Trapped By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex
Five years ago, I ruined my own reputation and pretended to sell myself to a wealthy old man, all to protect my boyfriend Declan's future.
Now, he is a ruthless billionaire who controls half of Manhattan, and we unexpectedly reunited at our best friends' wedding rehearsal.
But he didn't know the truth. He looked at my cheap, frayed dress with absolute disgust and allowed the wealthy guests to brutally humiliate me.
"Where is that rich old man you left Declan for? Did he finally kick you to the curb?"
Declan just watched me with dead eyes, watching me squirm while I secretly suffered from severe physical withdrawals. He even cornered me in a freezing alley, kissing me violently before threatening to make me wish I was dead if I didn't get out of his city.
Meanwhile, my real life was a living hell. My father was dying in the ICU, his life support about to be cut off by noon, and a ruthless gang was extorting me for three million dollars over a murder my father was framed for.
I bought Declan his billionaire throne with my blood, my health, and my future. I swallowed dry pills just to survive the day. Why did my ultimate sacrifice only bring me endless torment and his absolute hatred?
Realizing that staying in his orbit would only lead to my death, I borrowed money from a dangerous loan shark to save my father, sent a final email resigning from the bridal party, and completely vanished from Declan's life.
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Chapter 7
The Legal Aid Society office in lower Manhattan was a chaotic, suffocating mess. Phones rang constantly. The smell of stale coffee and cheap printer ink hung heavy in the air.
Annette sat at her cramped desk. Her supervisor had just dropped three massive, overstuffed manila folders onto her keyboard.
"Public defense cases. I need the briefs filed by Friday," her boss barked before walking away.
Annette didn't complain. She opened the first file and stared at the blurry security footage of a juvenile robbery.
A coworker leaned over the cubicle wall and handed her a paper cup of black coffee.
"Jesus, Annie. What happened to your face?" he asked, pointing at the angry red scratch on her cheekbone.
Annette quickly pulled a strand of dark hair forward to cover the wound. "I tripped coming out of the subway. Hit the turnstile."
When the clock hit noon, the office emptied out for lunch.
Annette didn't eat. She stood up, locked her office door, and pulled down the blinds.
She got down on her knees and pulled a heavy, black briefcase from the very bottom of her filing cabinet. It had a physical combination lock.
She spun the dials. Click.
She opened the case. Inside were hundreds of documents, crime scene photos, and trial transcripts. It was the complete, unredacted file of her father's murder conviction.
She pulled out a glossy photo of Beth Vargas, the victim's wife. She pinned it to the corkboard hidden behind her office door.
She took a red marker and drew a thick, aggressive line connecting Beth's face to the name of the prosecution's star witness.
She knew they were lying. She knew Beth was sleeping with the witnesses to buy their testimony. But she needed hard, physical proof to break the perjury ring.
Suddenly, her cell phone vibrated violently against the desk.
Annette quickly flipped the corkboard around to hide the photos. She picked up the phone. It was Clara.
"Hey, the rehearsal isn't until-"
"He wants me to sign a prenup!" Clara screamed into the phone. Her voice was thick with tears and alcohol.
Annette frowned. "Clara? Where are you?"
"Fifty pages, Annette!" Clara sobbed. "His family lawyers sent it this morning. If we divorce, I get nothing. No shares in the trust. They even put a clause in about child custody. He doesn't trust me!"
Annette's lawyer instincts kicked in. "Clara, listen to me. Do not sign anything. Let me read the clauses first. Where are you right now?"
"I left. I'm at that gross dive bar we used to go to in Williamsburg. I'm drinking tequila," Clara cried.
Annette looked at the clock. It was 3:00 PM. She couldn't leave her best friend alone in a dangerous Brooklyn dive bar while she was drunk and emotional.
"Stay right there. I'm coming," Annette said.
She grabbed her trench coat and ran out of the building.
The rain had turned into a freezing, miserable drizzle. It took Annette three different subway transfers to reach the edge of Williamsburg.
She pushed open the heavy, rotting wooden door of the dive bar.
