The Captive Heiress: Trapped By Him
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I finally stepped onto American soil after four years of exile, clutching my suitcase with white-knuckled desperation. My plan was simple: get to Manhattan, start my job, and stay as far away from the Newton family as possible.
But the moment I turned on my phone, Sterling Newton’s voice cut through the air like a blade. He had already sent a car; he didn't care about my plans, my apartment, or my freedom. He wanted me back in that suffocating mansion, and he expected me to obey.
When I arrived, the house felt like a mausoleum. My adoptive mother smothered me in a desperate, suffocating embrace, while my father and sister acted as if my departure had never happened. Then, the heavy front door thudded shut. Barron Newton had arrived.
He didn't greet me with warmth; he looked at me like a piece of furniture that had been moved out of place. He spent the entire dinner dismantling my resolve, using my deepest guilt as a weapon to force me to stay, making it clear that I was merely a prisoner in his gilded cage.
I felt like I was suffocating. How could he have so much power over my life? Why was he so determined to keep me trapped in this house, and what was he truly waiting for in the shadows of the night?
I retreated to my room, feeling the invisible chains tightening around my throat. Just as I thought I had found a way to fight back, a message from Fernando flashed on my screen, warning me that our original plan was in ruins. I realized then that I wasn't just fighting the Newtons—I was fighting a war on two fronts, and the countdown to my destruction had already begun.
The Captive Heiress: Trapped By Him Chapter 1
The aggressive vibration of the phone against Carley Holman's palm sent a sharp jolt up her arm.
She stood in the middle of the JFK Airport arrivals terminal, the handle of her suitcase gripped so tightly in her other hand that her knuckles were entirely white. The automated voice over the intercom announcing a landing faded into background noise as she stared at the screen.
Dad (Sterling Newton).
Her stomach dropped. The heavy, greasy feeling of dread pooled in her gut. She had just turned the phone on ten seconds ago. She hadn't even texted the real estate agent about the apartment yet.
Carley took a shallow breath, her chest feeling instantly too tight. She swiped the green button and pressed the cold glass to her ear.
"Hi, Dad. I just-"
"You are finally back," Sterling Newton's booming voice cut through the line. It wasn't a greeting. It was a statement of ownership. "Your mother and I have everything ready at the house."
Carley closed her eyes. The noise of the airport seemed to press in on her. "Dad, I actually have a place lined up in Manhattan. I want to get settled there first and-"
"Nonsense," Sterling snapped, his tone dropping into that sharp, displeased register that always made her throat close up. "What place is better than home? Martha had your room cleaned days ago. Pippa even took the day off school to wait for you."
"But I need to-"
"Hank is already at the exit," Sterling ordered. "Don't disappoint us, Carley."
The line went dead.
Carley pulled the phone away from her ear. Her lungs burned as she forgot to exhale. The dial tone was a physical weight pressing down on her shoulders. Her grand plan for independence, her desperate need to stay away from the Newton family and the suffocating guilt attached to them, was crushed in less than five minutes on American soil.
She forced her legs to move. The wheels of her suitcase dragged heavily against the polished floor.
As she pushed through the sliding glass doors into the main pickup area, a familiar face broke through the crowd. Clara Bishop was jumping up and down, holding a piece of cardboard with CARLEY written in thick black marker.
Clara threw her arms around Carley, squeezing the breath out of her. "You made it! Are you ready for freedom? The apartment I found you is amazing. Brick walls, huge windows!"
Carley let go of her suitcase. Her arms hung limply at her sides. She shook her head, a bitter taste rising in the back of her throat.
"I can't," Carley whispered.
Clara pulled back, her smile vanishing. "What do you mean you can't?"
"Sterling just called." Carley rubbed the center of her chest, trying to ease the sudden ache. "They sent a car. They expect me at the estate."
Clara's jaw dropped. Her eyes flared with instant anger. "How can they do that? You are twenty-four years old! You aren't a child they can just summon."
