Trapped By My Possessive Billionaire Ex
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I spent four entire years successfully hiding from the man who used to control my life.
But today, my nightmare became reality when he suddenly appeared in my computer science lecture hall as a billionaire tech giant and our new Guest Teaching Assistant.
Under the shocked stares of hundreds of students, Holland Klein draped his custom suit jacket over my freezing shoulders, completely cutting off my escape.
He ruthlessly infiltrated every corner of my life within hours, hacking my highly private new phone number and forcing my sick, trembling body into his bulletproof Maybach.
He permanently blacklisted a senior student from the entire East Coast tech industry just for disrespecting me, and then used my dream internship to blackmail me into becoming his personal assistant.
"Since you can't even take care of yourself, I have no choice but to supervise you personally."
I was terrified, humiliated, and completely suffocated by his absolute control.
Why was this powerful monster haunting my life like a ghost, refusing to let me go after I ran away four years ago?
When he trapped me against the cold wall of his office and shoved the highly confidential competition data into my chest, daring me to prove I didn't need him, I finally made a choice.
Running was no longer an option; if I wanted my freedom, I had to beat him at his own twisted game.
Trapped By My Possessive Billionaire Ex Chapter 1
Keeley pushed open the heavy oak doors of the computer science lecture hall.
The extreme air conditioning of the room hit her bare arms like a wall of ice. A layer of goosebumps instantly erupted across her skin.
She looked down at her thin summer chiffon blouse, silently cursing her senior, Emilee, for bailing on this errand at the last minute.
Clutching the project proposal tightly against her chest, Keeley walked quickly down the tiered aisle toward the VIP seats in the front row.
Her eyes scanned over the rows of seated students and landed on the man sitting in the center guest seat, surrounded by faculty members like a king holding court.
When she saw the sharp, cold profile of his face, Keeley's footsteps jerked to a violent halt.
Her heart felt like it was grabbed by an invisible hand. It squeezed so hard she skipped a massive beat. Her lungs forgot how to process oxygen.
Holland.
Holland Klein.
As if sensing the sudden shift in the air, Holland slowly turned his head away from the professor speaking to him.
Their eyes met. His gaze, dark and deep as an abyss, locked onto her instantly.
A wave of intense suffocation washed over Keeley. Her muscles screamed at her to turn around and run out of the hall.
Professor Alistair noticed her standing frozen in the aisle. He leaned into his microphone and urged her to bring the documents forward, adding with a warm smile, "Ah, perfect timing. Class, please welcome our special guest and this semester's new Guest Teaching Assistant for Advanced Algorithms, Mr. Holland Klein."
Hundreds of eyes in the hall turned to look at her all at once. Her escape route was completely cut off.
Keeley bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. She forced her stiff legs to move, walking toward the man she had successfully hidden from for four entire years.
She reached the conference table. Her hands were shaking slightly as she extended the proposal toward the professor.
Suddenly, Holland reached out with his large, long-fingered hand and intercepted the document mid-air.
As he pulled the paper away, his fingertips dragged heavily and deliberately across the back of Keeley's freezing hand.
Keeley flinched like she had been electrocuted. She snatched her hand back, a flash of pure terror and resistance in her eyes.
The overhead AC vent was blowing directly onto her. The cold air, combined with the shock of his touch, made Keeley shiver visibly. Her shoulders hunched inward.
Holland stopped flipping through the proposal. His dark eyes lowered, staring intently at her trembling shoulders.
A second later, Holland pushed back his heavy leather chair and stood up.
His six-foot-three frame cast a highly oppressive shadow over her. The entire hall fell dead silent.
Under the shocked stares of everyone in the room, Holland took off his five-figure Savile Row bespoke suit jacket.
He stepped around the table with his long legs and walked straight up to Keeley.
The aggressive male pheromones mixed with his signature cold cedarwood cologne completely surrounded her.
With a forceful and undeniable motion, Holland draped the oversized suit jacket over Keeley's thin shoulders.
Keeley's body went completely rigid. Her instinct was to shake off the garment that still carried his body heat.
But Holland's large hands clamped down on her shoulders like iron vices. He leaned in slightly, his mouth hovering just inches from her ear.
