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Too Late Mr. Noble: You Can't Afford Me Novel Cover

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 9

The SUV glided through the dark streets of Manhattan. The partition was up.

Preston sat in the front seat, typing furiously on his tablet. "The narrative is shifting, sir. We released the security footage of Ford spiking the drink. Twitter is trending HeroHunt."

Hunt didn't answer. He was looking at Elle.

She was sprawled across the backseat, her head in his lap. She was shivering in her sleep.

He brushed a wet strand of hair off her forehead. Her skin was still too hot.

She whispered again, the same unintelligible name, a tear leaking from her closed eye.

Hunt pulled his hand back.

The raw, possessive fury that had driven him all night twisted into something colder and sharper: jealousy. He was competing with a ghost, a name he couldn't even identify. Why did she sound so broken when she said it?

He looked back at Elle.

The car turned into the underground garage of the Noble Building.

He could have taken her to her own apartment, the one she'd run to. He knew the address. But the thought of her there, alone, or worse, with Carlyn and Bree chattering in her ear... the thought of her being out of his sight tonight was intolerable. He was taking her back to the one place he could control.

"Sir," Preston said over the intercom. "Do you want me to call a doctor to the penthouse?"

"No," Hunt said. "I'll handle it."

He didn't want strangers touching her. Not tonight.

He carried her to the private elevator. The ride up was silent.

When the doors opened into the penthouse, the air was still. The destroyed cufflinks were gone-the housekeeper had been here.

He carried her into the master bedroom. He laid her on the silk sheets.

Hunt stood back, looking at his ruined suit. He smelled like chlorine and sweat. He needed a shower.

He turned to walk to the bathroom.

Behind him, Elle sat up. She gasped, a wet, ragged sound.

Hunt spun around.

"Elle?"

She clapped a hand over her mouth. Her eyes were wide, panicked.

She didn't make it to the trash can.

She retched, and a wave of sickness splattered across the floor and onto Hunt's trousers.

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