Trapped By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex

Annette didn't cry. The sheer cruelty of his question pushed her past the point of tears. A strange, broken laugh escaped her throat. It sounded hysterical and hollow in the quiet car. She turned her head, forcing his thumb off her skin. She looked straight into his furious, judgmental gray eyes. "Yes," Annette said. Her voice was dead. "This is my karma. Are you happy now?" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a toxic whisper. "I picked the wrong rich man. He went bankrupt, beat me, and threw me out into the garbage. This is exactly what I deserve." Every word she spoke was a lie designed to hurt him, but the blade cut her own throat on the way out. Declan's breathing stopped. The muscles in his chest expanded as he sucked in a ragged breath. The rage in his eyes morphed into something darker, something violently unstable. He snatched his hand back as if her skin was covered in acid. He slammed his fist down on the center console. Click. The locks disengaged. "Get out," Declan snarled, his voice shaking with a rage so deep it vibrated the windows. Annette shoved the door open. She threw herself out into the freezing rain and slammed the heavy door shut behind her. She didn't look back. She ran. She sprinted past the men on the stoop, ignoring their catcalls. She ran into the dark, foul-smelling stairwell. The stench of urine and rotting garbage hit her face. She ran up five flights of stairs, her lungs burning, her legs trembling so violently she almost tripped. She reached her door. She pulled her keys from her pocket. Her hands were shaking so badly she dropped them twice. She finally shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and threw herself inside. She slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. Down on the street, the Bentley's engine roared like a dying beast. The tires screeched as Declan floored the gas, tearing away from the curb. The sound of the engine faded into the rain. Annette's knees buckled. She slid down the back of the door and hit the cheap linoleum floor. The physical pain she had been suppressing all day finally exploded. Her stomach cramped so violently she doubled over, pressing her forehead against the dirty floor. She wrapped her arms around her head and let out a raw, agonizing scream that was swallowed by the empty apartment. Five years of hiding. Five years of debt. Five years of fighting her own brain just to stay alive. It had all broken her. An hour later, the pain subsided into a dull, throbbing ache. Annette pulled herself up from the floor. She walked into her tiny, freezing bedroom and turned on the single desk lamp. She opened her closet. Hanging inside a plastic garment bag was the custom silk bridesmaid dress Clara had bought for her. The expensive, shimmering fabric looked completely absurd in this rotting room. Annette stared at the dress. She realized the truth. As long as she stayed in Clara and Leo's orbit, she would never escape Declan. He would keep tearing her wounds open until she bled to death. And she was too broken, too sick, to stand beside Clara at the altar. She picked up her phone and dialed Clara's number. It went straight to voicemail. She typed out a long, desperate text message, her tears blurring the screen. I am so sorry, Clara. I love you, but I can't do this. Please forgive me. Then, she walked over to her battered laptop. She opened it and logged into her email. She typed in the addresses for the entire bridal party and the wedding planner. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, she started typing. I am so sorry. I was just assigned an emergency legal aid case. I have to fly out of state immediately to depose a witness. I cannot be in the wedding. I am officially stepping down from the bridal party. Please forgive me. She didn't read it twice. She closed her eyes and hit SEND. The screen flashed: Message Sent. She had just severed the last tie she had to her old life. Ten miles away, driving over the Manhattan Bridge, Declan's phone lit up on the passenger seat. He glanced down at the screen. The notification showed an email from Annette to the bridal party. Declan read the preview text. Stepping down... leaving the state. His foot slammed on the brakes. The Bentley swerved violently, tires smoking as he brought the car to a screeching halt in the middle of the bridge. He grabbed the phone and read the full email. His face turned completely white. Then, a dark, terrifying shadow fell over his eyes. She was running away again. Declan let out a roar of pure rage. He raised his arm and smashed the phone against the dashboard. The screen shattered into a spiderweb of broken glass. His chest heaved. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. "You think you can run from me?" Declan whispered to the empty car, his voice dripping with a sick, obsessive possession.