Save That Evil Billionaire And Her Stepson

Aileen's eyes snapped open.

Her lungs were burning. The air in the hallway was thick, but none of it was reaching her throat. Her vision swam with dark, fuzzy spots.

A large, calloused hand was wrapped around her neck, cutting off her airway completely.

She blinked through the lack of oxygen, trying to focus on the man standing over her. He was tall. His face was a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred. His gray-blue eyes stared down at her as if she were a cockroach he was trying to crush under his expensive leather shoe.

His fingers tightened.

Aileen's survival instincts kicked in. She thrashed wildly, her legs kicking out against the thick Persian rug. She brought her hands up, her long manicured nails digging frantically into the back of his hand.

She dragged her nails down his skin. Bright red, bleeding scratches bloomed across his knuckles.

The man didn't even flinch. He didn't let go. Instead, he shoved her backward.

Aileen's spine hit the solid walnut wainscoting of the hallway wall. The back of her head slammed against the wood with a sickening thud.

Her ears rang. Her stomach heaved. She was going to die right here.

"Go to hell!" a voice screamed.

It was a child's voice, thick with tears but vibrating with a rage that didn't belong to a kid.

Aileen forced her heavy eyes to shift toward the end of the hallway. A little boy, maybe six years old, was standing there. His small hands were shaking violently.

He was holding a sharp, silver box cutter.

He pointed the blade directly at her. "I want you to die!"

The man pinning Aileen to the wall froze. The hatred in his eyes flickered, replaced instantly by panic at the sound of the boy's voice.

He ripped his hand away from Aileen's throat.

Without his grip holding her up, Aileen's legs gave out. She collapsed onto the expensive rug like a broken doll.

She clutched her bruised throat. She coughed so hard her chest felt like it was caving in. She sucked in greedy, ragged breaths of the cool morning air.

The boy didn't lower the blade. He took a step closer, his small knuckles turning white around the plastic handle of the box cutter.

He was going to stab her.

Before the blade could even come close to her face, a cold, metallic voice exploded inside Aileen's brain.

System Oracle activated.

A block of blood-red text projected directly onto her retinas, blinding her to the hallway.

Mandatory Mission: Save the villainous father and son. Failure to accept will result in immediate termination.

Aileen's chest seized. A very real, physical cramp gripped her heart, squeezing it so hard she couldn't breathe. It wasn't a metaphor. Her heart was literally stopping.

Through the agonizing pain, she forced a single thought out in her mind. I accept.

The moment the mental contract was sealed, the pain vanished. In its place, a massive wave of foundational world-building information slammed into her brain.

Aileen grabbed her head, letting out a muffled groan as the data settled.

The man stood over her, looking down with a disgust so heavy it made the air feel thick. He didn't offer a hand. He didn't ask if she was okay.

He turned his back on her and walked over to the boy. He bent down, his movements suddenly gentle, and scooped the child into his arms.

He easily pried the box cutter from the boy's trembling fingers and tossed it aside.

The boy rested his chin on the man's broad shoulder. He looked right at Aileen. His eyes were dead, devoid of any childlike innocence. It was the look of someone staring at a corpse.

"If you ever touch my son again," the man said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through the quiet hallway. "I will make you wish you were dead."

He didn't wait for a response. He adjusted his grip on the boy, turned, and walked away. The heavy thud of his leather shoes against the floorboards faded down the corridor.

Aileen leaned against the walnut wall, her chest heaving. Her hands shook as she reached up to touch her neck. The skin was already swollen and hot to the touch.

She looked around the opulent, freezing hallway. The reality of the situation settled into her bones, chilling her blood. She had transmigrated into a dark, unfinished novel.

She pushed her palms flat against the wall and forced herself to stand. Her knees buckled for a second, but she caught herself.

She took three deep breaths of the New York air, forcing her racing heart to slow down.

She stared at the empty corner where the father and son had disappeared. The confusion in her eyes hardened into something sharp.

Aileen dragged her heavy, exhausted legs down the hall. She moved toward the heavy double doors that her new memories told her belonged to the master bedroom.

She wrapped her hand around the freezing brass doorknob. She pushed the heavy door open.