Too Late Mr. Noble: You Can't Afford Me
I had played the role of Hunt Noble’s perfect partner for three years, a polished asset to his multi-billion dollar empire. But the mask slipped when I saw a photo of him smiling at another woman with an intimacy he hadn’t shown me in months.
When I tried to walk away, Hunt didn't beg for forgiveness. He pinned me against a cold marble counter and reminded me that I was his property.
"I provide for you. I don't answer to you."
At the city's most prestigious gala, I made one final, desperate plea for a real commitment. He laughed, calling our relationship a "merger of assets" and labeling me a "bad investment" with a failed career. He had his lawyers draft a thirty-million-dollar NDA to buy my silence, treating our three years together like a business transaction to be settled and filed away.
I signed the papers and threw the keys to his penthouse in his face, desperate to reclaim my soul. But that same night, I was drugged at a high-end club by a predator who thought I was unprotected. Before the darkness swallowed me, Hunt reappeared, a violent shadow who beat my attacker until the floor was slick with blood.
I woke up back in the one place I swore I’d never return to: his master bedroom. As Hunt washed the filth of the night off me, his eyes burned with a terrifying, renewed possessiveness that the $30 million check couldn't hide.
"You don't go anywhere without my permission."
I realized then that the money wasn't my exit fee—it was the down payment on a permanent cage. If I ever wanted to be free, I couldn't just walk out. I had to burn his entire empire to the ground.
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Chapter 7
Lance hit the floor, clutching his face, howling. Blood sprayed across the pristine carpet of the hallway.
The music from the club was muffled here, but the screams of the few people in the corridor were sharp.
Hunt didn't stop. He stepped over Elle, grabbed Lance by the lapels of his expensive jacket, and hauled him up. He slammed a fist into Lance's ribs, then another into his jaw.
"You touched her," Hunt snarled. Crack. "You drugged her." Crack.
"Hunt!"
The shout came from Carlyn. She had just burst through the doors, phone in hand. Her face was pale.
"I called 911!" she screamed. "They're putting the club on lockdown!"
Hunt dropped Lance. The man crumpled into a heap, sobbing.
Hunt turned to Elle. She was slumped against the wall, her eyes rolling back in her head. She was clawing at the neck of her dress, her skin flushed a deep, unnatural red.
"Hot," she moaned. "So hot."
Hunt scooped her up. She was limp, burning up.
He kicked the elevator button. The doors slid open. He carried her inside, pressing the button for the penthouse suite-Noble Media kept a permanent room here.
"I'm suing you!" Lance gargled from the floor, spitting blood. "I'll take everything!"
The doors closed, shutting out his voice.
Inside the elevator, Elle writhed in Hunt's arms. "You...?" she whispered, her voice a raw thread of sound. Her hand came up, tracing his jawline with a strange, searching familiarity. "You came back?"
Hunt stiffened.
Who the hell was she calling for?
Jealousy, sharp and irrational, pierced through his panic. Even now, drugged and helpless, she was calling for someone else.
"It's Hunt," he said roughly. "Look at me."
She blinked, her eyes unfocused. "No... the light... it's warm..."
The elevator dinged. Hunt carried her down the hall and kicked the suite door open. He went straight to the bathroom.
He turned the shower on cold.
He stepped in, shoes and all, still holding her. The icy water hit them like a shock wave.
Elle screamed. She thrashed, trying to escape the cold.
"Shh," Hunt held her tighter, pressing her face into his wet shirt. "You need to cool down. The drug... it's overheating your system."
The water soaked his suit, ruining the Italian wool. He didn't care.
Elle stopped fighting. She shivered, clinging to him. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her body against his. Her lips found his neck.
"Please," she sobbed. "Make it stop. Help me."
Her hands were everywhere, pulling at his wet clothes, desperate.
Hunt groaned. He was a man. A man who had been obsessed with this woman for three years. Her body against his was electric.
He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back an inch. "Elle. Who am I?"
She looked at him, water streaming down her face, mascara running in dark rivers.
"Hunt," she whispered. "You're Hunt."
He broke.
He kissed her. It was fierce, possessive, claiming. He backed her against the shower tiles.
BANG.
The suite door exploded inward.
"POLICE! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!"
Boots thundered on the floor.
Hunt spun around, shielding Elle's body with his own.
Three police officers stood in the bathroom doorway, service weapons drawn and pointed directly at his chest.
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8.0
When gifted cellist Vivienne Aurel inherits her late father's catastrophic $4.2 million debt, she expects to lose everything. She doesn't expect the debt to be bought by Caspian Vane, the most feared private equity magnate in New York. Caspian doesn't want to ruin her; he wants her to work exclusively for him as the artistic director of his new cultural foundation for eighteen months. Forced into his world under a binding agreement, Vivienne prepares to fight against a cold, transactional cage. But as the intense, quiet proximity between them begins to blur the lines of their contract, she discovers a terrifying truth: the man who now owns her future has been watching her from the shadows long before she ever knew his name.
8.7
I sat at a mahogany table in River Oaks, clutching the strap of a pilled black dress from a life I’d lost five years ago. I was an exile in a world of old money, just trying to survive a dinner party I didn't belong in.
Then the doors opened, and Baron Lowery walked in. He was no longer the boy I’d loved, but a powerful man with eyes like a storm front. When the host asked if we’d met, Baron didn't even blink.
"I don't know her," he said.
