Breaking The Billionaire's Golden Cage
I spent three years as the hidden mistress of Wall Street tyrant Damon Vaughn. Our no-strings arrangement meant I was his to command, a secret he kept locked away in the dark.
Then I saw the Instagram post. It was Damon, raising a champagne glass with his perfect high-society fiancée, the caption hinting that wedding bells were just around the corner.
I ended it that night, leaving his black card on his nightstand and blocking his number for good. But a man like Damon doesn't accept being told no. He retaliated by buying the entire building my tech startup was in. He cornered me on the street, slamming his fist into my car's hood, his face a mask of terrifying rage.
He was a possessive monster, planning his perfect marriage while refusing to release me from my cage. The humiliation of being his disposable secret burned hotter than my anger.
To finally break him, I lied about having a blind date. But the lie became a terrifying reality when my mother forced me into that exact date. Now, Damon has kidnapped me, and as he shoves me out of his car in front of the restaurant, his voice is a low, dangerous whisper meant only for me.
"Remember who you belong to."
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Chapter 7
Damon slammed both of his hands onto the roof of the BMW.
The loud bang echoed down the street.
He trapped Brook completely between his arms and the cold metal of the car.
Who gave you the right to humiliate the CEO of Vaughn Capital in a public forum.
He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw ticking dangerously.
Brook looked at the tight lines of his face.
A cruel, mocking smile slowly formed on her lips.
It is my private channel. I have the right to take out the trash whenever it disgusts me.
The word trash hit Damon like a physical blow.
His pupils dilated, a dark, violent storm brewing in his eyes.
His hand shot out and gripped her chin, his fingers pressing hard into her skin.
He forced her head up.
Do not push my limits, Brook.
His voice was freezing, carrying a warning that would terrify any rational person.
Brook did not struggle against his grip.
She just stared back at him with eyes that were completely dead and empty.
She looked at him as if he were nothing more than a pathetic joke.
Her absolute lack of physical reaction stung Damon worse than if she had slapped him.
His fingers twitched, and he subconsciously loosened his grip on her jaw.
Damon dragged in a harsh breath, fighting to push his rage down.
Clear your schedule tonight. We are having dinner.
He issued the command with the arrogance of a man who owned the world.
If you are throwing a tantrum over the building, I will transfer the deed to your name.
The casual way he offered to buy her compliance lit a fire of pure humiliation in Brook's chest.
She slapped his hand away from her face.
Your money does not work on me anymore. The game is over.
Her voice dripped with absolute disgust.
Damon's face turned a dangerous shade of pale.
He stepped closer, reaching out to grab her wrist.
Brook twisted her body, dodging his hand with quick precision.
She smoothed down the front of her jacket.
She opened her mouth and delivered a lie designed to cut him to the bone.
I do not have time to play your stupid corporate games tonight. I have a very important blind date.
Damon froze completely.
His body went rigid, as if a heavy hammer had just smashed into his ribs.
A date.
His voice came out hoarse and broken.
Brook smiled, a cold, ruthless expression.
He is an Ivy League doctor from a medical family. A million times better than a Wall Street bastard covered in the stench of money.
She watched his eyes widen slightly.
My mother set it up. She wants me to settle down into a proper marriage.
The word marriage snapped the last remaining thread of Damon's sanity.
He swung his arm back and slammed his fist directly into the hood of the BMW.
The sickening crunch of denting metal echoed loudly.
A few pedestrians walking by stopped and stared, but the terrifying aura radiating from Damon kept them frozen in place.
Damon's chest heaved violently.
He stared at Brook with eyes that looked ready to commit murder.
If you go to that dinner, I will destroy everything.
He ground the words out, syllable by syllable.
Brook did not flinch.
I am going. And I am going to wear my best dress.
She used the split second of his blind rage to grab the handle of her car door.
She yanked it open, slid into the driver's seat, and slammed it shut.
She hit the lock button immediately.
She started the engine and gave him one final, dead look through the glass.
Damon stood frozen on the pavement.
His hands were curled into fists so tight his knuckles were stark white.
He watched her ordinary BMW scrape past the bumper of his Maybach and speed down the street.
He turned and kicked the heavy metal fire hydrant on the corner.
The impact sent a jolt of pain up his leg, leaving a smudge of dirt on his custom trousers.
He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed M. Black.
Find every elite matchmaking dinner happening in Manhattan tonight. Find the reservation under Helen Moore.
His voice was colder than the winter air.
He hung up and got back into the Maybach.
The faint smell of Brook's shampoo still lingered in the cabin, making his chest ache.
He slammed his foot on the gas pedal.
The massive engine roared as the car shot forward toward Manhattan.
He was not going to let anyone else touch what belonged to him.