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 9
The bass from "The Vault" vibrated in the pavement outside. It was one of those members-only clubs in Meatpacking where the bouncers judged your soul before checking your ID.
Cinnamon watched from across the street. She had climbed the garden wall, ruined her manicure, and taken a cash cab here. She felt raw, exposed, and furious.
She couldn't just walk in.
She called Mia on the burner phone. "It's time. Remember Mr. Dubois, the owner of The Vault? The one whose provenance I authenticated for that stolen Monet? Call him. Tell him I need to see the security feed in his back office. It's a matter of life and death."
Ten minutes later, Cinnamon was walking through a discreet side entrance, greeted by a nervous-looking manager who led her not to the main floor, but to a small, dark security office overlooking the chaos. On a bank of monitors, she saw the entire club laid out before her.
She spotted them in the VIP section. It was hard to miss. It was the only booth where people were keeping a respectful distance.
Arturo was sitting on the velvet banquette. He had discarded his tie. His top button was undone, exposing the hollow of his throat. He looked devastatingly handsome and completely bored.
Sasha Vane was draped over him like a silk scarf. She was wearing a dress that was more concept than fabric. She laughed at something, leaning in to whisper in his ear.
Arturo didn't pull away. He handed her a drink.
A flash went off. A "paparazzi" who had somehow gotten inside.
Arturo's hand moved to Sasha's waist. He pulled her closer. It looked intimate. It looked possessive.
Cinnamon felt like she had been stabbed. She zoomed in on the monitor, her hand shaking.
The photographer left.
Immediately, Arturo dropped his hand. He shifted away from Sasha, creating a distinct gap between them. His face went back to stone.
Cinnamon watched, her heart a cold lump in her chest. It was all an act.
She watched as Sasha accepted a thick manila envelope from Arturo. She slid it into her purse.
Money. He was paying her.
Sasha stood up and headed toward the restrooms.
Cinnamon turned to the manager. "I need to get into the ladies' room. Unseen." He nodded, pointing to a service corridor on the schematic.
The restroom was an oasis of white marble and bright lights. Sasha was at the mirror, reapplying lipstick. Cinnamon slipped in behind her, the soft click of the door barely making a sound.
"Easy money," Sasha muttered to her reflection. "Just smile and nod."
Cinnamon walked up behind her. "How much?"
Sasha jumped, spinning around. "Jesus! You scared me. Wait... I know you. You're... her."
"I'm Cinnamon Taylor."
Sasha's eyes widened. She looked Cinnamon up and down. "Oh. The ward. The one causing all the trouble."
"How much is he paying you to pretend?"
Sasha smirked, leaning back against the sink. "Honey, it's not just pretending. It's crisis management. And to answer your question: enough to buy a condo in Tribeca."
"Why?" Cinnamon asked, her voice breaking. "Why you?"
"Because the SEC is sniffing around his books," Sasha said, checking her nails. "And having a fiancée whose father was a con artist doesn't look good on an audit. He needs a clean, American distraction. That's me."
Cinnamon felt the blood drain from her face. "He's... he's doing it to protect the audit?"
"He's doing it to survive. You're a liability, sweetie. A walking red flag. He's trying to keep the feds from looking too closely at you."
Cinnamon stared at her. To keep them from looking at me?
The door swung open.
Arturo walked in. He filled the space instantly. He saw Cinnamon, and his face went dark with a terrifying mixture of shock and fury.
"Out," he barked at Sasha.
Sasha didn't argue. She grabbed her bag and bolted.
Arturo locked the door. He turned on Cinnamon, advancing on her until she was pressed against the marble counter.
"I lock you in a house with armed guards, and you break out to... what? Interrogate my paid distractions?" he shouted. "Do you have a death wish?"
"I wanted to see!" Cinnamon yelled back, shoving his chest. "I wanted to see you buying your new girlfriend!"
"She is a decoy!"
"Is she? Or am I the decoy?" Cinnamon's eyes were full of tears. "Tiffany told me about the money, Arturo. The hidden money. Is that why you kept me? Is that why you kissed me? Because I'm the password to some stolen fortune?" She subtly turned on the high-fidelity digital recorder in her pocket, a discreet device she'd kept from her auction house days, designed to capture quiet negotiations in noisy rooms.
Arturo went completely still. The anger vanished, replaced by a cold, deadly focus.
He grabbed her shoulders. "What did you say?"
"The account," she whispered. "Is it true?"
He covered her mouth with his hand. His eyes darted to the vents, to the mirrors.
"Never," he hissed, his voice a vibration against her skin. "Never say those words aloud. Do you understand me?"
Cinnamon stared at him over his hand.
He didn't deny it.
He was terrified. Not of losing her love. But of being caught.
He was just like her father.
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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.