The erasure was a physical blow. His new girlfriend spent the night mocking my "quaint" legal aid work and calling me a washed-up gold digger. Baron didn't defend me; he watched my humiliation with a cold, predatory stillness. During a game of Truth or Dare, he stared me down, waiting for a confession. To protect his career and the secret of my father’s federal crimes, I looked him in the eye and told the ultimate lie: "No regrets."
He retaliated by pinning me against a concrete wall in a dark stairwell, crushing his mouth to mine in a kiss that felt like a punishment. He told me I wasn't worth the effort and left me. I retreated to my real life—a moldy trailer and a blackmailer named Harvey who was forcing me into a marriage to save my father from prison.
I thought I’d hit rock bottom until Baron’s silver Bentley pulled up to my slum. He didn't come to apologize. He flipped open a checkbook, scribbled fifty thousand dollars, and held it out like I was a common streetwalker.
"One night," he demanded. "Do whatever I say, and it's yours."
I looked at the man I’d sacrificed my entire soul for and realized he’d finally become the monster I'd tried to save him from. I shoved the check back in his face and ran into the rain, leaving the billionaire staring at the trailer park, unable to understand why the "gold digger" he hated so much wouldn't take his money.
8.2
Justine abandoned her career as a top trauma surgeon to marry Congressman Carl McConnell. She did it to fulfill her dying sister's last wish: to protect her son, Leo, from this ruthless political family.
But the seven-year-old boy she swore to protect shoved her into a freezing koi pond, then cried to his father that Justine tried to drown him.
Carl didn't even check the security cameras. He hugged his precious heir and looked at his freezing wife with pure disgust.
"Are you out of your mind? Trying to hurt the heir to the McConnell family!"
He locked Justine in a 55-degree wine cellar while she was burning with a 102-degree fever. When she finally told him the truth, Carl flew into a rage and hurled a heavy brass-cornered book at her face, slicing her cheekbone wide open.
His mother even ordered the staff to starve her for seven days to reflect on her sins.
Justine stood in the dark, blood dripping down her face, her heart completely dead. She had sacrificed her brilliant future and her pride for this family, only to be tortured and discarded like garbage. How could they be so utterly devoid of humanity?
She pulled out her old medical kit and stitched up her own face.
Then, she signed the legal documents to permanently relinquish her stepparent rights, threw them at the housekeeper, and calmly looked at her abusive husband.
"I am divorcing you, Carl."
7.4
What's worse than being trapped in an elevator with your gorgeous, Rich boss?
Being trapped with all three of them.
Jack, Gavin, and Harrison aren't just my bosses; they're my brother's filthy rich best friends.
After a steamy, unplanned hookup when the lights went out, I'm about to become much more than just the girl next door.
There's Jack, whose touch drives me wild.
Gavin, the cocky CEO whose dirty orders I can't wait to obey.
And Harrison, the sweet, passionate one who pours his heart into everything... including me.
I've waited years for these men to finally see me. Now, I belong to them. My body is theirs to devour, my bed is theirs to break. But giving them my heart is a terrifying risk, and I just pray they don't shatter it.
7.5
I was tied to a concrete pillar in an abandoned warehouse, the heavy stench of gasoline suffocating me.
Ten steps away, a masked kidnapper slammed a loaded Glock onto a metal barrel and forced my husband, Alvie, to make a sick choice.
"The wife or the mistress. You only get to walk out of here with one."
Alvie didn't even blink.
He walked straight toward the dark corner where his mistress, Gail, was crying. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, shielding her, and guided her toward the exit.
He never looked back. He didn't cast a single glance over his shoulder. To him, I was already a corpse, just trash left on the pavement.
The kidnapper laughed and tossed a lighter onto the soaked concrete floor.
A wall of ghostly blue fire erupted instantly, swallowing me whole. The absolute agony of my skin blistering and melting shattered my sanity.
In my last moments, consumed by the inferno, I couldn't understand how the man I had loved and served so submissively could leave me to burn alive. My heartbreak quickly morphed into a hatred far deeper than the flames.
Then, I violently jerked awake.
I shot up from the bed, gasping for cold air, my hands frantically checking my perfectly smooth, unburned skin.
I looked at the desk clock. I had returned to exactly four years ago, the morning of the annual Gallagher family gathering.
The fragile, naive wife died in that warehouse. This time, I am going to destroy them both.
9.0
For years, I exhausted myself trying to be the perfect, obedient heiress of the ultra-wealthy Carlisle family.
But my reward wasn't their love. Instead, I was abruptly branded a fake, thrown out of the estate, and sent to a brutal black-site prison to take the fall for someone else's crimes.
My cold CEO brother, Julian, didn't lift a finger to save me. My carefully selected boyfriend, Connor, sold me out without a second thought.
In that maximum-security cell, I was stripped of my dignity. I ate moldy, insect-infested bread, and my soft hands were covered in thick, ugly scars from fighting off murderers.
I watched inmates get beaten half to death over a single cracker, while my so-called family continued their pristine, luxurious lives on the outside.
"She's just a parasite, let her rot."
I died in that dark cell, completely abandoned. The sheer exhaustion of trying to please them, of trying to be flawless, washed over my final moments like a physical sickness.
I didn't understand why my absolute loyalty was repaid with such ruthless cruelty.
Then, water rushed out of my lungs in a violent, burning surge.
I opened my eyes to the pristine blue pool of the Carlisle estate, my body completely unscarred. I had reverted to being fifteen again.
This time, I was done playing the perfect daughter. If my fate was a prison cell, I was going to spend my remaining freedom tearing their perfect world apart.