Escaping The Grasp Of My Billionaire
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 6
Dawn clutched her heavy canvas tote bag tightly against her chest, using it as a physical shield as she practically sprinted out of the classroom.
The hallway of St. Jude's was a chaotic river of privileged teenagers. Students were rushing to their next periods, loudly discussing weekend plans in Aspen or complaining about their personal tutors. Dawn kept her head down, her chin tucked into the collar of her uniform blouse. She hugged the cold, tiled wall, trying to blend into the plaster, moving as quickly as her legs could carry her toward the library.
As she approached the intersection of the main corridor, where the long rows of metal lockers created a blind corner, she suddenly froze.
Her worn sneakers squeaked slightly against the linoleum floor as she abruptly halted her momentum.
Coming from the other side of the locker bay, completely hidden from her view, was a burst of loud, raucous male laughter. It was a sound she recognized instantly. It was the booming, obnoxious laugh of Freddie Dotson, Arlo's shadow and best friend.
Panic flared in Dawn's chest. If Freddie was there, Arlo was there.
Instinct took over. Dawn took a quick step backward, pressing her back flat against the cold metal of the last locker in the row. She held her breath, making herself as thin and invisible as possible. The metal lockers acted as a perfect visual barrier, but the acoustics of the hallway amplified every word spoken on the other side.
She stood there, trapped, forced to listen to the conversation happening just a few feet away.
"So, Arlo," Jonie Good, another guy from their wealthy clique, asked. His voice dripped with the kind of sleazy curiosity teenage boys used when discussing girls. "I've noticed you looking toward the front of the class a lot lately in Calc. Are you finally noticing the quiet little charity case? What's her name? Dawn?"
Jonie chuckled, a nasty sound. "I mean, she's always sitting by the window, doing those extra credit problems like her life depends on it. Kinda weird, but I guess she has a certain... tragic appeal."
Dawn's heart leaped into her throat. It felt like a physical object blocking her airway. Her eyes widened in terror. She hugged her books tighter, her fingernails digging so hard into the hardback cover of her calculus book that they threatened to snap.
The air in the hallway seemed to turn to lead. The silence that followed Jonie's question stretched out for what felt like an eternity. The only sound Dawn could hear was the low, mechanical hum of the air conditioning vent above her head.
Then, Arlo spoke.
It started with a laugh. A low, dismissive, incredibly arrogant chuckle that vibrated through the metal lockers and went straight into Dawn's bones.
"Are you out of your mind, Jonie?" Arlo's voice was lazy, dripping with absolute incredulity. It was the tone of a king being asked if he wanted to dine with a peasant.
"You guys seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like that?" Arlo continued, his words casual and utterly devastating.
He paused for a second. Dawn could almost picture him leaning against the lockers, running a hand through his expensive haircut, searching for the perfect insult to entertain his friends.
"She's like an underdeveloped little sister," Arlo finally added, his voice laced with pure mockery. "Completely, utterly uninteresting."
The words hit Dawn with the kinetic force of a freight train.
Underdeveloped little sister. Boring little nerd. Uninteresting.
It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer and smashed it directly into her chest, shattering her ribs and crushing her heart into a million irreparable pieces.
All the blood drained from Dawn's face in a single heartbeat. Her skin turned the color of old ash. A sharp, agonizing pain flared in her chest, so intense that she physically gasped, her mouth opening silently as she struggled to pull air into her paralyzed lungs.
A violent, high-pitched ringing erupted in her ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the hallway. A wave of sickening dizziness washed over her. She pressed her hands flat against the cold metal of the locker behind her, her fingernails scraping desperately against the steel as she fought the sudden urge to collapse. The physical vertigo was nothing compared to the absolute devastation tearing through her soul.
Tears, hot and humiliating, instantly flooded her eyes, blurring her vision. But she refused to let them fall. She tilted her head back, staring at the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, forcing the tears back down.
On the other side of the lockers, the boys erupted into a chorus of loud, mocking laughter. They quickly moved on to discussing the physical attributes of a senior cheerleader.
