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 4
The next morning, Cinnamon stood before her full-length mirror. Gone was the pastel sundress she usually wore to appease Arturo's preference for the "innocent ward" aesthetic. In its place was a sharp, charcoal pencil skirt and a white silk blouse, the top button undone just enough to be professional yet distracting. She pulled her hair back into a severe bun.
She looked like a weapon.
She dialed Mia. "I'm going in."
"Into the lion's den?" Mia's voice crackled with worry. "Cin, he blocked the background check. He knows."
"I know he knows. That's why I'm bringing lunch." Cinnamon picked up the paper bag from the kitchen counter. Inside was a panino with prosciutto, mozzarella, and truffle oil-Arturo's weakness from a specific deli in Little Italy. "I'm going to negotiate."
The Watts Capital tower in the Financial District was a monolith of glass and steel. Cinnamon walked through the lobby, her heels clicking with purpose. The receptionist started to stand up to block her, saw her face, and immediately sat back down, picking up the phone with trembling hands.
"Ms. Taylor. I... I didn't know you were coming."
"Surprise," Cinnamon said, breezing past security toward the private elevator.
When the doors opened on the penthouse floor, the noise hit her. The trading floor below was a chaotic sea of shouting and ringing phones, but up here, in the executive suite, it was quiet. Too quiet.
Carter was standing outside Arturo's office, looking like he had just seen a ghost.
"Cinnamon? You can't be here. He's in a meeting."
"I'll wait." She sat on the leather sofa, crossing her legs. She picked up a copy of The Economist, but her eyes were scanning the hallway.
Ten minutes later, the double doors of the conference room opened. Three men walked out. They weren't clients. They wore ill-fitting gray suits and carried thick, nondescript folders.
One of the folders had a logo stamped on the corner. SEC.
Cinnamon's breath hitched. Tiffany wasn't lying. The Securities and Exchange Commission was here. They were investigating him.
Arturo stepped out behind them. He looked exhausted. His tie was loosened, his sleeves rolled up, and there were dark circles under his eyes that no amount of money could hide.
He saw the agents to the elevator, his face a mask of polite cooperation. As the doors closed, the mask fell. He slumped slightly.
Then he saw her.
His eyes narrowed. He crossed the room in three long strides, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her into his office, slamming the door shut behind them.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, releasing her.
Cinnamon held up the paper bag. "I brought lunch. And I wanted to talk about my future."
Arturo stared at the bag, then at her. He rubbed his temples. "I don't have time for this, Cinnamon. I have federal agents crawling up my ass."
"I saw." She walked around his massive oak desk. "Bad time for the company?"
"It's a routine audit," he lied smoothly.
"It looked like a subpoena to me." She set the bag down. "Here. Eat. You look like you haven't slept in a week."
Arturo looked at the sandwich. He hesitated, then sat down heavily in his chair. "You shouldn't be here. If they see you..."
"If they see me, what? They'll think the loving fiancée is bringing lunch to her hardworking man?" Cinnamon moved behind his chair. She reached out and placed her hands on his shoulders. The muscles were rock hard, knotted with tension.
She began to knead them. Arturo flinched, then groaned low in his throat, his head dropping forward.
"You're tense," she whispered.
"I'm managing," he grunted.
"Are you?" She pressed her thumbs into the base of his neck. "Mia told me about the background check."
Arturo stiffened under her hands. He opened his eyes, grabbing her wrist and pulling her around so she was standing between his spread knees.
"I told you," he said, his voice low. "No FBI."
Cinnamon didn't pull away. She leaned back against the edge of his desk, crossing her ankles. She was trapped between his legs and the desk, but she felt like she was the one in control.
"Here's the deal, Arturo," she said, her voice steady. "You unblock my application. You make the call right now."
"And why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't," she leaned down, bringing her face level with his, "I'm going to apply for an internship at the New York Times. specifically on the financial crimes desk. And I have a lot of interesting stories to tell about growing up in the Watts household."
Arturo stared at her. For a moment, she thought he was going to explode. But then, a corner of his mouth twitched.
He stood up, towering over her. He placed his hands on the desk on either side of her hips, boxing her in.
"You're threatening me?" he murmured, his face inches from hers. She could smell the coffee on his breath.
"I'm negotiating," she corrected, her heart hammering against her ribs. "You need the IPO to go smoothly. You need me to be quiet and look pretty. I can do that. But I need Quantico."
Arturo looked at her lips, then up to her eyes. He saw the fire there. He realized, perhaps for the first time, that he couldn't just lock her in a tower anymore. She would burn the tower down.
"Fine," he said.
Cinnamon blinked. "Fine?"
"But I have conditions."
"Name them."
"One: You spend three nights a week at the Manor. No exceptions. I need to know you're safe."
"Two nights," she countered.
"Three. Take it or leave it."
She gritted her teeth. "Fine. Three."
"Two: You do not investigate the Watts family. You stay away from my business."
"Agreed." (She crossed her fingers mentally).
"And three..." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly rasp that sent shivers down her spine. "I am your emergency contact. Your only contact. If you get into trouble, you call me. Not Mia. Not the police. Me. You answer my calls on the first ring. 24/7."
Cinnamon swallowed hard. It was possessive. It was controlling. But it was the only way out.
"Deal."
Arturo didn't smile. He picked up the phone on his desk and hit a speed dial button.
"Carter," he said, his eyes never leaving Cinnamon's. "Get Senator Rawlings on the line. Tell him I'm calling in that favor regarding the Justice Department. There's a personnel file that needs a second look... yes, Taylor. Make it happen."
He hung up.
"Eat your sandwich," Cinnamon said, her voice breathless. She slid off the desk, ducking under his arm. "I have to go study."
She walked to the door, feeling his eyes burning a hole in her back. She had won.
Or at least, she thought she had.
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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.