The Ruby Shackle: Bound To The Billionaire
I’m a CIA operative known as "The Auditor," and for months, I’ve played the role of a pathetic, abused ward in Basil Dean’s mansion. My mission was simple: gather intel on a paranoid billionaire while pretending to be a girl who flinches at her own shadow and knows nothing of the world.
The balance shattered when Basil found a photo of me smiling at a local mechanic. He didn't just get angry; he dragged me into his soundproof vault, his leather-gloved thumb pressing into my carotid artery to feel the frantic, terrified thrum of my heart.
He tagged me with a ruby bracelet—a high-tech tracking device that reported my GPS and biometrics to his phone every second. His stepsister, Corine, smelled blood in the water, accusing me of theft while Basil watched my heart rate spike on his screen like a lab rat in a cage. I was trapped in a gilded nightmare, forced to scrub floors and endure his predatory stares while a fifty-thousand-dollar shackle recorded my every breath.
I couldn't tell if he was a grieving recluse or a shark playing with his food, but every time my signal dropped, he was there, looming in the shadows, waiting for me to slip up. I was drowning in a game where the rules changed every time I tried to fight back, and the agency was starting to think I’d turned.
To end the charade, I handed the bracelet back to him in front of the entire kitchen staff, a public rejection of his twisted ownership. Basil didn't blink; he took a heavy meat mallet and smashed the ruby to dust right in front of me before making a phone call that turned my mission into a death trap.
"Get the prenup ready," he hissed, his eyes burning with a terrifying, sane obsession.
"I'm marrying her."
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Chapter 2
Audie sprinted down the second-floor corridor. The marble was cold under her bare feet. She clutched the ball of her cheap dress against her chest, Basil's oversized shirt billowing around her thighs.
She paused at the corner, using the reflection in a gilded oil painting to check the hall. Clear.
She turned the corner.
"Miss Wilcox?"
The voice was sharp. Precise.
Audie spun around. Corine Morrow stood in the shadows of the alcove, wearing a silk robe that cost more than Audie's entire cover identity. As Basil's stepsister and the co-trustee of his estate, Corine's perfectly coiffed grey hair and laser-like gaze were a more constant threat than Basil's mercurial moods.
Audie gasped, clutching the bundled dress higher to cover the fact that she was wearing her stepbrother's shirt.
Corine's eyes were like lasers. They swept over Audie's disheveled hair, the bare legs, and landed on the dress in her hands.
There was a dark, wet stain on the fabric.
It was whiskey. Basil had spilled it when his hand shook.
Corine stepped closer. Her nose wrinkled. "Is that... alcohol?"
If Corine knew Basil was drinking, she'd up his medication. She'd lock him down tighter. Audie would lose her access.
Audie shook her head frantically, her face burning red. She couldn't risk speaking, couldn't risk her voice betraying the lie she was about to construct. "No, ma'am," Audie stammered, forcing the words out as if they were stones in her throat. "It's... it's BBQ sauce."
Corine raised an eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"The... date," Audie whispered, her gaze fixed on her own bare feet. "I was nervous. I squeezed the burger too hard. The sauce... it went everywhere. It was so embarrassing. That's why I came back through the side door. I didn't want anyone to smell me."
She held the dress out slightly. The smell of the cheap, fruity shampoo Audie used wafted up, masking the faint note of scotch.
Corine stared at her. Disgust curled her lip. It was the look one gave to a dog that had rolled in mud.
"BBQ sauce," Corine repeated. "How... quaint."
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Morrow. I'll wash it immediately."
"See that you do. And Miss Wilcox?"
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Has my stepbrother been... difficult tonight? I heard noises from the library."
It was a trap. Corine was fishing.
Audie shrank into herself. "He yelled at me, ma'am," she mumbled, the lie tasting like ash. "He said I didn't dust the shelves properly. He threw a book."
Corine relaxed. This fit her narrative. Basil was unstable. Basil needed her control.
"Go to bed, child. And try to elevate your standards. You represent this house now."
"Yes, ma'am."
Audie scurried away, forcing herself to trip over her own feet near the stairs. She heard Corine sigh.
She reached her room in the servants' quarters. It was small, windowless. She locked the door and went straight to the bathroom sink.
She threw the dress in and poured bleach over the stain. She scrubbed until her knuckles were raw.
She looked in the mirror. The frightened girl was gone. The Auditor stared back.
She reached behind the toilet tank and pulled out a waterproof bag. Inside was a micro-tablet.
She booted it up. Her fingers flew across the screen.
Target: Basil Dean. Financials.
There were small, erratic movements in the offshore accounts. Tiny transfers that looked like errors. But to Audie, they were a pattern. He wasn't just drinking in that safe room. He was moving capital.
He was building a war chest.
Outside, a dog barked. Duchess. Basil's Doberman.
Audie shut down the tablet and hid it. She lay on the narrow bed, staring at the ceiling. Basil Dean wasn't just a paranoid recluse. He was planning a coup.
And she was standing right in the blast zone.
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7.3
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9.5
Reyna has one mission... And it is definitely not falling for the guy who ruined her best friend's life.
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9.4
"I'm terribly sorry my champagne found your face so magnetic, Captain."
Theodore Ashford does not get angry. No - he smiles. Slow. Amused. Dangerous.
"No apology necessary, Lady Cruelton. In fact, I insist you join us for dinner next week. I find you... fascinating."
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Beatrice Whitmore died once already.
She wakes up inside a 1940s romance novel - not as the heroine, but as the infamous purple-haired villainess destined for scandal, disgrace, and an early grave. Everyone hates Lady Cruelton.
Which is perfect.
Because survival comes with rules.
A mysterious System rewards her with Hatred Points for humiliation, social ruin, and expertly executed cruelty. The more she's despised, the longer she lives. Reform is fatal. Kindness is suicide.
Being terrible should be easy.
Until Captain Theodore Ashford - decorated war hero, heir to an estate as vast as his ego - refuses to despise her. Immune to her schemes, unfazed by her insults, he watches her with knowing amusement... as if he sees through every calculated performance.
Faking her death was supposed to secure her escape from the plot.
Instead, his attention drags her deeper into it.
Now Beatrice must outmaneuver gossip, rewrite a story determined to destroy her, and earn enough Hatred Points to survive - without falling for the only man who doesn't hate her.
Because in a world where love is the true death sentence for a villainess...
Cruelty might be her only way out
7.6
I was kneeling on the cold concrete of an abandoned warehouse, staring at a ticking timer while a masked man held a knife to my throat. My fiancé's nephew, Preston, finally burst through the door, but he wasn't alone. He was clutching my stepsister, Felicia, both of them looking frantic.
The kidnapper gave Preston a brutal choice: the bomb was rigged to the door, and he could only take one woman with him. The other would stay behind to burn.
Without a single second of hesitation, Preston grabbed Felicia's hand and turned his back on me.
"I'm sorry, Annelise," he said, his voice flat and devoid of any real regret.
He slammed the heavy iron door shut, leaving me to scream in the darkness as the flames began to roar. He didn't just leave me to die; he did it to protect his inheritance, treating me like a piece of trash that was finally being cleared from his path.
Later, in the hospital, he didn't even offer an apology. Instead, he raised his hand to strike me, threatening to finish what the fire started if I dared to speak a word about his cowardice. His stepsister laughed, trying to pour scalding coffee on my face while calling me a pathetic loser who should have stayed in the warehouse.
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8.3
For three years, I was the lowest Omega in the Blackwood Pack, hopelessly devoted to my Fated Mate, Alpha Kaelen.
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"She is a mistake. Silence."
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