"You know how Sterling is," Carley said, her voice hollow.
Clara leaned in closer, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. "What about... Barron? Is he going to be there?"
Hearing that name was like taking a physical blow to the ribs. Carley's blood ran cold. The tips of her fingers went numb. She swallowed hard, trying to push down the rising panic.
"I don't know," Carley said, her voice shaking. "God, I hope not."
Clara sighed heavily and placed a warm hand on Carley's rigid shoulder. "Looks like you lost the first battle of your independence war."
Carley didn't answer. Her eyes locked onto a man standing near the curb. He wore a pristine dark suit and a chauffeur's cap. Hank Kowalski.
Hank spotted her. He walked over with stiff, practiced steps and bowed his head slightly. "Miss Holman. Welcome home. Mr. and Mrs. Newton instructed me to bring you straight to the estate."
The word home felt like a needle sliding under her skin.
Clara opened her mouth, ready to argue with the driver, but Carley grabbed her wrist. Carley squeezed once, a silent plea. Fighting Hank meant fighting Sterling, and she didn't have the money or the power to win that fight today.
"I'm sorry, Clara," Carley said, her throat tight. "Can you handle the apartment agent for me? Just tell them I need a few more days."
Clara looked at her with deep pity. "I'll handle it. Just... protect yourself, Carley. Don't let him hurt you again."
Carley nodded. She let go of Clara's hand and turned to Hank.
Hank took the handle of her suitcase. He led her to the curb where a massive black Lincoln Navigator sat idling. He opened the heavy rear door. The silver Newton family crest on the door panel caught the airport lights, flashing like the lock on a cage.
Carley climbed inside. The heavy scent of expensive leather and chemical cleaner instantly clogged her nose.
The door slammed shut, sealing her in.
The engine rumbled. As the car pulled away from the curb, Carley stared out the tinted window at the blurring city skyline. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She wasn't going home. She was being dragged back to a battlefield she had spent four years trying to escape.
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The Captive Heiress: Trapped By Him of Contents
Chapter 1 Ch. 1Chapter 2 Ch. 2Chapter 3 Ch. 3Chapter 4 Ch. 4Chapter 5 Ch. 5Chapter 6 Ch. 6Chapter 7 Ch. 7
Chapter 8 Ch. 8
Chapter 9 Ch. 9
Chapter 10 Ch. 10
Chapter 11 Ch. 11
All Chapters all
New Release Novels
7.3
I found out my husband of three years had cheated on me and his mistress is the one who told me-because he didn't have the balls to do it himself.
I move out and get a new apartment, a job as a bartender, and try to move on with a broken heart. I wonder where it all went wrong, if I hadn't been enough for him, if I'd been stupid for marrying him in the first place.
I'm at work one night when he walks inside-the most beautiful man I've ever seen. He sits at the bar and a forest fire burns between us. I was depressed the moment before he entered, but the second I look at his blue eyes, I forget the dumpster fire that my life has become. I invite him back to my place and it's the most passionate night of my life. I expect to never see him again.
I just want him as an anti-depressant-but he wants me all to himself. I just got my heart ripped out of my chest so I want something easy and no-strings-attached, but he wants all the strings because he's hooked.
I don't get much of a say in the matter, and that's not surprising when I learn why-because he's the Butcher. The crime lord of all crime lords, the boss that overshadows all of Paris, that makes everyone abide by his rules-or pay.
And now I'm his.
7.2
In the roaring flames of the abandoned warehouse, my skin blistered and peeled.
Through the crackling fire, my sister Elara's malicious voice echoed. She told me my husband, Damien, was dead, and it was all my fault.
For years, I had treated Damien like a monster. I fought him, threw tantrums, and desperately tried to escape our marriage, all because I blindly followed Elara's advice.
"Remember, the harder you fight, the more disgusted he'll get."
She texted me things like that, telling me to smash vases over his head and run away, claiming she was protecting me.
