I Am Not Your Pawn Anymore

Barrett handed me a Montblanc pen and a legal document, his voice as cold as the rain lashing against his Tribeca penthouse. He told me to sign an admission of guilt for an SEC violation I never committed. "Eighteen months in prison, Anaya," he said, adjusting his cufflinks without looking at me. "The trust fund is set up. You'll get twenty million dollars the moment you step out." I was being sold. The man I had loved for ten years, the man whose secrets I had kept, was trading my freedom to save his merger with Adele Townsend. He had scrubbed the digital logs of Adele’s illegal trades and pinned everything on me. When I refused, he didn't see my heartbreak; he only saw a malfunction in a business transaction. "Do not speak her name," he hissed when I mentioned Adele’s fraud. "This merger is bigger than you." He forced the pen into my hand, calling me dramatic while his security guards dragged me to a locked bedroom to "cool down." I spent three days parched and starving, listening to the muffled sound of champagne corks popping down the hall. They were celebrating my destruction. My heart finally gave out in that luxury cage, the darkness swallowing me as I realized I was nothing more than a disposable asset to him. I died in that room, alone and betrayed by the person I trusted most. How could he do this? How could a decade of loyalty be worth less than a stock price? Why did I let him treat me like a sacrificial lamb for so long? GASP. I shot up in bed, my lungs burning, but I wasn't in the penthouse. I was in my old, peeling Brooklyn apartment, and the date on my phone was May 12th—three years ago. My phone buzzed with a text from Barrett: "Where are you? Bring the Townsend files. Now." A cold, cruel smile touched my lips as I typed the reply that would start his nightmare. "I quit."

Chapters

Chapter 7

The VIP room at Mount Sinai was quiet, but Barrett couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her.

Not the Anaya who pushed Adele. But a different Anaya. Thinner. Her hair lackluster. Wearing an orange jumpsuit.

The Dream:

She was standing behind bars. She turned to look at him. Her eyes were empty sockets.

"You promised," she whispered. "You said twenty million dollars."

Then, she coughed. Blood splattered onto his hands. Warm, sticky blood.

Barrett jerked awake, gasping.

The heart monitor beeped rapidly. Beep-beep-beep.

Dr. Evans rushed in. "Mr. Meyers? Are you in pain?"

Barrett looked at his hands. They were clean. But he could feel the phantom warmth of the blood.

"Doctor," Barrett said, his voice shaking. "Is it possible for a concussion to cause... incredibly vivid nightmares? Nightmares that feel like memories?"

Dr. Evans checked his pupils. "You have a mild concussion, Barrett. And you're under immense stress. The brain plays tricks."

The door opened. Adele walked in. She was carrying an Hermès bag and a thermos.

"Barrett, darling," she said, her voice grating on his nerves like sandpaper. "The board is panicking. The stock dropped two points because of the accident. We need to post a selfie. Show them you're strong."

Barrett looked at her. Really looked at her.

In his nightmare, just before Anaya died, he had heard Adele laughing in the background.

"Is that all you care about?" Barrett asked. " The stock price?"

Adele blinked. "It's our future, Barrett. Don't be naive."

"Get out," he said.

"Excuse me?"

"I said get out! Leave me alone!"

Adele huffed, grabbed her bag, and stormed out.

Barrett ripped the IV tape off his hand. He ignored the sting. He grabbed his phone.

He dialed Anaya.

Call failed. Blocked.

He threw the phone across the room. It cracked against the wall.

"Marcus!" he yelled.

His assistant ran in.

"Get me a burner phone. Now. And find out where she is."

Ten minutes later, Marcus handed him a cheap prepaid phone. "She's in New Jersey, sir. At her grandmother's house. But... there was a search history on her work laptop before she wiped it. 'Investment Visas for Portugal'."

"She's leaving the country?" Barrett felt a spike of pure terror.

He dialed her number on the burner phone. His fingers trembled.

Ring... Ring...

"Hello?"

Her voice was cool, calm. Like water.

Barrett let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Anaya."

Silence on the other end.

"Why did you block me?" he asked. It was the wrong thing to say. He knew it instantly. He sounded possessive, controlling. But he couldn't help it.

"Mr. Meyers," she said.

The formality was a slap in the face.

