthur Sterling’s hand crawling up my knee as he whispered that my father would be in handcuffs by morning if I didn't spend the night with him.
Desperate to escape, I lunged at the only man more dangerous than Arthur—Gunnar Kirk, the "Butcher of Wall Street"—and kissed him in front of every camera in the room, thinking I was choosing the lesser of two evils.
I was wrong; Gunnar didn't just play along, he took possession, forcing me into a cold-blooded contract to be his fake fiancée to save his corporate image from an SEC investigation. While my greedy stepmother and sister were busy fighting over the diamonds he sent, I was living in terror, trying to hide the one thing that truly mattered: my infant son, hidden away with a nanny in a cramped Queens apartment. When my baby suffered a febrile seizure and I rushed to the ER, I looked up to see Gunnar standing in the doorway, his glacial eyes boring into me as he realized the "ruined" socialite was hiding a child from her past.
I tried to sabotage the wedding, setting up my fame-hungry stepsister as a decoy bride so I could flee to Switzerland with my son, but Gunnar caught me on the fire escape before I could take a single step toward freedom. He threw me over his shoulder like a sack of flour and told me that if I didn't walk down that aisle, he would personally ensure my father rotted in prison.
We stood at the altar and exchanged vows in a ceremony built on blackmail and lies, but as we walked out as husband and wife, Gunnar didn't look at me with affection; he turned to his assistant and ordered a total deep dive into the medical records I had spent a year trying to erase.
"Find out exactly what happened during those nine months in Switzerland, and tell me who that baby really belongs to."
Chapters
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Chapter 1
"If you leave with me tonight, Elayne, I can make sure the bridge loan for the gallery gets an extension."
Arthur Sterling's voice was a wet, heavy thing that seemed to coat Elayne's skin in oil. Under the table, his hand moved. It crawled up her knee, fingers digging into the fabric of her dress, claiming territory that wasn't his.
Elayne Baxter stared at the pristine white tablecloth of Le Bernardin. Her stomach gave a violent lurch, a physical rejection of the man sitting across from her and the situation she had been forced into. She gripped her napkin until her knuckles turned the color of bone.
"Arthur, please," she whispered, her voice tight. She tried to shift her leg away, but his grip tightened. It wasn't a caress; it was a clamp.
"Don't play hard to get, sweetheart," Arthur hissed, leaning in. The smell of stale scotch and expensive cologne wafted off him. "Your stepmother was very clear. If you walk out that door, the marshals will be at your father's gallery by morning. Do you want to see Richard in handcuffs again? Do you want to lose the last thing your mother left you?"
Elayne's breath hitched. The air in the restaurant felt too thin. She looked around, her eyes darting frantically from table to table. The maître d' caught her eye, paused, saw Arthur Sterling, and smoothy turned his back.
No one was coming. In New York, the taint of financial ruin was a disease, and Elayne Baxter was contagious.
Panic began to rise in her throat, tasting like bile. She was going to throw up. She was going to scream. She was trapped in a velvet booth with a predator, and the walls were closing in.
Then, the air in the room shifted.
It wasn't a sound. It was a sudden, vacuum-like silence near the entrance.
Elayne looked up.
A phalanx of men in dark suits moved through the dining room like a storm front. In the center of them walked a man who didn't need to rush. He was tall, wearing a suit that cost more than her father's current debt, and his face was a mask of bored, lethal indifference.
Arthur's hand froze on her leg. His eyes widened, the arrogance draining out of them to be replaced by a stark, naked fear.
"Kirk," Arthur breathed.
Elayne followed his gaze. Gunnar Kirk. The "Butcher of Wall Street." The man who dismantled companies for sport. The same man whose name had been plastered across the Financial Times for weeks, the subject of a relentless SEC investigation that had the city holding its breath.
A desperate, insane idea sparked in the terrified chaos of her mind. Fear could only be fought with greater fear.
She didn't think. If she thought, she would freeze.
Elayne stood up abruptly. Her hand jerked, knocking over her wine glass. The dark red liquid splashed across the tablecloth and onto Arthur's lap.
"Shit!" Arthur yelped, jumping up, batting at his wet trousers.
Elayne didn't apologize. She was already moving. She stepped into the aisle, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She walked fast, her heels sinking into the plush carpet, straight toward the bar where the dark suits were converging.
A bodyguard stepped in her path, a wall of muscle.
"Honey!" Elayne shouted. Her voice was high, breathless, fake.
The bodyguard blinked, hesitating for a fraction of a second.
That was all she needed. Elayne slipped past him. She reached the tall man in the center.
Gunnar Kirk turned. His eyes were the color of glacial ice, cold and unreadable. He looked down at her, his expression not even registering surprise, just a mild, dangerous curiosity.
Elayne didn't give him a chance to speak. She didn't give him a chance to kill her.
She rose on her tiptoes, grabbed the lapels of his jacket with trembling hands, and pulled him down.
She pressed her lips to his.
