Stolen Fortune, Stolen Heart: The Caged Ward
I stood in the corner of the grand ballroom, trying to stay invisible despite the massive diamond on my finger. As the fiancée of the billionaire Arturo Watts, I was supposed to be the most envied woman in the room, but the suffocating scent of lilies felt more like a funeral than a gala.
A waiter’s elbow clipped my arm, sending my clutch crashing to the floor and spilling its contents for everyone to see. Among my lipstick and phone lay a heavy, glittering brooch—the Pink Star diamond—that had just been reported stolen from the neck of a billionaire socialite.
"Thief! Just like her father," the crowd hissed as cameras flashed like gunfire in my face. Tiffany Watts ground her heel into my bag, her eyes gleeful as she watched the "scammer's daughter" finally get caught. Just as security reached for my wrists, Arturo stepped out of the shadows, but he wasn't there to save me. He grabbed my face and kissed me with a brutal, bruising intensity, branding me in front of the news drones to turn my humiliation into a PR stunt for his company’s stock price.
I thought I was being protected, but I soon realized I was just a prisoner in a gilded cage with new locks on the windows. I discovered the truth Arturo was trying to shred: I wasn’t his fiancée, I was his "key code." He was using my name to access fifty million dollars of my father’s hidden money, and he had blocked my FBI application to ensure I’d never uncover the trail.
"I did it for you," he whispered, standing over me with the same cold, unreadable eyes he used on his business rivals. He thought he could buy my silence with designer gowns and a fake romance, but he forgot that I am my father’s daughter.
I’m done being a liability in his corporate games. I’ve found the secret account and recorded his confession. If Arturo Watts wants to treat me like a target, I’m going to make sure I’m the one who hits the mark and takes every cent he’s hiding.
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Chapter 3
The silence in the back of the Maybach was heavy, a physical weight pressing against Cinnamon's chest. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, watching the rain streak the city lights into abstract paintings of red and gold. Her breath fogged the glass, a small cloud appearing and disappearing with each exhalation.
Beside her, Arturo was a statue. He had opened a leather-bound folder and was reading under the dim reading light, but Cinnamon noticed he hadn't turned a page in ten minutes. His reflection in the window was ghostly, his jaw set so tight she wondered if his teeth would crack.
The adrenaline from the gala was fading, leaving behind a crushing exhaustion. Her eyelids felt like lead. She fought it, trying to stay alert, trying to plan her next move, but the rhythmic hum of the tires on the wet asphalt was hypnotic.
Her head dipped. She jerked it back up.
Arturo didn't move.
She blinked, her lashes heavy. The darkness of the car was warm. Her head dipped again, lower this time. Her neck muscles gave up. She slid sideways, her temple heading straight for the hard plastic of the door handle.
A hand shot out.
Arturo caught her head inches from impact. His palm was broad and warm, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that was shocking after the violence of the evening.
He didn't push her upright. He didn't wake her.
Slowly, carefully, he guided her head down until it rested on his shoulder.
Cinnamon let out a soft, unconscious sigh. She nuzzled into the expensive wool of his suit, her nose filling with that scent-cedar, scotch, and him. It was the smell of safety. In her sleep, her hand drifted up and clutched the lapel of his jacket.
Arturo froze. He looked down at her, his expression shattering. The mask of the cold executive fell away, revealing a raw, terrifying hunger. He stared at the curve of her eyelashes, the slight part of her lips.
He raised his other hand, hovering it over her hair. His fingers trembled slightly. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair and tell her that he was burning the world down just to keep her warm.
"Why do you have to fight me?" he whispered, the sound barely audible over the rain. "Why can't you just stay in the safe house I built for you?"
He lowered his hand, his fingers brushing through her dark curls, a touch as light as a ghost.
Buzz.
The vibration came from Cinnamon's clutch on the seat between them.
Arturo's hand stilled. His eyes hardened instantly. He reached into her bag and pulled out her phone.
The screen lit up with a message.
Mia: Bad news. The background check for the Academy came back flagged. 'High-level interference.' It's him, Cin. Your house wolf blocked it.
Arturo stared at the message. His jaw clenched. He unlocked her phone-he knew her passcode, of course; it was his birthday, a fact she claimed was just for convenience but one he secretly hoarded like gold.
He deleted the message. Then he deleted the call log to the private investigator she had contacted last week.
He placed the phone back in the bag.
Cinnamon stirred. She shifted, her eyes fluttering open. For a second, she was disoriented, surrounded by warmth and the steady beat of a heart beneath her ear. Then she realized where she was.
She sat up abruptly, scrambling back to her side of the car. "I... I fell asleep."
Arturo was already looking at his file again, his glasses back on, his face a mask of indifference. He smoothed the lapel she had wrinkled. "Clearly."
Cinnamon fixed her hair, her heart racing. "How long until we're back?"
"Ten minutes." He didn't look up. "Since you're awake, we should discuss your credit card statement. Five thousand dollars to a 'consultancy firm' in Queens?"
