Claimed By The Ruthless Billionaire Boss

The heavy silk of the haute couture wedding dress felt like a straightjacket. Cordelia stood in the center of the Plaza Hotel's VIP dressing room. She pulled a deep breath into her lungs, trying to ease the tight pressure in her chest. Tonight was her engagement party. It was supposed to be the night she secured her future. On the polished mahogany vanity, her backup work phone suddenly lit up. The harsh white glare cut through the dim, warm lighting of the room. Cordelia frowned. Only her private assistant, Rosa, had this number. She walked over and picked up the device. Her thumb swiped across the screen. It wasn't a text from Rosa. It was an anonymous, encrypted email. The subject line was empty. The only content was a cloud video link that required no password. A cold prickle of unease crawled up the back of her neck. She tapped the link. The screen buffered for a second before a high-definition security feed filled the display. The time stamp in the corner indicated the footage was from exactly one hour ago. The location was the penthouse suite of this very hotel. Cordelia's breath hitched. On the screen, her fiancé, Julian, was pushed against the edge of a king-sized bed. His hands were tangled in the blonde hair of the woman straddling him. The woman threw her head back and laughed. It was Isabelle. Cordelia's stepsister. "Julian, stop," Isabelle moaned in the video, her voice echoing through the phone's small speaker. "What if Cordelia comes up here?" "She won't," Julian panted, his mouth moving down Isabelle's neck. "She's busy playing the perfect bride. Besides, you said you took care of her staff." "I did." Isabelle smirked, looking down at him. "A hundred thousand dollars was all it took for Marlene to send Rosa away on a fake errand. We have the whole floor to ourselves." Cordelia's stomach violently dropped. A wave of pure, acidic nausea rushed up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, swallowing down the bile. Her heart kicked into a frantic, painful rhythm against her ribs. She stared at the screen. Her fingers gripped the edges of the phone so tightly that her knuckles turned a stark, bone-white. The metal casing dug into her palm, but she couldn't feel the pain. Four years of building a relationship. Four years of compromising her own architectural firm to support his family's business. All of it was a lie. The shock only lasted for ten seconds. Then, the cold set in. It started in her fingertips and spread through her veins like ice water, freezing the nausea and replacing it with a sharp, absolute fury. Cordelia didn't cry. She didn't scream. She tapped the screen, copied the video file, and opened her messaging app. She found the contact for the AV technician working the ballroom tonight-a college student she had personally sponsored two years ago. She pasted the file and typed a single sentence: Play this on the main screens when I give the signal. Lock the booth. She hit send. Cordelia dropped the phone into her designer clutch. She turned around, her posture rigid, and walked toward the heavy oak door. She grabbed the brass handle and pulled it open. Marlene, her trusted housekeeper of five years, was standing right outside. "Miss Cordelia!" Marlene jumped slightly, then quickly plastered a warm, practiced smile on her face. "You look absolutely breathtaking. Are you ready to go down?" Cordelia stared at her. Her eyes were dead, stripping the older woman down to nothing. "A hundred thousand dollars," Cordelia said. Her voice was flat, devoid of any human emotion. Marlene's fake smile froze. The color instantly drained from her face, leaving her looking like a corpse. "I... I don't know what you mean, Miss." "You took a hundred thousand dollars from Isabelle to leave me isolated tonight." Cordelia stepped closer. "You're fired, Marlene. Pack your things and leave my property by midnight. My lawyers will contact you in the morning regarding the breach of your NDA." "Miss, please, let me explain-" Cordelia didn't wait. She walked right past the trembling woman. Her high heels clicked against the marble floor of the hallway. Each step was a hammer striking a nail into the coffin of her past life. She reached the grand double doors of the main ballroom. The muffled sound of applause bled through the thick wood. Cordelia pushed the doors open. The blinding light of the crystal chandeliers hit her eyes. The ballroom was packed with hundreds of New York's elite. Up on the main stage, Julian was holding a microphone. He wore a custom tuxedo, looking every bit the