The restaurant went silent. A collective gasp sucked the oxygen out of the room.
Elayne's eyes were squeezed shut. His lips were firm, unyielding, and cold. He didn't kiss her back. He stood there like a statue, his body hard and tense against hers.
"Help me," she breathed against his mouth, her voice barely a tremor. "Play along, and I'll get rid of the paparazzi trailing you."
She felt a muscle in his jaw tick.
Gunnar didn't push her away. His eyes flicked over her shoulder. He saw the camera lens glinting behind a potted palm. He saw Arthur Sterling, pale and shaking, frozen by the table. He saw the girl in his arms, the ruined daughter of Richard Baxter. But the Baxter name, for all its current scandal, was old money. A name that still opened doors in circles the SEC couldn't touch. An asset.
Gunnar's hand came up. It was large, warm, and heavy. He cupped the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair.
He didn't just play along. He took control.
He deepened the kiss, tilting her head back, possessing her mouth with a brutal, calculated efficiency. It wasn't romantic. It was a claim. It was a performance designed to dominate the room.
Flashes of light erupted. The paparazzi were getting the shot of the decade.
Arthur Sterling turned and fled toward the side exit, leaving his bill unpaid.
Gunnar broke the kiss. He released her so abruptly she almost stumbled. He looked at her, his blue eyes devoid of any warmth, wiping his mouth with a pristine white handkerchief.
He turned to the man standing just behind him.
"Cornell," Gunnar said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated in Elayne's chest. "Find out which bankrupt family she belongs to. Then put her in the car."
Elayne stood frozen, her lips throbbing, as two security guards stepped forward to flank her. She had escaped the wolf, only to throw herself at the dragon.
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9.7
On the eve of her wedding to a man she doesn't love, Victoria Halstead makes a choice that will change the kingdom forever she runs.
Victoria has spent her entire life being the perfect daughter, the obedient lady, the bride her father selected. But when she discovers her marriage is nothing more than a political transaction to keep her controlled and confined, she does the unthinkable: she escapes into the night with nothing but a hidden trunk and a desperate hope for freedom.
What she doesn't know is that her bodyguard, Rowan, the quiet, brooding man who has been watching over her for months-is not just protecting her. He's been waiting for this moment. Because Victoria's beloved uncle didn't die of natural causes. He was murdered. And the truth he died protecting could shatter the kingdom.
Victoria isn't just a runaway bride. She's the rightful queen of Aveloria.
Her mother was a Keeper one of the legendary bloodline with abilities to sense truth from lies and the last direct descendant of the true royal family. For three generations, the current king's dynasty has ruled on a throne built on murder, lies, and stolen power. And now that Victoria knows the truth, the king will stop at nothing to silence her.
Hunted by her own father, chased by the king's soldiers, and targeted by assassins, Victoria must choose between the safety of obscurity and the dangerous path of reclaiming what was stolen from her family. With Rowan by her side fierce, loyal, and impossibly devoted she begins to gather unlikely allies: a cynical mercenary with a dark past, a former bounty hunter turned believer, and lords who are tired of serving a tyrant.
But claiming a throne requires more than royal blood. It demands strategy, sacrifice, and the willingness to become the leader her people desperately need. As Victoria learns to trust her Keeper abilities, master the art of war, and navigate the deadly politics of rebellion, she discovers that the girl who once feared leaving her room has become a woman capable of leading armies.
Yet danger lurks everywhere. Assassins infiltrate her inner circle. A traitor hides among her most trusted allies. And the dying king's brutal brother waits in the shadows, ready to seize power and drown the kingdom in blood.
With an army marching toward her, time running out, and the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders, Victoria must make an impossible choice: run and save herself, or stand and fight for a crown she never wanted but a kingdom that desperately needs her.
7.8
I was Grayson Warren’s "broken doll," a disgraced socialite kept on a short leash to pay off my family’s debts. To the world, I was a fragile liability; to Grayson, I was a pet he could humiliate for sport, forcing me to play the role of a mentally unstable girl while I secretly gathered evidence against his empire.
The cruelty peaked when Grayson forced me to break three years of sobriety in front of his investors, mocking my struggle before making me kneel on a golf course to scrub his shoes. He treated my life like a game, literally betting my sanity against a corporate board seat while he soft-launched a new relationship with a high-profile PR queen.
When the pressure triggered a massive panic attack, Grayson abandoned me in a private clinic just so he wouldn't miss a dinner reservation. Even my own mother turned against me, threatening to leak my psychiatric records and brand me a "violent delusional" if I didn't beg for Grayson’s forgiveness. I was trapped between a man who owned my debt and a mother who valued her estate over my daughter’s life.
I realized then that they would never let me go; they would only break me until there was nothing left. They thought they had erased my soul, but they forgot I was the only witness to the night my true love, Felix, was murdered. I was done being the victim.