Cinnamon went cold. That was the retainer for the PI to look into her father's old partners. "I... I bought a vintage Hermès. It was a cash-only estate sale."
Arturo turned a page. "You hate Hermès. You say the orange looks tacky."
"I changed my mind."
He looked at her then, over the rim of his glasses. "Don't lie to me, Cinnamon. You're terrible at it. And don't spend money on things that can't help you. I see every transaction."
"Is there anything in my life you don't own?" she snapped.
"No."
The car turned through the massive iron gates of the Watts Estate. The gothic mansion loomed ahead, dark and imposing against the stormy sky. It wasn't a home; it was a fortress.
When the car stopped, Mrs. Higgins, the housekeeper, was waiting at the door under an umbrella. She looked flustered.
"Mr. Watts," she said as Arturo stepped out. "It's Miss Tiffany. She's in the library. She's... throwing things."
Arturo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go to your room, Cinnamon."
"But-"
"Go."
Cinnamon walked up the grand staircase, her heels clicking on the marble. But she didn't go to her room. She stopped at the landing, kicked off her shoes, and crept back down in her stocking feet.
The library door was ajar.
"...ruining everything!" Tiffany's voice was a screech. "She's a curse, Arturo! First the brooch, now the press is digging into the family trust again. You can't keep her here!"
"I will keep her wherever I choose," Arturo's voice was low, vibrating with a menace that made Cinnamon shiver. "And if you touch her again, Tiffany, I will cut off your trust fund so fast you'll be working at a diner in Jersey by Tuesday."
"You're protecting her like she's precious!" Tiffany sobbed. "You know what her father did! He stole from us! And now she's going to ruin the IPO! The investors won't back a company with a scandal-ridden mascot!"
Cinnamon pressed her hand over her mouth.
IPO.
Arturo was taking the company public.
"The IPO will proceed," Arturo said, his voice icy. "And my father's campaign will proceed. She is essential to both. You will learn to live with it." "And Cinnamon is not the liability. You are. Get out of my sight."
Cinnamon scrambled back up the stairs before Tiffany could storm out. Her heart was pounding in her throat.
An IPO meant Arturo needed clean books. He needed stability. He needed a perfect public image.
He wasn't keeping her just for control. He was keeping her because he was vulnerable. He was under pressure.
She closed her bedroom door and leaned against it, a slow smile spreading across her face.
He had blocked her FBI application because he was afraid. Not for her, but for himself. If she dug too deep, she might find the dirt that would sink his IPO.
She wasn't helpless anymore. She had leverage.
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8.6
Seven nights with the devil to pay a debt. One truth that will burn the world down.
Sienna Blackwood was never part of the deal until her step-brother gambled with her life to save his own.
Now, she is collateral in a brutal game of revenge. The collector is Dante Moretti, a billionaire with a fifteen-year grudge and a thirst for Blackwood blood.
He doesn't want her money; he demands seven nights of her total surrender.
But in the shadows of a Manhattan penthouse, hatred turns into a lethal obsession. When a syndicate ambush forces them to flee, the contract becomes a race for survival across the Atlantic.
Hunted for the three-year-old secret heir in their arms, Sienna and Dante must navigate a world of blood oaths and forced alliances.
In a game where every kiss is a tactical error, Sienna must decide: is her step-brother's rival the monster who shattered her life, or the only man who can save it?
8.9
Adela stood outside the private room, holding the obsidian necklace she had spent three months hand-crafting for her boyfriend.
But through the cracked door, she heard Juston laughing with his friends, calling her a stupid, obedient pawn and her art "garbage."
After she shattered the necklace and walked out into the freezing rain, Juston texted her a far more horrifying truth.
Her own family didn't just hate her-they had actively tried to kill her.
Two years ago, her brother Kayden intentionally slipped deadly shellfish into her food at a gala, sending her into anaphylactic shock.
Worse, her parents had covered up the attempted murder as a simple kitchen mistake, all to protect the family name and elevate her adopted sister, Kara.
Adela collapsed on the wet pavement, suffocating under the weight of the ultimate betrayal.
She had spent her entire life begging for their love, secretly working as the anonymous designer keeping their failing company afloat, only to realize she was nothing but a disposable tool.
She had absolutely no one, and nowhere to go.
Just as the storm threatened to swallow her whole, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb.
Harmon Holland, the ruthless Wall Street billionaire she was originally arranged to marry, stepped out into the rain.
He didn't offer her pity. Instead, he handed her a legal document.
"Marry me, Adela. For one year."
She took the pen. This time, she wouldn't be an obedient pawn; she would be their executioner.
9.7
I woke up with a vicious hangover in the bed of Kaelen Blackwood, the ruthless Alpha King of our city.
As a wolfless Omega, I panicked and told him I couldn't be his because I had a boyfriend, Julian.
But Kaelen just sneered, and hours later, I found out why. Julian had been cheating on me with the princess of the rival Thorne Pack, colluding with the very enemies who ruined my family.