The smell of stale beer, sweat, and vomit hit her like a physical wall. Heavy metal music blasted from the blown-out speakers, vibrating the floorboards beneath her feet.
The bar was dark, lit only by flickering neon beer signs.
Annette pushed through the crowd of leather-clad bikers and drunk college students. She scanned the sticky booths.
She spotted Clara slumped over a table in the darkest corner of the bar, a shot glass in her hand.
Annette rushed over. She grabbed Clara's wrist and pried the glass from her fingers.
"Clara, get up. We are leaving right now," Annette ordered, pulling on her arm.
Clara whined and tried to pull away. "No! I'm not marrying a man who thinks I'm a gold digger!"
Before Annette could pull Clara to her feet, a massive shadow fell over the table, blocking out the red neon light.
Annette looked up.
Standing right in front of her, looking completely out of place in a bespoke, charcoal-gray Tom Ford suit, was Declan.
He looked like a god of destruction standing in a garbage dump.
He looked down at Annette, his gray eyes sweeping over her wet hair and the panicked look on her face.
The corner of his mouth curled into a cruel, razor-sharp smirk.
"What a coincidence," Declan said, his voice cutting through the heavy metal music like a knife.
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7.4
Four years ago, to protect the man I loved from losing his billionaire empire, I drugged his drink, told him I only used him for his money, and vanished.
Now, at a high-society gala, Callum Wyatt is back. He isn't just a CEO anymore; he's a ruthless predator, and the second his eyes lock onto me, I know I am his prey.
When my wealthy half-sister publicly humiliated me, calling me the cheap bastard child of a homewrecker, Callum stepped out of the shadows. He nearly snapped her wrist in half and declared to New York's elite that anyone who touched me would be dismantled.
In the back of his Maybach, he pinned my arms above my head, his eyes burning with psychotic obsession.
"If you run again, Aubrey, I will burn your entire world to the ground just to keep you."
My heart bled. I had spent four grueling years tearing myself apart to keep him out of my messy, blood-soaked revenge against the family that watched my mother die.
But his terrifying protection only made my biological father's family target me harder, using their massive capital to buy out my movie set and crush my acting career.
They thought I would cower.
But as I walked onto the soundstage, facing the heiress trying to steal my role, I took off my sunglasses. I wasn't running anymore; it was time to make them pay.
9.3
My father ordered me to marry into the cursed Vaughn family.
Their heirs were rumored to die young from a mysterious genetic agony. My sister Kayden laughed, saying she wasn't going to waste her youth planning a funeral. So, I became the sacrificial lamb.
When I refused, my father slammed his hand on the table and threatened to throw my dead mother's ashes into the city dump.
"You are a struggling actress with no money and no power. You have no choice," he told me coldly.
To make matters worse, my own agent drugged my drink at a business dinner, trying to sell my body to a sleazy investor just to secure project funding.
I was completely cornered, suffocating under the weight of their cruelty. I couldn't understand how my own flesh and blood could be so vicious, treating me like a worthless pawn to be traded and discarded.
But none of them knew that while escaping the drug-laced dinner, I crashed directly into the terrifying Vaughn heir, Algot.
When his glowing crimson eyes locked onto me during a violent episode of his cursed pain, we discovered an impossible truth: my physical touch was the only cure for his agony.
Looking at the dark bruises he accidentally left on my neck, I chose not to run. Instead, I pulled out the private business card he gave me and dialed his number.
"You need me," I whispered to the dangerous billionaire. "And I am going to use you to destroy them all."
7.4
Clara Davis was trained to seduce, deceive, and destroy.
Her mission is simple: infiltrate billionaire Jeffery Rothwell's life, gain his trust, and help seize his empire in exchange for the freedom she has always craved.
But the deeper she slips into his dangerous world, the more the lines between mission and desire begin to blur. Falling for him was never part of the plan and neither was discovering that the man she was sent to manipulate may not be the real Jeffery at all.
