The Blind Heiress: Trapped By The Billionaire

The rusted fire door groaned on its hinges, and then the sky broke open. Cold rain slammed into Eliza, instantly soaking through the thin knit of her sweater. The chill bit into her bones, but she didn't stop. She pushed out into the dead-end alley, her feet sloshing through the grimy puddles of the Brooklyn underbelly.

Her white cane swept frantically across the waterlogged cement, the sharp tapping sound swallowed instantly by the downpour. The noise that should have guided her just echoed back, useless and hollow. A high-pitched screech of tires cut through the rain. Rubber skidding on wet asphalt. Headlights flooded the alley's mouth, blocking her only escape.

Eliza froze. The blinding glare of headlights flooded the narrow space, turning the rain into silver needles. She felt the sudden heat on her face, the instinctive flinch of her body recognizing a trap. She stumbled backward, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Heavy footsteps splashed through the puddles. Leather soles striking the concrete with a cold, measured rhythm. Step. Step. Step. The sheer oppressive weight of the approaching presence made her lungs seize. She couldn't breathe.

She turned to run the other way, but her heel caught on a discarded, water-logged tire. The world tilted. Her knees hit the rough concrete hard, the sharp, tearing pain ripping a gasp from her throat.

The white cane slipped from her wet fingers. It clattered against the ground, rolling away until it tapped gently against a pair of custom-made Italian leather shoes.

A large hand, encased in a black leather glove, shot out. It closed around her upper arm like a vice, digging into the muscle. Without a word, he yanked her up from the muddy water, his strength brutal and effortless.

The smell hit her next-a mixture of cold rain, expensive cedarwood, and something darker. Something violent. Her body started to shake, a tremor that started in her core and radiated out to her fingertips.

"Where exactly were you running to with my seed inside you?"

Clifford Gray's voice was a low, lethal sound above her head. It was a death sentence delivered in the dark.

Eliza shook her head frantically, the wet strands of her hair whipping across her face. "No... I wasn't... I'm not..."

His other hand clamped onto her jaw. The pressure was immense, grinding the bones of her lower face together until she thought they would shatter. He forced her head up, his gaze raking over her face. Even though he knew she was blind, even though her eyes couldn't meet his, he looked at her with a predatory aggression that felt like a physical violation.

Raindrops clung to her eyelashes. Her unfocused pupils dilated with sheer, helpless terror.

Clifford let out a short, harsh laugh. "A bottom-rung cripple actually thinks she can use a bastard to extort the Gray family. Pathetic."

Eliza gasped for air, her throat raw. "I just wanted to get rid of it," she rasped, the words tumbling out in her desperation. "I was going to the clinic. I swear. I wasn't going to ask you for anything."

The grip on her jaw tightened for a fraction of a second, the air around them turning frigid. The idea that she would dare to destroy his bloodline sent a wave of pure, black rage through him.

He let go.

Eliza's legs buckled, and she stumbled backward, her shoulder blades hitting the damp brick wall. The rough brick scraped through her wet sweater, but the pain was nothing compared to the ice in his voice.

Behind Clifford, a massive black umbrella bloomed open. Marcus, the bodyguard, held it over his boss's head, leaving Eliza completely exposed to the pouring rain. The water ran down her face like cold tears.

"Put this lying bitch in the car," Clifford ordered, his tone completely devoid of emotion.

Two burly men stepped out of the shadows. They grabbed Eliza's arms, one on each side, their thick fingers digging into her biceps.

Eliza thrashed wildly. Her high heels kicked uselessly at the muddy water, splashing dirty rain all over the expensive suits of the bodyguards. She didn't care. She twisted her torso, trying to rip herself free.

Marcus reacted instantly. He wrenched her arms behind her back, bending her wrists at a sharp, agonizing angle. A sharp cry tore from Eliza's throat, the pain shooting up her shoulders.

Clifford stood by the open car door, watching her struggle with the cold detachment of a man watching a fly drown in his soup.

The guards shoved her toward the waiting Maybach. Her forehead connected hard with the metal frame of the door. Stars exploded in the blackness of her vision, and a wave of dizziness crashed over her. She felt a warm trickle slide down her temple, mixing with the cold rain before dripping onto the pavement.

They shoved her into the back seat. She fell face-first onto the cool, supple leather of the premium calfskin seats.

The door slammed shut behind her with a heavy, final thud. The sound of the rain was instantly muffled, replaced by a suffocating, dead silence inside the cabin.

A second later, the other door opened. Clifford slid in beside her, bringing a chilling low pressure into the confined space. He didn't look at her. He just leaned forward and gave the driver an address-a private location that made the driver's shoulders stiffen in the rearview mirror.

The engine purred to life, pulling them away from the clinic and into the dark.