Dawn couldn't listen to another second of it. She couldn't breathe the same air as him.
She spun around. Her movements were clumsy and frantic. She practically ran down the opposite hallway, fleeing the scene like a criminal. As she reached the stairwell, her blurred vision caused her to misjudge the distance. Her foot caught the edge of the step. She stumbled violently, her books slipping from her grasp and crashing onto the concrete stairs.
She didn't stop to pick them up. She caught her balance against the handrail and kept running, pushing through the heavy wooden door of the girls' restroom.
The restroom was empty. Dawn rushed to the nearest sink. She gripped the porcelain edges with white-knuckled hands, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked pathetic. Her uniform was slightly rumpled, her eyes were red-rimmed, and a tiny drop of blood smeared her lower lip. She looked exactly like what he said she was: a boring, tragic little charity case.
She violently twisted the cold water faucet. The water gushed out. She cupped her hands, catching the freezing water, and splashed it harshly against her face. The shock of the cold was a brutal wake-up call.
She scrubbed her face until her skin was red and raw. She stared into her own wet, bloodshot eyes in the mirror.
Never again, she vowed silently, her internal voice trembling with a newly forged, desperate rage. I will completely, utterly kill this pathetic feeling. I will never let him see me bleed.
You may also like
7.1
For six years, I was the perfect, obedient wife to billionaire Hartwell Ware, enduring his coldness because I thought my love could eventually thaw his heart.
Then, my friend sent me a photo. Hartwell was at the airport, tenderly holding the waist of his first love, Eveline Craig.
He came home smelling of her synthetic rose perfume, accused me of stalking him, and coldly demanded a divorce.
His lawyer handed me a thick settlement agreement. It offered astronomical alimony and luxury properties, but it came with a humiliating ten-page non-disclosure agreement.
He wanted to buy my silence. He wanted to strip me of my rights to our son and gag me permanently, just so he could parade his new life with Eveline without any PR backlash.
Even now, he still thought I was a gold digger who had orchestrated a media scandal to trap him into marriage.
I stared at the man I had worshipped for two thousand days. My six years of desperate devotion had been nothing but a humiliating, one-sided delusion.
Hope was finally dead, and with it, my tears had completely dried up.
He expected me to cry, to beg, to negotiate for more millions.
Instead, I snatched the pen, crossed out the massive alimony, and signed my name on the dotted line.
"I am taking the basic child support, and not a single red cent more."
Leaving my five-carat diamond ring on the marble table, I walked out the door with nothing but my old suitcase.
9.6
I was only three and a half years old, living in a damp basement and beaten daily by Enoch Pruitt with a heavy leather whip.
"Get up, you useless waste of space!"
He always told me I was a stray he had picked out of the garbage.
But during one brutal beating that nearly stopped my heart, time froze, and a glowing figure called The Chronicler appeared.
"You are not an abandoned orphan, Clare. You carry the blood of the highest gods."
He revealed that I was the stolen daughter of the ultra-wealthy Barrett family.
Then, he showed me the horrific ending of my previous life.
I had died right here on this bloody dirt floor.
My real parents and three brothers went completely insane with grief, turning into ruthless monsters who destroyed themselves and the entire world to avenge me.
Meanwhile, the Pruitt family kept torturing me, locking me in a woodshed and feeding me moldy bread.
The memory of my bones breaking and my real mother's agonizing screams crushed my chest.
Why did I have to suffer like an animal while my true family tore the world apart looking for me?
This time, I refused to die in the mud.
I accepted my divine blood, my eyes glowing gold as I summoned a bolt of purple lightning to strike my abuser.
I just needed to survive the night.
Because my real father's heavily armed convoy was already tearing up the mountain, ready to burn this hell to the ground.
8.4
After being kidnapped for years and finally rescued, five-year-old Izzy thought she was going home to her wealthy biological family.
But when the social worker brought her to the freezing bus station, her biological father, Conrad, didn't even get out of his Mercedes. He took one look at her tangled hair and worn-out shoes, his lip curling in disgust.
"I have a real family now. I'm not disrupting my life for this."