perfect, devoted fiancé. "Cordelia is my rock," Julian said to the crowd, placing a hand over his heart. "I am the luckiest man alive to make her my wife." High above the crowd, in the shadowed VIP balcony on the second floor, a man sat in a leather armchair. Justice Duncan swirled the amber liquid in his crystal whiskey glass. His dark, predatory eyes locked onto Cordelia the second she entered the room. He slowly reached up and adjusted his platinum cufflink, his gaze never leaving her rigid frame. Down below, Julian spotted her. He smiled brightly and walked down the steps of the stage, extending his hand toward her. "There she is," Julian announced through the mic. "My beautiful bride." Cordelia kept walking. When Julian reached for her fingers, she smoothly shifted her weight and stepped around him. She didn't even look at him. She felt the confusion ripple through the crowd. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Isabelle standing near the front row, a smug, victorious smirk playing on her lips. Cordelia walked straight up the stairs and stopped in the dead center of the stage. She turned around to face the sea of guests. She reached out and snatched the microphone right out of Julian's hand as he hurried up behind her. "Cordelia, what are you doing?" Julian whispered, his smile straining. Cordelia ignored him. She raised her free hand in the air. She snapped her fingers. The massive LED screens behind the stage, which had been displaying their engagement photos, suddenly went black. A second later, the high-definition security footage flashed onto the screens. The top-tier surround sound system blasted Isabelle's moans into every corner of the silent ballroom. "Julian, stop... What if Cordelia comes up here?" The entire room collectively gasped. The sound sucked the air out of the massive space. Dead silence followed, broken only by the disgusting, wet sounds of the betrayal echoing from the speakers. Then, the room exploded into chaotic whispers and shouts. Julian's face turned the color of wet ash. He spun around, staring at the screen in pure horror. "Turn it off!" Julian screamed, waving his arms frantically at the AV booth in the back. "Cut the power! Now!" No one in the booth moved. The video kept playing. In the front row, Isabelle shrieked. She threw her hands over her face and tried to duck behind her mother, Eleanor, but the flashes of a dozen paparazzi cameras had already found her. Alistair, Cordelia's father, rushed toward the stage. His face was purple with rage. "Cordelia! Shut this down right now!" Alistair roared over the noise. "Think about the family's reputation! You are ruining everything!" Cordelia looked down at her father. A cold, humorless laugh escaped her lips. She opened her clutch. She pulled out a thick stack of legal documents. It was the prenuptial agreement. A contract worth hundreds of millions, tying her firm to Julian's sinking family business. Cordelia held the papers up to the microphone. She gripped the top of the stack and pulled her hands apart. The sharp, violent sound of thick paper tearing ripped through the speakers. She tore the contract in half. Then she put the pieces together and tore them again. Her knuckles were white. Her breathing was steady. She threw her hands up. The shredded pieces of the prenup fluttered down like dirty snow, landing on Julian's shoulders and hair. "The engagement is canceled," Cordelia spoke into the mic, her voice cutting through the chaos like a steel blade. "And as per the infidelity clause in the draft you just watched me destroy, my legal team will be seizing your family's remaining liquid assets by tomorrow morning." Julian fell to his knees, his hands grabbing at the torn pieces of paper on the floor. Cordelia reached for her left hand. She grabbed the massive diamond ring on her finger and yanked it off. She threw it hard. The heavy metal hit Julian squarely in the chest and bounced off, rolling away into the shadows. Cordelia dropped the microphone. It hit the stage with a loud, piercing feedback screech. She turned her back on the stage, the screaming crowd, and her ruined family. She walked toward the exit, her spine completely straight. The gossip reporters at the back of the room surged forward like a pack of starving wolves, blocking the main doors. Up in the VIP balcony, Justice Duncan set his whiskey glass down on the table. The glass made a sharp clink. He looked at the head of his security detail standing in the shadows behind him. "Clear the floor," Justice ordered. His voice was low, rough, and absolute. "Get her out of there."