Now trapped in a deadly web of obsession, power, and hidden identities. Clara is caught between the organization that owns her, the monster who remade her, and a love that has turned into vengeance. Clara must survive a man who sees everything, controls everything, and may be far more dangerous than the organization that created her.
Because in this game of seduction and revenge, love might be the deadliest trap of all.
8.3
Half a month into our cold war, I, Claire Parker, found an abortion procedure slip tucked inside Daniel Carter's suit pocket.
The patient's name belonged to the fragile little childhood sweetheart he had always protected so fiercely-Sophie Bennett.
I folded the paper calmly and slipped it back where I had found it.
Daniel noticed the movement immediately. His eyes flicked toward me through the rearview mirror, resignation coloring his voice.
"What are you overthinking now? Sophie was just keeping a friend company at the hospital. She accidentally left it there."
I turned toward the window and said nothing.
This was Sophie declaring war on me, yet the man who could crush competitors without mercy in the business world believed her completely.
The silence inside the car grew suffocating until Daniel finally stopped outside an upscale jewelry boutique.
He reached over and ruffled my hair with easy familiarity, his tone indulgent and affectionate.
"Come on. Pick out a ring. Your birthday's next month anyway, so we might as well register our marriage too."
I bit down hard on my lip as tears fell soundlessly onto the back of my hand.
What he still didn't know was that I wouldn't live long enough to see next month.
8.2
For three years, I scrubbed tables as a "wolfless runt," hiding my identity as the Lycan King's daughter.
It was a test for my fiancé, Alpha Connor. I wanted to see if he loved the girl, or just the crown.
He failed spectacularly tonight.
His mistress, Jaden, deliberately knocked a tray of drinks onto me during the dinner rush.
The liquid wasn't alcohol. It was concentrated silver.
My flesh hissed and bubbled as the poison ate through my skin, blocking any ability to heal.
I fell to the floor, clutching my melting hand, while Jaden faked tears and claimed I attacked her.
When Connor finally answered the video call, he saw my mangled hand. He smelled the burning flesh. He knew it was silver.
But he didn't help me.
He looked at his watch, annoyed that I was interrupting his business meeting with investors.
"Apologize to Jaden," he ordered, using his Alpha Command to crush me into submission.
"On your knees. Now."
The pain was blinding, but the betrayal cut deeper. He was forcing his Fated Mate to bow to the woman who tried to maim her.
My knees bent under the pressure, but my Royal blood refused to break.
I looked straight into the camera lens.
"No," I whispered.
I reached into my apron, bypassing the notepad, and pulled out a black satellite phone I hadn't touched in years.
"Code Black," I said to the King on the other end. "Send the Guard."
Connor thought he was disciplining a waitress.
He didn't know he just declared war on the Royal Family.
9.8
Three women, three brothers, a single, crumpled dollar bill.
Alina's world shatters the moment she's auctioned off-and claimed by the powerful Hawthorne brothers.
Thrown into Adrian Hawthorne's cold, dangerous world, she becomes his to control... his to protect... and, terrifyingly, his to desire. He's ruthless, possessive, and hiding secrets that could destroy them both. But the deeper she falls into his world, the harder it becomes to tell if she's his prisoner-or something far more dangerous.
Because the Hawthorne brothers don't just take.
They keep.
Viviane has spent her life surviving, so when Julian Hawthorne "buys" her freedom, she knows better than to trust it. Men like him don't save people-they collect them. But Julian isn't as simple as he pretends to be, and the deeper she's pulled into his world, the more dangerous it becomes to walk away.
Especially when she realizes she might be the only thing he's ever been willing to fight for.
Lena doesn't belong to anyone-and she intends to keep it that way. Brilliant, guarded, and hiding more than anyone suspects, she enters Lucien Hawthorne's world on her own terms. But Lucien doesn't play fair, and he doesn't let go.
When her past comes crashing back, Lena is forced to face the one thing she's been running from: trusting someone who could destroy her... or save her.
Three women. Three choices.Stay. Fight.
Or burn it all down.
Because being sold was only the beginning.