The Billionaire's Captive: Debt Of Love
Ten years ago, a storm tore through Burke Manor and destroyed my life. I was just an eight-year-old orphan hiding in the shadows when a rotted balcony railing gave way, sending the heir to the Burke fortune plummeting to the pavement.
Before the ambulance even arrived, the lie was set in stone.
"She pushed him!" my rival screamed, and the world instantly branded me a murderer.
I was hauled away in a police cruiser, losing everything. A decade later, I was an eighteen-year-old mechanic in Queens, covered in grease and struggling to keep my Nana Rose alive.
But the past doesn't stay buried. Finn Burke returned in a black Maybach, looking like a predatory emperor. When Nana suffered a massive heart attack, the hospital demanded a deposit I couldn't pay, and Finn was there with a checkbook and a contract of "indebted servitude."
He bought my grandmother's life and, in exchange, he bought me. He dragged me back to the manor, locked a titanium GPS shackle around my wrist, and forced me to be his personal caretaker.
He wants me to manage his pain, to bathe him, and to look at his crippled legs every day as a reminder of the "sin" he says I committed. He calls me his property, a slave to a debt I can never repay.
But while massaging his legs, I felt something impossible—muscle tone and reactive tension that shouldn't exist after ten years of paralysis.
He thinks he’s broken me, but he’s forgotten one thing. I’m a mechanic; I know when someone is hiding what’s under the hood.
Finn Burke is lying about his legs, and I’m going to find out why, even if I have to burn this manor down to get the truth.
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Chapter 5
The alley behind the Vesper Club was dark, smelling of rain and garbage.
Harper backed away from Finn, her back hitting the damp brick wall.
"I'm not going anywhere with you," she spat. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the check he had given her. She ripped it into confetti and threw it at his feet. "I don't want your money."
Finn watched the pieces of paper flutter to the wet asphalt. He looked bored.
"You have spirit. I'll give you that," he said. "But you don't have leverage."
He pressed a button on his armrest.
Two black SUVs roared to life at the mouth of the alley, blocking the exit. Their headlights blinded Harper.
"What do you want?" She shielded her eyes.
"I want to discuss your grandmother's surgery."
Harper's blood ran cold. "What did you do?"
"I paid for it," Finn said simply. "Dr. Evans is scrubbing in right now. The deposit is paid. The VIP suite is booked."
Harper felt a wave of dizziness. "Why?"
"Because now you owe me."
Silas stepped forward out of the darkness, holding a thick document bound in blue leather. He handed it to Harper.
"What is this?"
"A personal services contract," Finn said. "An agreement of indebted servitude. Since you are... financially unstable, and given our shared history, I have taken the liberty of drafting the terms of your employment."
"You can't do that! I won't sign it!"
"You will." He paused, a cruel glint in his eyes. "Your juvenile record is sealed, isn't it? The one detailing the accusations of aggravated battery and reckless endangerment from that night. It would be a shame if a certain judge, a friend of the family, were to unseal it. No college, no decent job, just the girl who crippled the last Burke heir."
"I didn't push you!" Harper screamed. "Ciera did!"
"The law disagrees." Finn rolled closer. The wheels of his chair hissed on the wet pavement. "Here are the terms. You live at Burke Manor. You work for me. You do not leave without permission. You do not speak to anyone without permission. In exchange, Rose Solis gets the best cardiac care money can buy. If you refuse..."
He shrugged. "I pull the funding. The surgery stops. She dies."
It wasn't a choice. It was an execution.
Harper looked at the contract. The words swam before her eyes. Total obedience. Indefinite term.
Her phone buzzed. A video message. It was a live feed of Nana Rose being wheeled into an operating room. She looked peaceful.
Harper looked at Finn. He was a monster. A beautiful, broken monster.
"Give me the pen," she whispered.
She signed her name on the damp paper. The ink bled slightly. Harper Solis.
"Good girl." Finn reached out. His fingers brushed Harper's chin, tilting her face up. His touch was electric, shocking. "Welcome home, Harper."
He gestured to the guards. "Put her in the car."
They grabbed Harper's arms. She didn't fight. She felt numb. They shoved her into the back of the Maybach.
The door slammed shut. The lock clicked.
The scent of cedar and rain filled the car. Finn transferred himself from his wheelchair into the seat beside Harper with practiced ease.
The car began to move. Harper watched the city lights blur, realizing she had just sold her soul to the devil for a heart bypass.
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8.9
Debora went to prison to protect the man she loved, only to end up a paroled convict living under the roof of her abusive foster parents.
When they found her positive pregnancy test from a one-night stand, they threatened to kick her out and send her straight back to a cell.
Just as they were about to report her, the stranger from that dark hotel room suddenly appeared.
He paid her foster parents one million dollars to marry her and take her away.
Debora thought she was finally safe.
But the moment they were alone, he looked at her with pure, venomous hatred.
He didn't want a wife; he wanted a prisoner.
He believed Debora was the ruthless murderer who had destroyed his life in a car crash, and he planned to make her suffocate in her own despair.
He didn't know she was just a scapegoat.
To survive and protect her baby, Debora found a job at a bridal shop, only to run into the real culprit—the man who actually drove the car and framed her.
He was now happily engaged to a wealthy heiress.
They deliberately ruined a priceless wedding gown and blamed it on her.
