Trapped By The Billionaire's Dark Obsession
I spent months crafting the perfect disguise to infiltrate the ultra-wealthy Brooks family by dating the younger heir, Cason. I even underwent a painful surgery to fake my physical innocence.
But the moment I stepped into his penthouse, I ran straight into the one man who haunted my worst nightmares: his ruthless older brother, Jackson Brooks.
Five years ago, Jackson's family tied me to a cold medical table and brutally ripped my unborn child from my womb because they didn't allow bastards to be born. Now, Jackson recognized me instantly. He cornered me in the dark, bit my ear until it bruised, and threw my confidential medical files in my face.
"Leave Cason, or I will personally destroy every single thing you care about," he hissed.
He thought his billions could buy my silence and erase the agonizing screams of my past. He thought I was just a pathetic con artist trying to steal their trust fund.
He didn't know the innocent, terrified girl act was just bait.
Standing on the edge of the highway bridge, watching the invincible billionaire tremble in pure terror at the memory of my fake suicide from five years ago, a cold smile curved my lips.
My revenge had officially begun, and I was going to tear his empire apart piece by piece.
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Chapter 2
Chelsea stepped out of the private elevator and into the sprawling Tribeca penthouse. The dull ache in her lower abdomen pulsed with every step she took.
She bypassed the living room and walked straight into the master bedroom. She opened the bottom drawer of the custom walk-in closet, unlocked a hidden compartment, and shoved the clinic discharge papers and prescription painkillers inside.
She closed the drawer just as footsteps approached.
Cason walked out of the open-concept kitchen. He wore a casual apron over his designer t-shirt, holding a spatula. A bright, warm smile lit up his face the second he saw her.
"You're home," Cason said.
He closed the distance and wrapped his arms around her in a tight, possessive hug. He buried his face in her neck. "Where were you all day?"
Chelsea leaned her weight against his chest.
"I had to work overtime at the PR firm in Brooklyn," she lied smoothly, her voice soft and exhausted.
Cason frowned. He kissed her forehead, his hands rubbing her back.
"You don't need to kill yourself at that job, Chels. My trust fund is more than enough for both of us."
Chelsea lowered her gaze, staring at the floorboards. She stiffened her spine, playing the part of the proud, stubborn girl from the wrong side of the tracks.
"I don't want your money, Cason. I don't want people to think I'm just some gold digger."
Cason's chest swelled. Her words fed directly into his savior complex. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the massive marble kitchen island.
"Look," Cason said proudly, pointing to the two perfectly seared Tomahawk steaks resting on bone china plates.
Chelsea saw the lit candles and the open bottle of expensive Bordeaux. Her stomach tightened. The romantic setup screamed of physical expectations she could not fulfill tonight.
Cason poured two glasses of red wine. He handed one to her, his eyes darkening with blatant desire.
Before she could take a sip, Cason reached out. He gripped her waist, his muscles tensing as he prepared to lift her off the ground and onto the edge of the cold marble island.
Chelsea's mind raced. The doctor's strict orders about avoiding strenuous physical activity echoed in her head. She absolutely could not risk tearing her fresh surgical stitches for a fleeting moment of intimacy.
With practiced grace, she let out a soft, apologetic laugh and firmly planted her feet, gently twisting out of his grasp just before he could hoist her up.
"Wait, Cason," she murmured, stepping back and smoothing down the cheap cotton fabric of her dress. "I've been running around the city all day. I'm covered in subway grime, and I really don't want to ruin your pristine counter or your beautiful clothes."
Cason chuckled, his hands dropping back to his sides, though his gaze remained heated. He stepped closer, closing the distance she had just created. His warm lips pressed against the sensitive skin of her neck. His hands slid up her arms, resting gently on her shoulders instead.
The electronic lock on the front door suddenly emitted a loud, sharp beep.
Chelsea froze. She shoved Cason's chest hard and slid away from his embrace, her feet hitting the floor with a painful jolt.
Cason sighed in frustration. He turned his head toward the entryway.
"Who the hell is just walking in?" Cason muttered.
The heavy oak door swung open. Jackson stepped into the foyer. He held a bottle of vintage Macallan whiskey in one hand. The cold night air seemed to follow him inside.
"I was in the neighborhood," Jackson said casually, shrugging off his tailored suit jacket. "Thought I'd check on my irresponsible little brother."
Jackson looked up. His eyes scanned the living room and locked onto the kitchen island.
