The Ruthless Heir's Five Million Bride

Morning sunlight sliced through the broken blinds, stabbing into the dim bedroom.

A low, guttural sound of pain came from the bed.

Donat's eyes snapped open. There was no grogginess. He woke up like a cornered leopard, his senses instantly dialing up to maximum.

He moved his arms. The plastic zip ties bit viciously into his wrists.

He jerked his hands upward. The rusted iron headboard shrieked, the entire bed frame violently shaking against the wall.

Elsie jolted awake in her chair. The baseball bat slipped in her sweaty palms as she leaped to her feet.

Donat turned his head. His eyes locked onto hers.

The air in the room instantly dropped ten degrees. The sheer, predatory aggression in his gaze made Elsie's lungs seize.

"Where the hell am I?" he demanded. His voice was weak, but the authority in it was absolute.

Elsie swallowed hard. She gripped the bat tighter, holding it like a shield. "You owe me five million dollars."

Donat's dark brows pulled together. The anger in his eyes flickered, replaced by a sudden, violent confusion.

"Who am I?" he asked.

Elsie froze. "Don't play games with me." She raised the bat an inch higher.

Donat squeezed his eyes shut. A muscle feathered in his jaw. His breathing turned rapid, panicked. He wasn't looking at her anymore; he was looking inward, finding nothing but a blinding, tearing white void.

He was genuinely terrified.

Elsie lowered the bat slowly. Her mind raced. He had amnesia. The five million dollars was slipping through her fingers.

She needed to anchor him. She needed him to trust her.

She took a deep breath, walked to the edge of the bed, and looked down at him.

"I'm your wife," she lied, her voice remarkably steady. "You were mugged last night."

Donat stopped breathing. He opened his eyes and stared at her.

Then, a harsh, mocking laugh scraped out of his throat.

His eyes slowly dragged over her faded flannel pajamas, the peeling paint on the walls, and the water stains on the ceiling.

"I have a Patek Philippe on my wrist," he said, his voice dripping with aristocratic disdain. "It costs more than this entire building. You think I'd marry a woman who lives in a slum?"

Heat flared in Elsie's cheeks. Her pride stung sharply. "You bought that before the bankruptcy," she snapped back. "We're broke now."

Donat's eyes went dead.

Before Elsie could blink, he twisted his body. His muscles bunched under his skin. With a terrifying burst of raw, brutal strength, he yanked his arms forward. The rusted iron bed frame shrieked in protest, the metal joints bending and warping violently under his immense power, but the pipe didn't break. Instead, the sheer, violent friction and his unnatural strength caused the thick plastic zip tie to snap with a sharp, sickening crack. The massive exertion instantly tore his wound open, but he didn't stop.

Elsie screamed.

Donat lunged. He sat up, dragging the broken half of the plastic tie with him, and his large hand wrapped around her throat.

He pulled her down. Her knees hit the mattress.

Their faces were inches apart. He inhaled sharply, his nose brushing her cheek.

"Cheap vanilla," he whispered, his voice a dangerous rumble against her lips. "If you're my wife, kiss me. Prove it."

Elsie's entire body went rigid. His breath was hot against her mouth. The sheer, overpowering scent of male sweat and cedarwood paralyzed her.

He leaned closer. His lips were a millimeter from hers.

Panic exploded in her chest. She shoved her hand downward, pressing her palm directly against the bloody gauze on his abdomen.

Donat let out a sharp hiss. His grip on her throat vanished.

Elsie scrambled backward, falling off the bed and hitting the hardwood floor hard.

"I lied!" she screamed, her chest heaving. "I don't know you! I just want the five million!"

Donat leaned back against the broken headboard, clutching his bleeding stomach. His chest rose and fell rapidly as his calculating brain processed the truth.

He didn't know who he was, but his survival instincts were screaming. He was bleeding out in a stranger's apartment. There were people out there who wanted him dead.

He looked at the terrified woman on the floor.

"The five million stands," he said, his voice suddenly devoid of all emotion, cold as a boardroom negotiation. "But you provide absolute sanctuary."

Elsie stared at him. She slowly reached into her pocket, pulled out the scissors, and crawled back to the bed.

With a sharp snap, she cut the remaining zip tie. The devil was now off his leash.