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."
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Chapter 3
The ballroom of the Kirk estate was a cavern of gold leaf and crystal. It smelled of expensive perfume and old money.
When Gunnar walked in with Elayne on his arm, the room didn't just go quiet; it froze.
Elayne kept her chin high. She could feel the weight of hundreds of eyes. They were dissecting her. The fraudster's daughter. The ruined girl.
"Smile," Gunnar murmured, his lips barely moving. His hand was a warm, heavy weight on the small of her back. "You adore me."
"I'm contemplating murder," Elayne whispered back, smiling radiantly.
"Good. Passion sells."
He steered her toward the main bar, then paused as a group of gray-haired men waved him over. "Stay here," he commanded. "Don't speak. Don't embarrass me."
He walked away, leaving her stranded on an island of parquet floor.
Almost immediately, the sharks circled.
"Well, well," a voice drawled. Angelique Tate. The Senator's daughter. She was wearing a dress that cost more than Elayne's father's bail.
Angelique stepped into Elayne's personal space, holding a flute of champagne. "I heard they let visitors bring snacks to the penitentiary now. Is that where you've been, Elayne? Visiting Daddy?"
A titter of laughter rippled through Angelique's entourage.
"And that dress," Angelique sighed, looking Elayne up and down. "So... vintage. Is that from the season before the FBI raided your closet?"
Elayne's fingers tightened around her glass. She wanted to shrink. She wanted to run.
But then she remembered the contract. Maintain the Kirk image. A Kirk didn't get bullied. A Kirk destroyed.
Elayne took a slow sip of her wine. She let the silence stretch until Angelique looked uncomfortable.
"It is vintage," Elayne said, her voice sweet and clear. "Unlike your gown, Angelique. Isn't that a Ponti original? I heard he was indicted for money laundering last week. The FBI is seizing all assets purchased from his atelier. You might want to check if they're waiting for you at the coat check."
Angelique's face went slack.
Elayne turned to the woman on Angelique's left. "And Mrs. Vanderbilt. How is your husband? Is he enjoying his time in the Caymans? I heard the weather is lovely, though the paternity laws are quite strict regarding... outside children."
The circle of women recoiled as if Elayne had pulled a knife.
Elayne smiled. She had been a curator. She knew every dirty secret, every hidden asset, every fake masterpiece in this room.
Angelique's face turned a blotchy red. "You bitch," she hissed. She jerked her hand, splashing her champagne forward.
Elayne sidestepped with the grace of a dancer.
The liquid missed her entirely and splashed onto the pristine white tuxedo of the Japanese investor standing behind her.
The investor gasped. The room went silent.
Angelique stood there, glass empty, looking horrified.
A hand settled on Elayne's waist.
Gunnar was back. He looked at the wet tuxedo, then at Angelique's terrified face, and finally at Elayne.
He didn't look angry. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"My fiancée seems to be having a lively evening," Gunnar said, his voice cutting through the tension. He pulled Elayne closer, his grip possessive.
He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear. "I thought I told you to behave."
"I'm protecting your asset value," Elayne whispered back. "Weakness devalues the stock."
Gunnar looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. There was a flicker of respect in the ice.
"Remind me never to cross you in public," he murmured.
Just then, a commotion at the entrance caught Elayne's eye. She froze.
Meredith. Her stepmother was arguing with security, trying to push past the velvet rope.
Elayne's blood ran cold. If Meredith saw Gunnar, she would demand more money. She would make a scene.
"I need the ladies' room," Elayne said abruptly, pulling away from Gunnar.
She didn't wait for his answer. She turned and walked fast toward the side corridor, slipping out of the ballroom before Meredith could spot her.
She hurried down the hallway, looking for a bathroom, but took a wrong turn. She found herself at the foot of the grand staircase. She ran up, needing to put distance between herself and the chaos.
She opened the first door she found on the second floor and slipped inside, leaning back against the heavy wood, breathing hard.
The room was dark. It smelled of old paper and dust.
"Who are you?" a voice rasped from the shadows. "Why do you hold yourself like that?"
Elayne jumped, her hand flying to her throat.
In the corner, sitting in a wheelchair, was an old man. His skin was like parchment, his eyes clouded with cataracts. Old Man Kirk. Gunnar's grandfather.
He pointed a shaking finger at her. Specifically, at the locket resting on her collarbone.
"That locket," the old man whispered. "It's a Patek Philippe 'Firstborn.' My wife had one. A heavy thing for a girl with no child to wear."
Elayne clutched the locket tight. Inside was the only photo she had of her son.
"I... I don't know what you mean," she stammered, backing toward the door.
"Liar," the old man hissed. "The blood always tells."
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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.