Trapped By The Billionaire's Dark Obsession

Two days later, Chelsea sat in front of the cracked mirror in her Queens apartment. She dabbed a thick layer of concealer over her right earlobe, carefully hiding the dark purple, deeply bruised and tender bite mark Jackson had left on her skin.

She slipped into an elegant, modest white dress and ordered a car.

Thirty minutes later, she stood in the foyer of a three-Michelin-star French restaurant on the Upper East Side. The maître d' bowed respectfully and led her down a quiet hallway.

He opened the heavy double doors to a private dining room.

Chelsea stepped inside. The entire room was carpeted in thousands of white rose petals. The heavy scent of expensive floral arrangements filled the air.

Cason stood in the center of the room, wearing a perfectly tailored tuxedo. His hands were shaking slightly.

When he saw her, he rushed forward and pulled her chair out. His eyes were wide with desperate love.

Chelsea covered her mouth with both hands. She let out a soft gasp, playing the role of the overwhelmed, lucky Cinderella to perfection.

The sommelier poured vintage champagne. A string quartet played softly in the corner.

Cason took a deep breath. He reached into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a square, navy-blue velvet box.

He stepped back and slowly dropped to one knee.

Just as Cason opened his mouth to speak, the heavy double doors of the private room were violently kicked open.

The wood slammed against the wall with a deafening crash.

Jackson stumbled into the room. His tie was undone, hanging loosely around his neck. He held a half-empty bottle of scotch in his left hand. He reeked of alcohol.

Cason froze on one knee. The romantic smile on his face was instantly replaced by shock and furious disbelief.

Jackson swayed on his feet. He walked toward the table and kicked a massive crystal vase filled with white roses. The vase shattered. Water and petals exploded across the floor.

Cason jumped up. He grabbed Jackson's arm, his face red with rage.

"What the hell are you doing, Jax? Get out!" Cason yelled.

Jackson ripped his arm out of Cason's grip. He pointed a long finger at Chelsea, who was sitting frozen in her chair. He let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

"Are you really going to give a ring to a woman who belongs in a gutter?" Jackson slurred loudly.

Cason turned toward the door. "Security! Get in here!" he roared.

As Cason looked away, Jackson leaned heavily over the dining table. He braced his hands on the white tablecloth and stared directly into Chelsea's eyes.

In that split second, the drunken haze vanished from Jackson's face. His eyes were razor-sharp, stone-cold, and completely sober.

He didn't make a sound. He just looked at her and mouthed one single word.

Clinic.

Chelsea's heart stopped beating. The blood drained from her face. A cold sweat broke out across her back. He knew. He had found the medical records of her surgery. Her ultimate leverage was gone.

Four massive security guards rushed into the room. They grabbed Jackson by the arms and shoulders.

Jackson let his head loll back, playing the drunk perfectly as they dragged him backward.

"I'm saving your life, Cason!" Jackson yelled as he was pulled through the doors.

The doors closed, leaving the room in ruins.

Cason collapsed into his chair. He buried his face in his hands, apologizing over and over again for his brother's madness.

Chelsea forced her trembling hands to stop shaking. She stood up, walked over, and hugged Cason's head to her chest, whispering sweet, forgiving lies into his hair.

Two hours later, Chelsea walked out of the restaurant alone. The street was empty and quiet.

A sleek, black Maybach silently rolled up to the curb beside her. The tinted rear window slowly rolled down.

Jackson sat in the shadows of the backseat. His eyes were like daggers.

He tossed a thick manila envelope out the window. It hit the pavement and slid to a stop right at Chelsea's feet.

Chelsea bent down. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. She pulled out the papers inside. Under the glow of the streetlamp, she saw the clinic logo and the detailed surgical notes of her hymenorrhaphy.

She was completely trapped.