"Don't move," he commanded in a low, dark voice that only she could hear. It was dripping with absolute control.
From the back row, Keeley could practically feel the venomous glare of Emilee boring into her spine. A sharp crack echoed faintly-the sound of cheap plastic snapping under immense pressure as her senior undoubtedly realized her catastrophic mistake in skipping out on this errand.
Keeley was forced to clutch the lapels of the massive jacket. Surrounded by the collective gasps of the audience, she had nowhere to run.
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Trapped By My Possessive Billionaire Ex of Contents
New Release Novels
8.3
I was the long-lost Donovan heiress, finally brought home after a childhood in foster care. My parents adored me, my husband cherished me, and the woman who tried to ruin my life, Kiera Reese, was locked away in a mental facility. I was safe. I was loved.
On my birthday, I decided to surprise my husband, Ivan, at his office. But he wasn't there.
I found him at a private art gallery across town. He was with Kiera.
She wasn't in a facility. She was radiant, laughing as she stood beside my husband and their five-year-old son. I watched through the glass as Ivan kissed her, a familiar, loving gesture he’d used with me just that morning.
I crept closer and overheard them. My birthday wish to go to the amusement park had been denied because he’d already promised the entire park to their son—whose birthday was the same day as mine.
"She’s so grateful to have a family, she’d believe anything we tell her," Ivan said, his voice laced with a cruelty that stole my breath. "It's almost sad."
My entire reality—my loving parents who funded this secret life, my devoted husband—was a five-year lie. I was just the fool they kept on stage.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ivan, sent while he stood with his real family.
"Just got out of the meeting. So exhausting. I miss you."
The casual lie was the final blow. They thought I was a pathetic, grateful orphan they could control.
They were about to find out just how wrong they were.
7.1
The last thing I remembered was the blinding flash of my starship crashing. But instead of a rescue crew, I woke up tied to a wooden post, surrounded by hostile beastmen.
My universal translator kicked in just in time to hear their priestess, Chelsea, declare that I was a cursed demon who ruined their hunt. To save the clan from winter starvation, I was to be burned alive.
The flames were already blistering my legs, and jagged stones hurled by the crowd gashed my forehead. I barely negotiated a three-day reprieve to find them food, venturing into the deadly primeval forest.
I found a massive supply of wild potatoes and even gained the protection of Bronson, a terrifyingly powerful saber-toothed tiger beastman.
But Chelsea wouldn't stop.
She labeled my food as poisonous, tried to sentence me to starve in a penitent's cave, and when my agricultural knowledge proved her wrong, she invoked an ancient law. She incited the tribe's savage warriors to fight over me, turning me into breeding property.
I was a scientist offering them endless food, yet their primitive ignorance and one woman's vicious jealousy kept pushing me toward a brutal end. I was terrified, completely powerless against their monstrous physical strength.
As five ruthless challengers drew their bone axes to claim me, I begged Bronson to leave me and run.
Instead, he pulled me against his scarred chest and kissed me fiercely in front of the entire clan.
"She is my mate," he roared, unleashing a soul-crushing aura. "Anyone who wants her, come at me together."
9.1
June woke up transmigrated into the body of a ruthless billionaire's toxic, disposable wife.
Before she could even process the massive Beverly Hills mansion, a cold system voice announced she had exactly five minutes of lifespan remaining.
To survive, she was forced to bind with the system and strictly maintain the original owner's "brainless, abusive drama queen" persona to earn hours to live.
She was forced to violently slap hot coffee out of a terrified maid's hands and physically spank her manipulative five-year-old stepson.
When she tried to escape this nightmare by throwing divorce papers at her terrifying husband, Isaac Walton, he simply ripped them to shreds.
Every time she tried to be reasonable or show a hint of kindness, the system tortured her with agonizing cardiac pain, cementing her status as the most hated monster in the family.
The most absurd part happened when she threw a hysterical, system-mandated tantrum over a gossip magazine, and Isaac's icy demeanor suddenly melted.
He gently touched her hair, offering the one thing she desperately needed.
"Stop crying. I'll handle it."