When Jackson saw the woman standing behind Cason, wearing the same washed-out cotton dress from the clinic, his hand jerked.
The amber liquid inside the whiskey bottle sloshed violently.
The air in the penthouse evaporated. A suffocating, dead silence crashed down on the room.
Cason, completely oblivious to the sudden drop in temperature, smiled. He walked forward and clapped his older brother on the shoulder.
"Perfect timing, Jax," Cason said cheerfully.
Jackson's jaw muscles bunched so tightly they looked ready to snap. His eyes, dark and predatory, bypassed Cason entirely and drilled into Chelsea's pale face.
Chelsea immediately shrank in on herself. She grabbed the fabric of Cason's sleeve, hiding half her body behind his back like a terrified prey animal.
Cason reached back and pulled her forward.
"Jax, I want you to officially meet Chelsea," Cason said, his voice full of pride. "She moved in with me a month ago."
The words "moved in" hit Jackson like a physical blow. The temperature in the room plummeted.
Jackson shoved past Cason. He marched toward the kitchen, his heavy footsteps echoing off the high ceilings.
He slammed the bottle of whiskey down on the marble island. The deafening crack made Chelsea flinch violently.
Jackson ignored his brother. He leaned over the counter, his face inches from Chelsea's.
"What kind of sick, twisted game did you play to crawl your way into his bed?" Jackson asked, his voice a chilling, deadpan whisper.
Cason's smile vanished. His face flushed red with instant fury. He stepped in front of Chelsea, blocking Jackson's view.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Cason roared.
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9.7
For three years, I hid my identity as the sole heiress of a multi-billion dollar tech empire to live in a cramped apartment and support my boyfriend, Ben.
But the day before our engagement, I stood outside a meeting room and overheard him talking to his wealthy boss, Haylie.
"She's just a stepping stone," Ben laughed, his voice full of contempt. "A poor, ambitionless distraction while I work my way up to where I really belong."
He mocked the cheap silver ring he gave me, calling it a necessary prop to keep a naive fool happy.
He bragged about the multi-million dollar merger proposal he was presenting, planning to use it to secure his promotion and build a future with her.
He had no idea that I had secretly negotiated that entire deal using my real connections just to give him his big break.
I had sacrificed my family's comfort, my true identity, and my own career just to watch him rise.
I poured my heart and soul into our humble beginnings, only to realize he saw my love as a pathetic joke and me as disposable trash.
I calmly picked up a pen and voided the merger agreement, tearing my hard work into tiny pieces.
I went home, slid the cheap ring off my finger, and dropped it into his mug of cold coffee.
"Soon, you'll find out exactly who is nothing."
Walking out the door, I pulled out my phone and texted my billionaire father.
"I'm in. Announce the merger."
9.0
To save her dying mother, Adaline walked into the Waldorf Astoria to deliver a shirt to her fiancé.
She didn't know her stepsister, June, had swapped her keycard. Adaline stumbled into a pitch-black suite and was brutally assaulted by a stranger in the dark.
The nightmare didn't end there. June paid off the only bone marrow donor for Adaline's mother to flee the city, and stole Adaline's fiancé. Bankrupt and desperate, Adaline was forced to sell herself into a loveless marriage with the ruthless billionaire Ferris Finch just to secure a medical team.
But when Ferris saw the dark, violent bruises covering her body, his eyes filled with absolute disgust.
"You make me sick. Pack up your cheap tricks."
He mocked her, calling her a filthy woman who couldn't even wash her lover's marks off before crawling into his house.
Adaline swallowed her pride and endured his cruel humiliation. When June publicly taunted her about the hotel assault, Adaline finally snapped, ending up handcuffed in a freezing police cell.
She thought she was completely out of moves, waiting to rot in prison while her new husband despised her.
But back at the estate, Ferris had just pulled the hotel's security footage.
Staring at the screen, the arrogant billionaire's face turned completely ashen.
He finally realized that the innocent woman he had destroyed in the dark that night, and the wife he was currently torturing, were the exact same person.
7.9
On my wedding day, my fiancé Connor received an urgent phone call.
He told me a D-list actress had broken her leg on set, then abandoned me right at the altar.
In my past life, I cried until my throat bled, begging him not to leave.
But my tears only brought endless humiliation. My mother and adopted sister mocked me, framed me, and forged my signature to steal my multi-million dollar trust fund.
They kicked me out of the family estate without a single dime.