I faked a suicide jump off the Queensboro Bridge to go off the grid, then crashed Grayson’s elite gala in a dress that signaled his downfall. Just as Grayson tried to physically crush me one last time, the room went silent. Felix Law, the man the world thought was dead for three years, walked out of the shadows with a federal warrant in his hand.
"Take your hands off her, Warren."
The game didn't just change; it ended. Felix was back from the dead, and this time, we were burning the empire to the ground together.
7.6
Johana walked half a mile through a brutal blizzard just to secure a tutoring job with the elite Black family.
But the very night she was hired, she received a terrifying call from the ER—her quiet roommate, Hazelle, had been drugged and severely traumatized at a Hamptons party.
When Johana rushed to the hospital, she didn't find the police. Instead, she found a team of ruthless billionaires erasing the crime.
Leading them was Dalton Black, the cold, arrogant older brother of her new student.
Within minutes, Dalton's fixers wiped the hospital's security footage, deleted all digital evidence, and forcefully transferred Hazelle to a locked private psychiatric facility.
"We are ensuring her privacy."
Dalton's voice was devoid of emotion, treating the horrific assault like a minor PR glitch.
His friends mocked Johana's powerlessness, while Dalton authorized a blank check to pay for the private ward, effectively burying the scandal and buying their silence.
Johana stood in the sterile hallway, trembling with a mix of despair and absolute rage.
How could they destroy an innocent girl's life and simply pay to make it disappear? Why was the truth so easily erased by money?
She had no wealth, no connections, and no proof, but she refused to be a victim of their cover-up.
Staring directly into Dalton's intimidating, icy blue eyes, Johana made a vow.
"I don't want your money. I will find out what you monsters did to her."
She thought the billionaire heir would crush her on the spot, but instead, he watched her walk away and quietly ordered his assistant: "Find out everything about Johana Neal."
9.2
Slave to her pack, Delilah Hunt has suffered the worst betrayal from those she considered family. Turning from a Sentinel to a wolfless member of the pack, she has lost all hope. Not until she met General Kane, the executioner.
Kane lost all empathy and developed a stony heart years ago when his birth mother was banished by his father. He never bothered to search for his mate, refusing to love or be loved by anyone. He lived closed off from the rest of the world except a few of his pack members. But an encounter with Delilah Hunt, one of his many prisoners, sets off something in him.
For how long would he be able to resist their bond?
7.1
I lay paralyzed on stiff white sheets, a prisoner in my own skin, listening to the rain lash against the window like nails on a coffin. My father, Elmore Franco, didn't even look at my face as he checked his clipboard. He just listened to the steady, monotonous beep of the heart monitor-the only thing proving I was still alive.
Without a hint of remorse, he pulled a pen from his pocket and signed the Do Not Resuscitate order. My stepmother, Ophelia, stepped out from behind him, wearing my favorite pearl necklace and smelling of cloying perfume. She leaned close to my ear to whisper the truth that turned my blood to ice.
"It was the tea, darling. Just like your mother. A slow, tasteless poison."
She chuckled as she revealed that my fiancé, Bryce, had a two-year-old son with my sister, Daniela. My inheritance had been funding their secret life for years, and now that the money was secure, I was an inconvenience they were finally scrubbing away. As my father yanked the power cord from the wall, the beeping died, and the darkness swallowed me whole.
I was being murdered by my own flesh and blood, used as a bank account until I was no longer needed. I died in that sterile room, drowning in the realization that every person I ever loved was a monster who had been waiting for me to take my last breath.
Then, I gasped. I woke up in a luxury hotel suite surrounded by silk sheets, five years in the past-the very morning of my wedding. Next to me lay Basile Delgado, the "Wolf of Wall Street" and my family's most dangerous enemy. In my first life, I ran from this room in a panic and lost everything. This time, I looked at the man who would eventually destroy my father's empire and decided to join him.
"I'm not leaving, Basile. Marry me. Right now. Today."
8.4
Eleven years ago, Damien Falcone pulled me from the freezing waters, and I thought I was marrying my savior.
Instead, he orchestrated my absolute ruin by forging evidence to frame me for selling a vital mafia bootlegging route to the FBI.
Under the guise of saving me from the family's brutal death sentence, he stripped away my future as his Mafia Queen. He dragged me to New York and locked me in a gilded penthouse cage. For eleven years, I rotted away as his secret prisoner until my failing body finally gave out.
As I collapsed in the freezing New York snow, he caught me, his hands trembling as he held my dying body against his chest.
"No, Fia, stay with me. I did it to keep you alive. I had to—"
I didn't want to hear his monstrous lies anymore. I had given him all my love, and he repaid me with a tomb. Loving him was the only unforgivable sin I ever committed.
"I pray... we never meet again."
When the howling wind faded, I opened my eyes to the heavy stench of rust and lake water. I wasn't dead.
I was back in the cramped cabin of a cargo freighter, exactly sixteen years old again. It was the very night my jealous cousin sent an assassin to carve up my face and void my marriage to the Falcone family.
This time, I quietly gripped the heavy oak slat under my mattress.