Trapped By My Sister's Billionaire Fiance

Morning light sliced through the blinds and found Alyssa on the couch. She hadn't made it to the bedroom. She'd collapsed here sometime after three, still in her wet clothes, her knees bandaged with toilet paper and duct tape.

Paige stood over her, holding a mug of coffee that smelled like burned desperation. She set something on the coffee table. A newspaper. The Wall Street Journal.

The photograph took up half the front page. Cornell Knight in a tuxedo, accepting some award. The headline read: "Knight Heir to Wed Snyder Scion: Wall Street Power Consolidates."

"Read it," Paige said. "Then tell me what the hell you got yourself into."

Alyssa's hands shook as she scanned the article. Cornell Knight. Thirty-six. CEO of Knight Holdings. Net worth estimated in the billions. Engaged to Henrietta Snyder, described as "a rising star in investment banking" and "the adopted daughter of the Snyder shipping fortune."

"Stay away from him," Paige said. "Whatever happened last night, whatever he did or didn't do, you stay away. Men like that don't play by normal rules. They don't even see people like us as human."

Alyssa nodded. She couldn't speak. The image of Cornell's face in the club, in the car, in the rain, played on repeat behind her eyes.

She escaped to the bathroom and locked the door. The mirror showed her the truth. The bruise on her cheek, purple and yellow. The marks on her neck where his fingers had gripped. She turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face until her skin went numb.

Two painkillers from the cabinet. She swallowed them dry and lay down on the bathroom floor, waiting for the edge to dull.

Sleep took her hard and fast. It pulled her down into darkness, into memory, into a place she'd spent ten years trying to forget.

She was four years old again. Pennsylvania. The kind of town that didn't appear on maps. Their house was a converted trailer, rust eating at the seams. She wore a dress that had belonged to three cousins before her.

The Lincoln pulled into the muddy yard. Black. Long. Wrong. Men in suits stepped out, their faces obscured by shadows, moving with terrifying purpose. They didn't bother to knock. They simply kicked the door in.

Henrietta screamed. She was fourteen, beautiful even in terror, her fingers digging into the doorframe as they dragged her toward the car, a brutal kidnapping that would haunt Alyssa forever. Alyssa hid behind the couch and watched her only sister disappear into the nightmare.

The rear window rolled down. A young man looked out. Eighteen, maybe nineteen. Perfect hair. Perfect clothes. Eyes like frozen lakes. He glanced at the trailer, at Alyssa's pale face in the window, and showed no expression at all. Then the glass rose and the car pulled away, Henrietta's screams fading into the dust.

Alyssa woke gasping. The bathroom tile was cold against her cheek. Her phone was buzzing on the sink.

A text message. Unknown number. The area code was Manhattan.

"Tonight. 7 PM. My apartment. Wear something appropriate. We have news to share. -H."

Henrietta. Her sister. The sister who sent money every month and visited twice a year and spoke in the clipped tones of someone who had learned to belong in rooms Alyssa couldn't imagine.

Alyssa stared at the message. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. She thought of the dream. The boy in the car. The eyes that saw nothing.

She thought of Cornell Knight.

She pulled herself up and opened the medicine cabinet. Concealer. Foundation. She painted over the bruises, layer after layer, until she looked almost normal. Then she found the coat Henrietta had given her last Christmas. Burberry. The only expensive thing she owned. She had to borrow a cheap, scuffed faux-leather tote from Paige, her beloved canvas bag still sitting somewhere on the floorboard of a billionaire's car.

The subway to the Upper East Side took forty-seven minutes. Alyssa counted them, watching the stations blur past. 59th Street. 68th. 77th. Each stop brought her closer to a sister she barely knew anymore.

Meanwhile, forty floors above Fifth Avenue, Cornell Knight stepped out of a boardroom where he'd just dismantled a competitor's merger. His assistant fell into step beside him.

"Boss." Morgan Finch held out a thick envelope. "Everything you asked for."

Cornell took it without breaking stride. He entered his private elevator and pressed the button for the garage. As the doors closed, he opened the envelope.

The first page was a photograph. Alyssa in her ballet costume, mid-leap, her face transformed by effort and joy. He flipped to the next page. Family history. Mother deceased. Stepfather incarcerated. One sibling.

Henrietta Snyder (née Medina). Adopted 2004. Current residence: Upper East Side penthouse. Occupation: Managing Director, Goldman Sachs. Relationship status: Engaged.

Cornell read the name twice. His fingers tightened on the paper until the edges creased. The elevator hummed downward, carrying him toward the garage, toward his own car, toward a destination he hadn't planned.

He began to laugh.

The sound was soft. Private. Terrifying.