He drove away, leaving her choking on his exhaust fumes. When her rough, grease-stained uncle Bryan forcefully brought her to the family mansion, things only got worse. Her biological mother refused to touch her, complaining that she smelled like a dumpster. Her half-sister Katelynn pushed her to the ground, making her bleed, and framed her for stealing. Instead of helping, Conrad roared at Izzy, calling her a wild animal and threatening to throw her back onto the streets.
Izzy stood there shivering in her oversized rags, watching them stand together in a perfect, unbroken circle. She didn't understand why her own blood looked at her like she was a monster, or why they were so eager to throw a traumatized child back into the dark.
But what her wealthy family didn't know was that Izzy had a secret: she could hear plants talking. And the greenhouse orchids were screaming at their cruelty. So, she climbed onto their expensive coffee table, pointed at her mechanic uncle, and made her choice.
"I don't want Conrad to be my daddy. I want Uncle Bryan."
She walked out of that loveless mansion forever, ready to follow the whispers of an old apple tree in her new backyard—a tree that was about to guide her to a buried fortune of gold.
8.8
I've always been the unwanted child-the invisible one. The rebel no one ever tried to understand.
And yet, I never resented my perfect, beloved sister. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy.
But one cruel twist of fate-and a devastating betrayal by someone I trusted-changed everything.
I woke up in a stranger's bed, losing the one thing I had guarded so carefully. Back then, I thought that was my greatest loss.
I was wrong.
Because not long after, my sister introduced me to her fiancé.
And the man standing in front of me... was the same stranger from that night.
Now he haunts me-day and night, in my dreams and in my waking hours. And just when I start to believe the nightmare might finally fade with the dawn, Alan walks back into my life.
This time, he has no intention of letting me forget.
Not the insult I dealt him.
...or that one unforgettable night.
9.3
I was the rightful heir to the Valenzuela estate, but my aunt and cousin treated me worse than a stray dog.
On a freezing rainy night, they forged documents to strip me of my trust fund and violently ordered their bodyguards to throw me out.
My cousin snatched the rosewood urn containing my mother's ashes. She smashed it onto the marble floor and maliciously ground the white powder under her stiletto heel.
When Aidan, the elderly butler who had protected me since I was a baby, tried to shield me from their assassins in the storm, he was stabbed in the back.
His hot blood poured over my hands as he died in the muddy puddle, while my aunt's men laughed and raised their blades to finish me off.
They thought I was just a nameless orphan they could easily erase.
The next day, they went to the press, branding me a degenerate thief who ran away, happily preparing to parade around at my grandfather's charity gala using my stolen wealth.
But they didn't know I was rescued from the rain by the most ruthless billionaire in New York, a man willing to burn the city down to protect me.
Staring at my pale reflection in the penthouse mirror, I took a pair of heavy silver scissors and chopped off my long hair.
"From today on, the weak girl is dead. I am Evelena Valenzuela, and I am going to make them bleed for every single thing they took."
8.9
I was married to billionaire Alessandro Dorsey for four years. The only person in his cold, elite family who truly cared for me was his grandfather.
But when his grandfather suddenly passed away, my husband dragged me to the freshly dug grave and threw a newspaper in my face. The headline blamed me for his death.
Before I could process the grief, Alessandro forced me to my knees in front of dozens of flashing cameras.
"Admit your negligence, or you will never see the sun rise in this city again."
He threatened to destroy my own family if I didn't publicly apologize for a crime I didn't commit. Back at the estate, his mother falsely accused me of stealing a priceless family heirloom. I begged my husband to believe me, but he just looked at me with disgust, froze all my personal bank accounts, and handed me a divorce agreement. Sign it, forfeit everything, and erase my identity, or go to prison.
I was stripped of my dignity, my money, and the man I loved. I fled New York with nothing, only to discover I was pregnant with his triplets. For years, the injustice burned in my chest. How could the man who once meant safety throw me to the wolves without a second thought?
Five years later, I stepped back into the city with my three children. This time, I wasn't the broken woman he discarded, but a powerful gemologist ready to tear down his empire.