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 5
The Baxter townhouse was a rotting tooth in a row of perfect smiles. Inside, it smelled of stale wine and desperation.
Elayne found her father, Richard, slumped on the sofa. Meredith was pacing, screaming into her phone.
"They wouldn't let me in! Me!" Meredith shrieked when she saw Elayne. "You useless girl! Why didn't you come get me?"
Elayne walked past her. "I was busy saving us from your debts."
"Don't you walk away from me!"
"Meredith, shut up," Richard groaned. "Leave her alone."
Elayne locked her bedroom door and leaned against it. She slid to the floor.
She crawled to her closet and pried up a loose floorboard. Beneath it was a baby monitor.
She turned it on. The grainy green image showed a crib. A small lump was breathing rhythmically. He was safe. He was at her former nanny's apartment in Queens.
She dialed the nanny, Mrs. Higgins.
"I need to move him," Elayne whispered. "Tomorrow morning. Early."
"He's warm, Elayne," Mrs. Higgins said, her voice worried. "He's been fussy all evening."
"It's just teething," Elayne said, trying to convince herself. "I'll be there at six."
She went to the window. She pulled back the curtain.
Two black SUVs were parked across the street. Men in suits were leaning against them.
Gunnar's men.
He hadn't just sent her home. He had put her under house arrest.
Elayne couldn't leave. If she walked out with a bag, they would follow. If she went to Queens, she would lead them straight to the baby.
She didn't sleep.
At 7:55 AM, Cornell knocked on the door. Behind him was a team of stylists holding garment bags.
"Good morning, Miss Baxter," Cornell said.
"I need to change," Elayne said. "I'll use the downstairs powder room."
She went into the small bathroom and locked the door. She turned on the faucet loud.
She opened the small window above the toilet. It opened into a narrow alleyway filled with trash cans. It was the only blind spot.
Elayne squeezed through. She dropped into a pile of garbage bags, landing hard on her ankle. Pain shot up her leg, but she bit her lip and scrambled up.
She ran. She limped through the alley, out onto the side street, and flagged down a taxi.
"Queens," she gasped. "Fast."
Her phone buzzed. Mrs. Higgins.
"Elayne, he's burning up. It's 104. He's having a seizure."
Elayne's world stopped. The plan to hide him, the plan to run-it all vanished.
"Take him to Lenox Hill," Elayne screamed at the driver. "Turn around! Go to the hospital!"
She didn't care about Gunnar. She didn't care about the contract. Her son was dying.
She burst into the ER waiting room twenty minutes later. Mrs. Higgins was there, holding the small bundle.
Elayne grabbed her son. His skin was on fire.
"Help!" she screamed. "Someone help him!"
Nurses swarmed. They took the baby. Elayne collapsed into a chair, shaking uncontrollably.
She sat there for an hour, staring at the floor.
Then, she noticed the silence. The ER had gone quiet.
She looked up.
Standing at the entrance of the waiting area was Cornell Conrad. He wasn't looking at her. He was adjusting his glasses.
Behind him, walking through the automatic doors, was Gunnar Kirk.
He looked out of place in the sterile, fluorescent light. He looked like a storm cloud.
He walked straight to her. He stopped.
A nurse came out. "Ms. Baxter? The baby is stable. It was a febrile seizure. He's fine."
Elayne sobbed with relief.
Gunnar looked at the nurse. Then he looked at Elayne. Then he looked at the door where the baby was.
"Whose is it?" Gunnar asked. His voice was devoid of emotion.
Elayne stood up. Her mind raced. "A friend's," she lied. "She... she's in surgery. I'm the emergency contact."
Gunnar stared at her. His eyes bored into hers. He knew she was lying. But he didn't care.
"Mr. Kirk," Cornell interrupted gently. "The press is outside. A freelancer followed us from the house. They saw her come in with the child."
Gunnar's jaw tightened. Cornell was already on his phone, his voice a low, brutal command to a subordinate. "Buy the photographer's memory card. And his car, if you have to. The story is that Miss Baxter was visiting a child from the gallery's outreach program. Plant it. Now." He hung up and looked at Gunnar. "Get in the car, Elayne. Now."
"I can't leave him!"
"Cornell will handle the... friend's child," Gunnar said coldly. "You are coming with me. Unless you want the world to see my fiancée holding a bastard child in a public ER."
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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.