"Kneel on this floor and apologize, or I'm calling the police to revoke your parole!"
Why did she have to rot in hell for his sins, while the man she married wanted to destroy her?
Just as her trembling knees were about to touch the cold marble floor, the heavy glass doors were violently shoved open.
Her billionaire husband strode in like a force of nature, his eyes locked onto the wealthy couple with a terrifying, destructive rage.
9.7
[{EXCERPT}]
"Are you trying to seduce me?"
Alana froze.
Roman's gaze dragged slowly over her body, dark and deliberate.
"The contract explicitly states that you are not allowed to seduce me," he said calmly. "You did read it... didn't you?"
Confusion flickered across her face.
Then his eyes dropped again.
"You do realize," he added, voice lowering, "that you're half naked right now?"
Alana's breath caught as she looked down at herself.
.......
After escaping the suffocating grip of her abusive family, Alana believes she's finally free. But freedom comes at a price.
Roman Ashford is everything she should avoid. A cunning billionaire. New York's most eligible bachelor. A man whose name alone unsettles the entire business world.
One unexpected encounter pulls her into his orbit, binding her to him in a dangerous arrangement as his fake girlfriend for thirty-one days.
But just as she begins to find her footing, her past comes back to choke her.
To secure the inheritance her late father left behind before her mother claims it, Alana has only one option.
She needs a husband, and fast.
With time running out, she makes a reckless decision and turns to the one man she should never trust.
Will Roman accept her proposal...
or will stepping into his world be her utter ruin?
8.8
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.
7.1
I sat in the emergency room corridor, pressing a soaked bandage against my heavily bleeding arm. I had texted my husband of three years, billionaire Efford Thornton, begging him to come.
He did come, but he walked right past me as if I were a piece of furniture. When the doctor finally brought the last bag of O-negative blood in the city to save my life, Efford's assistant intercepted it.
Efford coldly ordered the blood to be sent to the VIP wing for Aletha Chase.
"Mrs. Chase is pregnant with the Thornton heir," he declared flatly. "The priority is non-negotiable."
As I watched my life-saving blood being carried away, he handed me a divorce agreement and an NDA. If I dared to expose his affair, he would immediately cut off the funding for my grandmother's dementia care, leaving her to rot in a public ward. He then turned his back, leaving me to bleed out in the hallway.
For three years, I had given up my career and my identity to be his perfect, compliant wife. I couldn't understand how the man who once looked at me like I was his whole world could now literally watch me die just to protect his mistress.
But he forgot one thing. The submissive wife he married was just a ghost. I wiped the blood from my hands, dug out the leather half-mask I had hidden away years ago, and made a call.
It was time for the legendary runway model "Phoenix" to rise from the ashes and burn his empire to the ground.
9.2
Chelsi was down to her last fourteen dollars. After a humiliating job rejection for being "too low-class," the threat of eviction forced her to try live-streaming. Terrified of her exhausted, tear-stained face, she cranked the AR beauty filter to the max, morphing into a bizarre plastic alien.
She was immediately dragged into a forced streaming battle with Kamron, the platform's most arrogant top streamer. Seeing her distorted filter, Kamron sneered, unleashing fifty thousand fans to flood her chat with toxic insults.
Kamron set a ruthless penalty for her inevitable loss.
"You're going to take a bar of soap, scrub your face completely clean, and shove your bare face right into the camera."
Desperate to keep the fifty dollars she had just earned for rent, Chelsi begged for a different punishment, but Kamron coldly refused. With her heart pounding, she walked to the freezing bathroom, her hands shaking as she scrubbed her skin raw, bracing for the cyberbullying.
She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling utterly humiliated by the cruelty of the internet. Why did she have to be stripped of her dignity just to survive? She clicked off the filter, waiting for the tidal wave of disgust to destroy her.
But the insults never came. The high-definition camera revealed a breathtakingly delicate, flawless face that no algorithm could ever replicate. The chat went dead silent, Kamron was so stunned he dropped a ten-thousand-dollar virtual yacht, and a silent war between two mysterious billionaires was about to begin.
7.1
For six years, I played the pathetic, wolfless Omega to honor the dying wish of the late Alpha who protected me.
But on our sixth anniversary, my fated mate, Alpha Kian, was photographed looking tenderly at his mistress.
When he finally stormed into our penthouse, he didn't apologize. Instead, he threw a fifty-million-dollar check onto the bed.
"Take the money and accept my rejection obediently, or I'll show you what happens when you defy an Alpha."
To force my compliance, he terminated all trade agreements with my best friend's pack, pushing them to the brink of bankruptcy. He accused me of blackmailing his grandfather into our marriage, entirely blind to the fact that his beloved mistress was actually a banished, feral Rogue.
I had spent six years swallowing my pride, drinking toxic herbs to suppress my true White Wolf scent, and enduring his absolute disgust just to keep his pack safe.
Why did I bleed for a man who despised my very existence?
I looked at the blood money, and the suffocating sorrow in my chest was instantly replaced by white-hot fury.
I didn't take a single cent. Instead, I submitted the rejection papers myself, dropped my pathetic disguise, and walked out into the freezing rain.
A towering warrior with a black umbrella dropped to one knee before me in the mud.
It was time to stop hiding and return home as the billionaire heir of the legendary Silvermoon Pack.