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 3
Cason shoved Jackson's arm away from the counter.
"Take that back right now," Cason warned, his chest heaving. "You don't talk to her like that."
Jackson let out a dark, humorless laugh. He didn't even look at Cason. He kept his eyes fixed on the sliver of Chelsea he could see behind his brother's shoulder.
"The legal team needs you on the phone," Jackson said smoothly, his tone shifting to pure business. "The tech acquisition in Silicon Valley hit a snag. Go to the terrace and take the call. Now."
Cason hesitated. The weight of the Brooks family empire was a heavy chain around his neck. He looked at Chelsea, his eyes full of apology.
"I'll be right back," Cason whispered. He squeezed her hand, turned, and walked out to the expansive outdoor terrace.
The heavy, soundproof glass door slid shut. The physical barrier completely severed Cason from the kitchen.
The second the latch clicked, the last shred of Jackson's restraint shattered.
He lunged forward.
Chelsea stumbled backward in terror. Her spine slammed hard against the cold marble backsplash of the stove. She had nowhere left to run.
Jackson slammed both his hands flat onto the counter on either side of her hips. He caged her in completely. His broad chest pressed against her, trapping her against the wall.
He lowered his head. His breath, hot and smelling faintly of scotch, washed over her face.
"How much of my family's money are you trying to steal this time?" Jackson hissed, his voice dripping with venom.
Chelsea tilted her head up. She forced her eyes to widen. A single, perfect tear rolled down her cheek.
"I love him," she whispered, her voice cracking. "I just love him."
Jackson's upper lip curled in absolute disgust.
"Love?" Jackson mocked. "Is that what you called it five years ago when you slit your wrists in a bathtub to force me to marry you?"
Chelsea's body jerked. A genuine flash of agony ripped through her chest. The memory of the blood, the cold water, and the lies his parents told him hit her like a physical strike.
Jackson didn't care about her pain. He reached into his slacks and pulled out his phone. He tapped the screen, opening a highly encrypted folder.
He shoved the glowing screen into her face.
It was the black file. The fake police reports. The fabricated clinic records detailing her supposed history of sex work.
"You have exactly ten minutes to pack your trash and get out of this building," Jackson ordered, his voice devoid of any mercy. "Or I walk out to that terrace and show Cason exactly what kind of filth he's sleeping with."
Chelsea stared at the screen. She bit her lower lip so hard the skin broke. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
She closed her eyes and gave a slow, defeated nod.
Jackson stepped back immediately, wiping his hands on his trousers as if touching the air near her had infected him. He pointed a rigid finger toward the master bedroom.
Chelsea kept her head down. She dragged her aching body across the living room and into the bedroom.
She pulled a battered, cheap suitcase from under the bed. She opened the drawers and threw her faded cotton shirts and worn-out jeans inside.
She walked over to the vanity mirror. The diamond Cartier bracelet and the lambskin Chanel bag Cason had bought her sat on the glass surface. She didn't touch them. She left them perfectly centered, a physical proof of her fake martyrdom.
She zipped the suitcase shut and dragged it out to the living room.
The glass door slid open. Cason walked back inside, pocketing his phone.
He saw the suitcase. He froze.
"Chels? What are you doing?" Cason asked, his voice rising in panic. He rushed forward and grabbed the handle of the suitcase.
Chelsea ripped her hand away from his. She forced a tragic, watery smile onto her face.
"Things are moving too fast, Cason," she lied, her voice trembling. "I need some space. I need to think."
Cason looked like he had been shot. He whipped his head around and glared at Jackson, who was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows with his hands in his pockets.
"What did you say to her?" Cason screamed, stepping toward his brother with his fists clenched.
"I didn't say anything," Jackson replied, his face a mask of bored indifference. "She made a smart choice."
Cason lunged.
Chelsea threw herself forward. She wrapped her arms tightly around Cason's waist, burying her face in his back.
"Please!" she sobbed loudly. "Don't fight with your brother over me. Please, Cason!"
Cason stopped, his chest heaving as he looked down at her crying form.
Taking advantage of his hesitation, Chelsea let go of him. She grabbed her suitcase, turned her back on both of them, and walked out the front door.
The elevator doors slowly slid shut, cutting off Cason's desperate shouts and Jackson's cold, unblinking stare.
Chelsea walked out of the luxury high-rise. The freezing New York rain lashed against her bare arms.
She hailed a beat-up yellow cab and gave the driver an address for a rundown tenement building in Queens.
The cab merged into traffic. Chelsea sat in the backseat. She pulled a wet wipe from her purse and wiped the tears from her face. Her expression went completely dead.
Deep inside her bag, a burner phone suddenly began to emit a faint, continuous hum. She glanced down just as the flap of her purse shifted, catching the ghostly, pulsing glow of the screen lighting up with an unknown caller ID.
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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."