In reality, she was poisoning my mind, stealing my valedictorian spot at university, and plotting to crawl into my billionaire husband's bed.
My foolish rebellion cost me everything, ultimately leading to Damien's tragic death and my own fiery end.
As the massive explosion tore my consciousness to shreds, I finally understood who truly loved me and who the real monster was.
I died suffocating on my own agonizing regret, wishing I could tear Elara apart.
Then, a rush of freezing air punched into my lungs.
I opened my eyes to the crisp scent of cedar and mint. I was back seven years ago, on the very night our marriage was supposed to go to hell.
This time, looking at Damien's flawless, unscarred face, I didn't push him away.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and made a silent vow: I would make every single person who ever hurt him bleed.
7.3
I was tracing the gold paint on my own tombstone when a hand tapped me on the shoulder.
It was Clayton.
The same man who, five years ago, had left me bleeding out in a ditch because he didn't want to be late for my sister's engagement party.
"Die quietly, Ivy," he had said over the phone before hanging up.
Now, standing over my grave, he dropped his cheap plastic flowers in shock.
"Ivy? You're... we buried you."
They hadn't buried me.
They had buried an empty box to save face, mourning a "troubled" daughter they had actually discarded like broken trash the moment I became a liability.
Clayton's shock quickly turned to that familiar, arrogant anger.
He accused me of faking my death for attention.
He told me I was sick for putting the family through such pain.
He even reached out to grab my arm, intending to drag me back to my father to apologize.
"You're coming with me," he spat. "You owe us an explanation."
But he made a fatal mistake.
He thought he was talking to Ivy Dillard, the soft girl who cried when she skinned her knees.
He didn't notice the town car waiting at the curb, or the man stepping out of it.
Before Clayton's fingers could graze my coat, a hand made of steel caught his wrist.
Collin Richardson, the most feared Capo in Chicago, stepped between us.
"Touch my wife again," Collin whispered, his voice promising violence. "And you lose the hand."
I smiled at the terror draining the color from Clayton's face.
I didn't come back from the dead to explain myself.
I came back to bury them.
8.1
Born into luxury, Hermione Watson-Pierce has always felt like merely a pawn in her parents' ruthless game of power. She learned to suppress her emotions, earning herself the title of the "Ice Queen."
Just then, Aiden Mendes bursts into her life-a charming playboy known for his reckless reputation. Aiden chooses to cope with his inner turmoil through a lavish lifestyle, using his charisma and striking looks to keep others at bay.
A looming threat forces them to face a contracted marriage or risk losing their inheritance. When they first meet, Aiden is struck by an unexpected attraction, as if it were love at first sight. Yet, his notorious reputation precedes him, and Hermione makes no effort to hide her disdain.
As their contractual marriage evolves into a battle of wills, Aiden must work to melt Hermione's icy heart, proving that he is more than what meets the eye. But can he persuade her to rise above her prejudices and bravely pursue love?
7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
8.6
"What do you think people would say if they found out you don't have a dick?" Christian asked, his voice low and dripping with seduction. His hand pressed firmly against my crotch, fingers exploring the flat, unfamiliar emptiness there. A devilish smirk curved his lips. "Or if they discovered these voluptuous breasts you've been hiding so well?"
A strangled moan slipped from my throat as his hand slid under my shirt, his fingers brushing over my hardened nipples, teasing them with slow, deliberate strokes.
"Which do you think they'd call you?" he murmured, eyes gleaming. "A boy with tits... or a dickless little fraud?"
I stared into his hungry blue eyes, words failing me.
"The term you're looking for is 'girl,'" came Xavier's smooth voice from the bathroom doorway. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, his gaze raking over me with open interest. "So tell me, little girl... what the hell is someone like you doing in an all-boys dorm?"
Christian's smirk widened. "She wants to be devoured by boys like us." His fingers gave my nipple one last firm pinch before he leaned in closer, breath hot against my ear. "And I'll be more than happy to give her a taste."
