Escaping My Vicious Billionaire Husband
Colette stepped out of the federal prison, finally breathing the air of freedom after two agonizing years.
But instead of a bus home, a black armored SUV blocked her path. Ferris Vance's men kidnapped her right at the gates. He forced her to sign a marriage certificate, threatening to completely destroy her father's legacy if she refused.
The nightmare had only just begun. She soon learned her father had been driven to suicide anyway. Dragged into the Vance estate, Colette was beaten bloody by the family of Ellie, the girl she supposedly wronged. Ferris paraded her in a pure white gown for the cameras, playing the fiercely devoted husband. But the second the lenses turned away, he forced her into a coarse maid's uniform, making her scrub the freezing marble floors on her hands and knees.
"Your life isn't even worth the dirt on my shoes."
Ferris whispered those words as he threw his muddy boots at her bruised face. She was nothing but a piece of bleeding bait, a prop meant to lure his missing lover out of hiding. She was tortured and humiliated for a crime she had absolutely nothing to do with. The sheer injustice of paying the price for another woman's disappearance tore her soul apart.
When he cornered her in the bathroom, the last thread of Colette's sanity snapped. She hurled a bucket of filthy water right into his face, broke out of his grip, and threw herself out a window into a freezing storm. This time, she chose to escape, even if it meant death.
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Chapter 1
The heavy metal doors of the federal prison groaned open.
The screeching sound of rusty hinges echoed in the damp morning air. Colette stepped out of the dark concrete tunnel. The sudden glare of the sun stabbed at her eyes. She hadn't seen unfiltered sunlight in two years.
Dwayne Boggs, the prison guard, shoved her hard between the shoulder blades.
"Move it," he grunted.
Colette stumbled forward. Her worn sneakers scraped against the rough concrete, and she barely caught her balance before her knees hit the ground.
She stood up straight and sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled like wet dirt and exhaust fumes, but it was the smell of freedom. The tight, permanent knot in her shoulders finally dropped a fraction of an inch.
She lifted her head, scanning the empty road for the bus stop.
Instead, a massive, black armored SUV sat idling by the curb. It looked like a military tank wrapped in glossy paint. It completely blocked her path.
The heavy passenger door swung open.
A man stepped out. He was built like a brick wall, his face devoid of any human emotion. Colette recognized him instantly. It was K. Bishop, the head of security for Ferris Vance.
Bishop marched toward her. His massive frame blocked out the sun, casting a cold shadow over her.
Colette's stomach dropped to her shoes. Her survival instincts screamed at her to run. She took a quick step back, trying to pivot and sprint past him.
Bishop didn't even flinch. He reached out with a thick hand encased in black leather.
His fingers clamped around her thin bicep like a steel vice.
"Let go of me!" Colette screamed, her voice cracking with terror. She thrashed against his grip and whipped her head around toward the prison gates. "Help! Dwayne, help me!"
Bishop reached into his tailored jacket and casually tossed a thick, unmarked white envelope onto the ground near the gate. Dwayne Boggs stood right inside the gates. He looked directly at her. Then, his eyes flicked down to the envelope. With a blank expression, he picked it up, turned his back, and hit the red button on the wall. The metal doors began to slide shut, sealing away her only hope.
Bishop yanked her forward. She was completely defenseless against his raw strength. He dragged her to the SUV, pulled open the rear door, and shoved her inside.
The door slammed shut behind her.
The bright morning light vanished, replaced by the dark tint of the armored windows. The air inside the cabin was suffocatingly cold, thick with the expensive, heavy scent of cedarwood cologne.
Colette pushed herself up from the leather floorboards. Her breath hitched in her throat.
Her eyes locked onto a pair of irises as cold and unforgiving as arctic ice.
Ferris Vance sat perfectly still in the shadows of the plush leather seat. His long, tailored legs were crossed. His long fingers lazily spun a silver lighter over his knuckles.
Colette's pupils dilated. A violent tremor ripped through her entire body.
Ferris let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound scraped against her eardrums. He looked at her like she was a stray dog bleeding on his expensive upholstery.
"Ferris, please," Colette choked out. Her hands shook so hard she had to press them against her thighs. "I didn't do it. I swear to God, I had nothing to do with what happened to Ellie. I'm innocent."
The amusement vanished from Ferris's face. Pure, unadulterated murder flashed in his eyes.
Click.
The silver lighter snapped shut in his palm. The sharp metallic sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet car.
He lunged forward. His massive chest pinned her back against the door, trapping her in the corner of the cabin.
He leaned in until his lips were an inch from her ear.
"If another lie comes out of your mouth," he whispered, his voice vibrating with rage, "I will make you beg to go back to that cell."
Fear wrapped icy fingers around Colette's throat. She clamped her mouth shut. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.
Ferris held her gaze for one more agonizing second before giving a sharp nod to the front seat.
The driver slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV tore away from the prison curb, throwing Colette hard against the door panel.
She stared out the tinted glass. The trees blurred past. This wasn't the highway toward the city.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.
Ferris leaned back into his seat and smoothed the lapel of his suit.
"City Hall," he stated.
Colette's blood ran cold. She knew exactly what that meant. Panic exploded in her chest. She grabbed the chrome door handle and yanked it with all her might, ready to throw herself onto the asphalt.
Click.
