Married To The Ruthless Billionaire Husband

The heavy revolving doors of the Waldorf Astoria pushed the biting New York winter wind away. Adaline Bennett stepped into the heated lobby. The sudden change in temperature made her skin prickle.

She looked down at the expensive paper bag in her arms. Inside rested a custom-tailored shirt for Baker. Her fiancé. She adjusted her grip on the bag, trying to smooth out the wrinkles on her own cheap coat.

A lobby manager in a pristine suit cast a brief, calculating glance at her wind-tangled hair. It was the kind of look that weighed her net worth and found it lacking.

Adaline bit the inside of her cheek. She ignored the burn of his stare and walked straight past the front desk. She headed directly for the VIP elevator bank hidden behind a wall of frosted glass.

She reached into her coat pocket. Her fingers brushed against the cold plastic of the black keycard Baker had given her. She pulled it out and tapped it against the sensor panel.

A small green light flashed. The elevator button illuminated in a stark red, indicating a direct, non-stop route to the presidential suites on the eighth floor.

The doors slid open. She stepped inside. The elevator shot upward with a sudden, aggressive speed. The loss of gravity made her stomach cramp. Acid rose in her throat, mixing with the exhaustion that had been sitting in her bones for weeks.

The elevator chimed. The metal doors glided apart.

A dimly lit, silent hallway stretched out before her. The air up here smelled different. It smelled like money, quiet and suffocating.

She stepped onto the thick wool carpet. Her boots made no sound. She pulled out her phone, checking the text message Baker had sent her earlier. Room 802.

She walked down the corridor, her vision blurring from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion weighing her down. In the dim, suffocating light of the hallway, she misread the brass numbers and stood in front of the heavy mahogany door of 801. She reached for the handle, but her fingers froze.

The door was already cracked open.

A sliver of darkness spilled out into the hallway. From that narrow gap, the sharp scent of expensive cedarwood drifted out, heavily laced with the raw, burning smell of hard liquor.

"Baker?" Adaline called out softly. Her voice was a fragile thread in the heavy silence.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the entryway.

Behind her, the heavy hydraulic closer caught the door. It swung shut with a solid, terrifying click. The lock engaged.

The suite was pitch black. The heavy blackout curtains were drawn tight, sealing off the glowing New York skyline. It was a sensory void. She couldn't see her own hand in front of her face.

Adaline reached out, her hand sliding along the wall, searching for a light switch.

Instead of smooth wallpaper, her fingertips brushed against something scorching hot. It was bare skin. Hard muscle.

Before she could pull her hand back, a massive hand shot out of the darkness. It clamped hard over her mouth.

Her eyes went wide. A scream died against the man's palm.

A brutal, unstoppable force slammed her backward. Her spine hit the cold wall. The impact knocked the air from her lungs.

The paper bag slipped from her grasp. It hit the thick carpet with a soft thud. Baker's expensive shirt spilled out into the shadows, forgotten.

A towering male body pressed flush against hers. He radiated an unnatural, feverish heat. Heavy, ragged breaths ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck. The sheer, violent unfamiliarity of him hit her like a second impact. A muffled, terrified question tore from her throat, swallowed by his palm. "You're not Baker! Who are you?"

Adaline thrashed. She kicked out, trying to knee him, trying to push him away.

The man shifted his weight. He used one of his long, muscular legs to pin both of her knees to the wall. He immobilized her effortlessly.

A low, guttural groan ripped from his throat. It sounded like an animal pushed to the edge of madness. It was a sound fueled by something chemical, something violent.

She tried to scream again, but the sound was swallowed by his hand. His movements were rough, driven by a blind, consuming possession.

The sharp sound of fabric tearing echoed in the silent room.

Tears spilled over her eyelashes. They tracked down her cheeks, hot and desperate. The darkness offered no mercy.

Time lost its meaning. The physical pain blurred into a suffocating mental numbness.

Finally, the relentless assault stopped. The man's breathing hitched. His massive frame shuddered once before his weight shifted away from her. He collapsed heavily onto the mattress a few feet away, his breathing leveling out into unconsciousness.

Adaline slid down the wall. Her knees hit the floor. She curled into a tight ball on the carpet, her entire body shaking violently.

Her hands scrambled over the floor in a blind panic. Her fingers brushed against the cold glass of her phone.

She grabbed it. The screen lit up, blinding her in the absolute darkness.

Three emergency notifications glared at her. They were from Mount Sinai Hospital. Her mother's condition was critical.

The sight of the hospital's name sliced through her paralyzing terror like a shard of ice to the heart. A jolt of pure adrenaline hit her bloodstream.

She ignored the sharp pain radiating through her body. She grabbed her torn coat from the floor and pulled it over her shoulders with trembling hands.

She crawled toward the sliver of light under the door. She didn't look back at the bed. She didn't want to see the face of the monster in the shadows.

She grabbed the door handle, pulled it down, and stumbled out into the hallway.

She didn't notice that Baker's shirt remained on the floor, half-hidden under the edge of the bed.

Adaline ran. She ran down the hallway, took the elevator down, and burst through the lobby doors into the freezing night.

She threw her hand up, flagging down a yellow taxi. She practically fell into the backseat.

"Mount Sinai Hospital," she gasped out, her lungs burning. "Please. Hurry."