Continue to next part

Betrayal strikes a young woman's heart when she discovers her boyfriend in bed with her closest friend. Devastated by this double deception, she finds her world collapsing until a powerful billionaire unexpectedly enters her life. As she navigates the wreckage of her past relationships, she must decide if she can trust again. This modern romance explores the journey from heartbreak to new beginnings within high-society circles.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.2

Bound By Contract: The Surgeon's Secret Wife

7.2

I am a resident surgeon, secretly married to Dr. Barrett Walters, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery. It was a transactional marriage; he paid my mother's mounting medical bills, and I was his secret, obedient wife in the dark. But at the hospital, he was a cold-blooded tyrant who deliberately made my life a living hell. During a major medical conference, he viciously tore apart my successful surgical repair, looking me dead in the eye as he called me incompetent in front of all my colleagues. The humiliation didn't stop there. With his tacit approval, the senior residents bullied me, assigning me every brutal night shift. When his beautiful, wealthy heiress "girlfriend" visited the ward, he publicly mocked my background to make her smile. "Some people get in through the back door. They're not fit for the front lines." Even when I was forced to work as a secret banquet waitress to cover the medical copays he ignored, he found me, ruined the job out of pure possessive jealousy, and then fined my meager resident salary the very next morning just to show his absolute control. I endured his punishing kisses and cruel rebukes, sacrificing my dignity just to keep my mother alive. But I couldn't understand why he had to destroy every shred of my peace. If he wanted the perfect heiress, why did he refuse to let me go? Staring at his cold, controlling eyes in the stairwell, my exhaustion finally overpowered my fear. I was done being his victim, and it was time to tear up this contract.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.7

Heiress Reawakening

9.7

After a devastating betrayal by her fiance and a cruel half-sister, heiress Elena is left for dead. Miraculously surviving, she returns with a hidden identity and a cold heart, determined to reclaim her stolen legacy and dismantle those who ruined her. As she navigates the elite world of power and wealth, she crosses paths with a mysterious billionaire who becomes an unexpected ally. Elena must balance her burning thirst for revenge with a chance at true love.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.0

Oops! The CEO's Ex is a Secret Genius

7.0

Once the unwanted foster daughter of the Sawyer family, Briella endured chains, cruelty, and a betrayal that nearly cost her life. Everyone thinks she's long gone. But five years later, she returns as Skye-an elite designer, a mother of twins, and the silent force behind a storm that's about to break. She's not here to forgive. She's here to expose lies, ruin reputations, and make every last one of them pay.

Billionaire Modern Mystery

8.7

Reborn Heiress: Dragging Traitors To Hell

8.7

The world was a symphony of agony, played on the strings of my own body. I was tied to a chair in a damp basement, the metallic tang of blood filling my mouth as my fingernails were ripped from their beds by a pair of rusty pliers. My best friend, Corrine, stepped into the flickering light wearing my favorite Chanel suit and the engagement ring that was supposed to be mine. Beside her, my fiancé Aldo held the pliers, his voice smooth and cultured as he demanded I sign over my entire inheritance to them. As I struggled, a news report flashed on an old TV in the corner: Hunter Gallagher, the man I had treated like dirt but who had always tried to protect me, was dead in a horrific car explosion. Corrine laughed, whispering in my ear that they had lured him to his death using a fake kidnapping tip. He died trying to save me from a trap set by the people I trusted most. They didn't just want my money; they wanted to erase me. They plunged a needle full of heroin into my neck, watching with cold, mocking eyes as my heart hammered against my ribs and finally seized into nothingness. I died in that basement, a blind, spoiled girl who had let her true protector be murdered. As the darkness closed in, my soul burned with a single, silent vow: If I ever get another life, I will drag you both to hell with me. Suddenly, I gasped for air, my lungs fighting against a weight that wasn't there. I wasn't in the basement; I was in my own bed, my fingernails intact and my skin unbroken. I checked my phone, and my heart stopped—it was May 20th, exactly one year before my death. Hunter was still alive, and this time, I wasn't the prey.

Action Billionaire Fantasy

8.3

STUCK WITH MR. BILLIONAIRE FOR CHRISTMAS

8.3

I despised Dante Moretti long before he slid that ring onto my finger. Arrogant. Controlling. The kind of boss who could ruin my day with a single clipped order. I hated the way he spoke to me. I hated the way he watched me more. But walking into my hometown with his ring and watching my ex-husband's face drain of color felt wickedly perfect. The elders wanted to see real love before selling their land. So Dante and I lied. We played the sweet couple. Except Dante didn't touch me like a man pretending. At the Christmas market, his hand slid down my spine and stopped right where it shouldn't. At dinner, he whispered against my ear, "If he's watching, spread your legs a little. Let him see who owns you now." I should have slapped him. Instead, my body answered him before I could breathe. He kissed my temple too slow and held my waist too tight. When the lights dimmed, he murmured, "Open for me." "Keep your eyes on me." "I want you shaking for me, not for him." Somewhere between hating him and wanting him to wreck me, everything blurred. Because the man who barked orders in boardrooms had me whispering his name in the dark, Christmas lights flickering over his bare shoulders while he swallowed every sound I made. My ex wanted me broken. Dante wanted me ruined, but only beneath him. And the worst part was how easily I let him. Santa didn't bring me a miracle. He gave me a sin in a three piece suit and I tore the wrapping off with trembling hands.

Billionaire Modern Romance

I Am Not Your Pawn Anymore

Chapter 7

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