The child locks engaged. The sound severed her last lifeline.
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7.6
The heavy prison gates clanged shut, ending three years. I scanned the empty lot for Julian, my fiancé. Deserted.
Biting December wind my only welcome. Calls to Julian, father, mother: unanswered/disconnected.
Shivering, Julian's tracker showed an unfamiliar Long Island estate. A freezing cab left me penniless; I walked through the blizzard. Through a mansion window, I saw Julian, my stepsister Clara, a small boy—a perfect family. Julian, who hated children, doted on him, and Clara wore *my* engagement ring.
I overheard Julian's call: he, my father, conspired to frame me for Clara’s medical error, saving their company and future. My family hadn't just abandoned me; they plotted my destruction.
A delayed text from Julian popped up, lying about a "cross-border meeting," promising to pick me up tomorrow. Despair vanished, replaced by a cold, terrifying smile. Typing "Understood," I turned from their stolen life, walking into the blizzard, fueled by burning rage.
9.2
Jacqueline Blackburn, a desperate Ivy League tutor, walked into the sleazy Veridian VIP club just to save her job.
But her billionaire client, the ruthless Christian Montgomery, mistook her for a cheap escort, blowing cigar smoke in her face and treating her like trash.
When she furiously turned to leave, a drunk former client attacked her in the hallway, tearing her white dress open and pinning her by the throat.
She fought back, stabbing the man's hand with a pen, only for Christian to emerge from the shadows and brutally crush the attacker's bleeding hand under his heel.
Instead of letting her go, Christian draped his heavy suit jacket over her exposed skin, trapped her in his dark suite, and forced her to sign a suffocating contract.
"You have exactly ninety days, or I will personally ensure you cease to exist in my city."
She thought she could just keep her head down, teach his nephew, and survive.
But she didn't understand why this terrifying underground tyrant was suddenly so fixated on her.
Why did he use his immense power to isolate her, publicly claim her at a billionaire gala, and track her every move?
When she received a chilling midnight text demanding she pack her bags and move into his sprawling estate by 8:00 AM, the terrifying reality set in.
She hadn't escaped the wolf. She had just walked directly into his cage.
8.8
I discovered I was pregnant with twins from my marriage to Ell Steele, the ruthless CEO of the Steele Group. But he saw me as a gold-digging nobody, unworthy of his heir.
He stormed into our penthouse with his lawyer, slamming down abortion consent forms and a divorce NDA, offering five million to terminate and vanish. "You're not fit to carry my child," he spat, gripping my jaw.
I refused the abortion, signed the zero-payout divorce to keep my company insurance for my dying mom's ICU bills, but stayed on as an admin assistant. Brittany, his mistress, spilled coffee on my reports, got me demoted to the dusty sub-basement sorting old files.
She framed me for attacking her, security dragged me out, slamming me into doorframes that cramped my belly. Trapped in a sabotaged freight elevator, I nearly miscarried in the dark, gasping for air while Ell rescued me—only to find my prenatal pills and rage.
At the gala, I warned Brittany the Angel's Tears necklace—Georgina's flawed design—was cracking. She accused me of theft; Ell ordered me stripped and searched publicly. It snapped anyway, shattering the diamond, but he blamed me, firing and blacklisting me on the spot.
Beaten down, humiliated, body aching from their cruelty—how could my husband, who I once loved, destroy me without a shred of doubt? What made him so blind to my pain?
Dragged from our home in the rain, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom pulled up. The butler bowed: "Madame Aura, your suite awaits." As Ell watched from his Maybach, I initiated the hostile takeover—time to bankrupt them all.
7.2
Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt.
Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake.
After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust.
Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders.
Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her?
But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet.
"Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever."
He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.
9.5
I woke up gasping from a nightmare of flames devouring Chandler Finch's estate, my body wrapped in burning curtains as I died alone.
But my eyes opened to silk sheets in his penthouse master bedroom. He was alive beside me, his cedarwood scent real. This was my second chance—I'd been reborn.
His phone buzzed: Eugenia Stewart's "emergency." Her security detail reported her refusing meals, unstable. Chandler bolted without a glance, rushing to her side.
I signed the brutal cohabitation contract binding me to him, but Temperance had planted birth control pills in the trash—a trap to frame me. Chandler found them, exploded in jealous rage, crushing the pills to dust. "No child unless it's mine," he growled, possessive fire in his eyes.
Brett, Eugenia's lapdog, stormed in later, accusing me of manipulation. I fired back: Chandler demanded my womb for his heir. Brett paled, fled to tattle.
Then the storm hit—power outage, locked on the terrace in pouring rain, freezing as Eugenia faked an asthma attack on Chandler's line, stealing his focus again. I hung up, huddled with a stray puppy, nearly dying from hypothermia.
He'd never believed me before—Eugenia's lies always won, dooming me to isolation and fire. Why did her every whimper trump my screams? How could he be so blind?
This time, reborn weeks before the inferno, I wouldn't beg. I'd play his game, shatter Eugenia's web, and make Chandler mine—before the flames returned.
9.0
I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined.
Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors.
"The child is the priority."
He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire.
While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin.
In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered.
I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly.
My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed.
Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical.
I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction.
Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution?
But then, my eyes snapped open.
I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death.
From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time.
This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice.
I didn't cry or throw a fit.
Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.