Just as a spark of hope ignited in her chest, the system's critical death warning exploded in her skull: accepting his sympathy would instantly deduct thirty days of her life.
To stay alive, June had no choice but to violently slap away the only hand reaching out to save her, forcing herself to play the greedy villain while her husband's gaze turned dangerously dark.
9.2
I woke up suffocating in the dark, only to find my mind trapped inside a tiny, plump, and entirely uncoordinated body.
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my brain, announcing that I was dead in my original world and had transmigrated into a corporate revenge novel as the six-month-old illegitimate daughter of Edward McClure, the story's ruthless villain.
The system mercilessly outlined my doomed fate. Tonight, my cold-blooded father would abandon me to a state orphanage. By age two, he would officially sign my rights away, leaving me to die miserably at the hands of human traffickers. Outside my nursery, I could hear his terrifying footsteps approaching, his voice devoid of any human warmth as he debated throwing me out like garbage. I was completely helpless, trapped in a baby's body, staring up at a man who looked at me with pure, visceral disgust.
Why did I have to be reborn as the tragic cannon fodder of a tyrant destined to put a bullet in his own head? How was I supposed to win over a severe germaphobe when my unequipped infant reflexes made me literally pee and vomit all over his pristine Tom Ford suits?
"Your ultimate mission is to prevent Edward McClure's self-destruction. Step one: Survive tonight's abandonment crisis."
Hearing the system's terrifying ultimatum, I swallowed my adult panic, forced a pool of pitiful tears into my large eyes, and reached my chubby little hands toward the monster.
7.9
In my past life, I was the naive surrogate who fell desperately in love with Karson King, an untouchable Wall Street billionaire.
I thought my blind devotion would earn me a place in his family. Instead, his cruel mother forced me to sign away my parental rights to my three-year-old daughter.
I was locked in a dark, freezing basement. I watched helplessly as his arrogant relatives tormented my child, pushing her down a flight of marble stairs and shattering her tiny arm.
When we finally died in a horrific car crash, my face covered in blood amidst the shattered glass, Karson didn't shed a single tear. To him, my death was just the convenient erasure of a cheap mistake.
I sacrificed my dignity for his approval, but they treated us worse than stray dogs. Why did my innocent daughter have to pay the ultimate price for their ruthless arrogance?
Opening my eyes again, the harsh glare of a massive crystal chandelier pierced my vision. I was back in the grand foyer of the King estate, exactly five years ago.
"Sign it. You are nothing but a gold digger."
My soon-to-be mother-in-law slammed the thick legal contract onto the marble table, demanding I give up my daughter.
This time, the paralyzing fear evaporated, replaced by absolute, icy clarity.
I didn't cower. I picked up the pen, looked right at the billionaire who despised me, and prepared to manipulate his entire empire.
7.4
I was only fifteen when my venomous family orchestrated my doom by forcing me into an arranged marriage with mafia heir Javier Velasquez.
On our wedding night, Javier paraded strippers into our suite to show his absolute contempt, turning me into the ultimate joke of the underworld overnight.
But being a joke was a luxury compared to what came next.
Three years later, Javier needed to be a widower to marry into a heavily armed family and secure their backing for a coup.
He didn't grant me the mercy of a bullet.
Instead, he dragged me to an abandoned underground safehouse, locked me in the damp, rotting dark, and told the world I had been assassinated.
For six months, I starved in that dungeon, surviving only on the desperate hope that my family was safe.
Then, on the day of his lavish new wedding, a cruel maid kicked a plate of spoiled food onto my floor and delivered the final, fatal blow.
"Annabel is dead. Pined away and died of a broken heart two weeks ago."
My gentle mother was dead, all because she actually believed his lie about my tragic murder.
Driven by pure agony and an all-consuming hatred, I shattered crates of smuggled chemical solvents and struck a match, letting the roaring inferno turn their bloody wedding into my funeral pyre.
I thought the fire was the end.
But when I opened my eyes, the suffocating smoke vanished, replaced by the biting chill of a Long Island winter.
I was standing in the snow, back on the exact day my descent into hell began.
This time, the terrified girl was dead, and I would use their own ruthless rules to tear their empire apart.