I ended up freezing to death in the minus-twenty-degree New York blizzard, listening to my mother's voicemail telling me to die in the street as long as I didn't bleed on her carpets.
Until my last breath, I couldn't understand why my own blood relatives hated me so much, yet treated an adopted daughter like a precious princess.
The only person who showed me any mercy—draping his wool coat over my frozen corpse and giving me a proper burial—was Connor's ruthless, untouchable uncle, Harding Snow.
Opening my eyes again, I was back in the bridal suite, right as Connor was rushing out the door.
This time, I didn't shed a single tear.
I let him run to his actress, then walked straight into the VIP room to face the most feared billionaire on Wall Street.
"The wedding proceeds as planned, but the groom's name changes to yours."
8.3
Hovering as a translucent soul in the freezing cemetery, I watched Corbin Mendez—the ruthless billionaire I had spent my entire life despising—violently smash open my tomb.
I thought he had come to desecrate my corpse. Instead, he collapsed to his knees, reverently kissed my dead lips, and swallowed a lethal bottle of pills without a drop of water.
In my past life, I was betrayed by my ex-fiancé, framed by my vicious step-family, and trapped in a suffocating marriage with Corbin. I thought he was a paranoid, abusive monster who only wanted to control me. I fought his madness every single day until I died sick, exhausted, and utterly defeated.
But watching him climb into my casket, wrapping his massive arms around my cold body to die beside me, my non-existent heart shattered.
Why hadn't I seen the truth? He wasn't a monster; he was a deeply traumatized man suffering from severe PTSD, and his obsessive love for me was his only tether to sanity.
The regret and agony tore my soul to pieces.
"My love, I'm too late."
Those were his last words before his heart stopped.
When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't floating in a dark tomb. I was lying in Corbin's bed, exactly two years in the past.
This time, I wouldn't run away. I would heal the broken beast who died for me, and I would personally put a bullet in everyone who ruined us.
9.3
For three years, Dara endured endless humiliation to be the perfect wife to billionaire Donavon Monroe.
But on their third anniversary, which was also her birthday, Donavon coldly threw divorce papers on the dining table.
He wanted her gone for his returning childhood sweetheart, completely ignoring the blistering burn on Dara's hand—a cruel injury intentionally caused by his brother just hours ago.
When Dara tearfully reminded him how she had bled and almost died to save his life three years ago, Donavon looked at her with pure disgust.
"I have zero interest in looking at the ugly scars you picked up in whatever slum you crawled out of."
He accused her of fabricating a savior complex just to secure a ring, perfectly content to let his mother and brother treat her like a glorified maid.
Dara's heart completely shattered.
She had sacrificed her life and dignity for a ruthless capitalist who viewed her as nothing but disposable trash.
With her last shred of pride, she signed the papers, ready to leave this suffocating nightmare forever.
But that night, a freak lightning storm struck the estate.
When Dara opened her eyes the next morning, she felt incredibly heavy and her center of gravity was completely wrong.
She looked in the mirror and saw Donavon's cold, chiseled face staring back at her in absolute terror.
They had swapped bodies.
Now, she held the absolute power of the Monroe empire, and Donavon was finally going to experience his family's vicious abuse firsthand.
7.5
For three years, I was trapped in a paper marriage to a billionaire I had never met, until my father forced me to finally visit his hotel suite.
But when I walked in, I found my husband, Bryton Lott, heavily drugged by my own father. Stripped of all reason, Bryton violently pinned me down and took my innocence, making me a pawn in my father's sick scheme to force a pregnancy and save his bankrupt company.
After escaping his feral grip, I overheard Bryton call my father. He called me a useless, invisible wife, vowing to hand me divorce papers the second he saw my face. The nightmare didn't end there. When I brought a priceless antique jade bracelet to my mother's birthday, she slapped me across the face in front of the entire elite crowd. My stepsister publicly accused me of selling my body. Hiding in the shadows, I even heard my mother admit she wished I was dead, only keeping me around to exploit my marriage.
I had played the obedient, impoverished daughter for years, enduring their endless abuse just to protect my grandmother's legacy. Why did my own flesh and blood treat me like a sacrificial lamb to be sold and destroyed?
The last thread holding my heart together completely snapped. I left the multi-million dollar bracelet on the cold stone sill and walked out into the freezing night. Snapping my everyday SIM card in half, I pulled out an encrypted satellite phone and activated my true identity as the underground world's top operative, "King."
"Run a full hostile intelligence sweep on Apocalypse Corp."