When I tried to run, Kaelen cut off every escape route. He branded me with his suffocating scent, tracked my every move, and threw a Mate Contract on my lap.
He knew my deepest, darkest secret: I was hunting Alaric Thorne, the monster who murdered my mother.
"Sign it. It's your only ticket in."
Three years of my life with Julian had been a pathetic lie. I was betrayed by the man I loved and sold out to the pack that destroyed my mother.
My ex thought I was just a weak, discarded Omega he could trample on. He thought I was left with nothing.
He was dead wrong.
I took the billionaire Alpha's pen and signed the contract, demanding a shadow team and untraceable resources in return.
Tonight, at the elite charity gala, I stood draped in diamonds beside the most dangerous predator in Manhattan.
Seeing my cheating ex pale with absolute terror in the crowd, I looked up into Kaelen's stormy gray eyes.
"Kiss me."
I am no longer the prey. I am his Luna, and I am going to destroy them all.
8.9
Ava Kidd just wanted to escape her abusive stepmother when she got drunk at a high-end club and stumbled into the wrong hotel room.
She woke up the next morning in a luxury penthouse, lying naked next to a terrifyingly handsome man covered in her scratch marks.
Recalling rumors of the hotel's secret underground concierge, she immediately assumed she had accidentally slept with an elite male escort.
Desperate to settle the bill, she offered him her only debit card with a pathetic $1,800.
But the man, who was actually Garrison Terry, the ruthless billionaire CEO, was deeply insulted by the cheap plastic.
He trapped her against the bed, coldly demanding a half-million-dollar service fee.
When Ava frantically offered her dead mother's tarnished locket as collateral, he cruelly dismissed it as worthless junk.
Ava was humiliated, her heart pounding with absolute terror.
She didn't understand why this arrogant gigolo was acting like a deranged extortionist, demanding a fortune from a broke girl who had clearly made a mistake.
Furious and refusing to cower, she sneaked out, put on his oversized designer shirt, and aggressively ate his $800 truffle breakfast.
Having no money left, she grabbed her cheap red lipstick, wrote a defiant IOU on his expensive linen napkin, and fled the hotel.
She thought she had escaped a criminal, but upstairs, the billionaire traced her lipstick-stained name with a predatory smile.
"Ava Kidd, I will absolutely find you."
9.5
Bridget left the office early on her anniversary, her pocket heavy with a custom velvet ring box meant for her fiancé.
But when she pushed open the bedroom door, she found him tangled in their bed with her best friend, Chloe.
"Bridget! Wait, it's not what it looks like!" Jacob stammered, his eyes wide with panic.
"Evidence," Bridget stated coldly, snapping a photo of their naked bodies before fleeing into the freezing New York night.
Desperate to numb the betrayal, she got blackout drunk at an underground lounge and threw herself at a dark, terrifyingly handsome stranger.
She woke up in a penthouse suite alone, finding only a limitless black credit card left on the nightstand.
Humiliated and feeling like a cheap escort, she ran away, swearing to forget the nightmare.
But the nightmare had just begun. When she rushed into the office, she discovered the stranger was Jevon Rocha—the ruthless billionaire CEO of her company.
He didn't fire her. Instead, he trapped her in a twisted, obsessive power game, forcing her into his private life and demanding she report to his penthouse.
Bridget couldn't understand why a ruthless billionaire was so dangerously fixated on a low-level employee.
Until she stumbled upon his secret social media account and saw a crayon drawing of a little kid, captioned with a single word: "Finally."
A wave of absolute horror washed over her. He wasn't just playing games; he was hiding a secret child and a messy, high-stakes family drama.
She refused to be the naive collateral damage in a billionaire's twisted life.
Trembling, Bridget hit "Block" on his profile, determined to escape his dangerous web.
8.7
I was pregnant with the future heir of the Blackwood Pack, but my fated mate, Alpha Gavin, was nowhere to be found when sharp, tearing agony ripped through my swollen belly.
Instead of rushing to my side, he was in a luxury penthouse with his mistress, Piper.
When I desperately called his human number for help, it was Piper who answered the phone.
"I'm Piper. His future Luna."
Minutes later, I received a leaked audio file of Gavin promising to formally reject me the moment our pup was born.
Before the heartbreak could even set in, my armored SUV was violently rammed off the road by a massive truck.
It wasn't an accident. It was a targeted hit paid for by Piper's pack.
I woke up in the clinic with an empty womb. My pup was dead.
Gavin didn't even show up. He just mind-linked the butler to say he was "too busy" to deal with my loss.
He let his mistress murder our child and treated me like disposable trash, assuming my grief would make me a weak, compliant victim.
He thought he could just bury my trauma and move on with his perfect new life.
He was wrong.
I faked my own death in a fiery crash, leaving him with nothing but my signed rejection papers and the bloody receipt proving his mistress hired the killers.
Now, armed with a new identity and untraceable wealth, I am stepping out of the shadows.
I am going to bankrupt their packs from the inside out and make my former Alpha watch his empire burn.