Trapped By The Cold Billionaire Heir

Wren and Pierce stood in the center of the Grand Ballroom at The Plaza. The massive crystal chandeliers poured bright light over them. The master of ceremonies called for the first dance.

Pierce stepped forward. He wrapped his arm around Wren's waist. His fingers dug into her ribs through the silk of her dress. The pressure was hard enough to leave bruises.

Wren was forced to step closer. Her chest bumped against his solid chest. The string quartet started playing a slow waltz. She took her first step and intentionally drove her heel toward his foot.

Pierce shifted his weight instantly. He dodged her heel. He grabbed her hand and spun her out hard. The force whipped her heavy skirt around her legs. She stumbled, her ankle wobbling in her high heels.

Wren clenched her jaw and caught her balance. She kept the bright smile plastered on her face. She leaned in and whispered that he was a classless bastard.

Pierce let out a low, mocking laugh. He pulled her back in. He whispered against her ear that her parents clearly hadn't paid enough for her etiquette lessons.

The music stopped. They bowed to the clapping crowd. As soon as they stood up straight, they dropped each other's hands like they were on fire.

Pierce's older brother, Julian Ainsworth, walked up to them. He held a glass of champagne and a warm, disarming smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Three reporters from major financial networks followed right behind him.

Wren forced herself to loop her arm through Pierce's. She pressed her side against his.

A reporter shoved a microphone forward and asked where they were going for their honeymoon.

Pierce didn't blink. He smiled warmly and described a romantic, two-week ski trip in Aspen.

Wren's stomach churned at the smooth lie. She reached her hand around his bicep. She pinched the skin on the back of his arm as hard as she could.

Pierce sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. He turned his head and glared at her. His eyes promised violence. Wren widened her eyes and gave him a sweet, innocent smile.

The reporters moved on. Two older men from the Ainsworth board of directors walked over and pulled Pierce away to talk business.

Wren let out a long breath. She grabbed the heavy fabric of her skirt and walked away from the crowd. She headed toward the dark, quiet balcony at the edge of the room.

She reached the heavy velvet curtains blocking the balcony doors. Suddenly, a large hand shot out from the shadows. Long fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She was yanked violently behind the thick fabric.

Wren gasped. Her back slammed into the cold plaster wall. She looked up. Pierce was standing inches away from her. His eyes were burning with anger.

He slammed his hand against the wall right next to her head. He trapped her in the tiny, dark space. He demanded to know what the hell she was doing in front of the cameras.

Wren didn't look away. She tilted her chin up. She laughed and asked how he planned to run a billion-dollar company if a little pinch made him cry.

Pierce's eyes dropped to her collarbone. He leaned closer. His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. He told her to remember she was nothing but a purchased accessory.

The word "accessory" made Wren's blood boil. She raised her hand and swung it toward his face.

Pierce's reflexes were faster. He caught her wrist in mid-air. He twisted her arm behind her back and stepped into her space. Their bodies pressed completely together.

The darkness behind the curtain was suffocating. Wren's chest he heave up and down, brushing against his suit jacket with every breath. The air crackled with pure hatred and a heavy, unwanted heat.

Footsteps clicked on the marble floor outside the curtain. A waiter asked loudly if anyone needed champagne.

Wren and Pierce froze. They stopped breathing.

Pierce leaned his mouth next to her ear. He whispered a final warning for her to behave. He let go of her wrist, pushed the curtain aside, and walked back into the bright light.

Wren stayed in the dark. She rubbed her red, aching wrist. She took three deep breaths to calm her racing heart before stepping back out.

It was time to cut the cake. They stood behind a massive five-tier cake. They both wrapped their hands around the handle of a long silver knife.

Pierce's large hand covered hers. Wren twisted her wrist, angling the sharp blade slightly toward Pierce's stomach.

Pierce felt the shift. He clamped his fingers down on hers, crushing her knuckles. He forced the blade down into the cake. The sudden force caused the bottom tier to crack. A huge chunk of cake collapsed onto the table.

The crowd gasped. Pierce laughed smoothly. He grabbed a microphone and said they were breaking old traditions.

Wren watched him charm the room. Her chest felt hollow. She dreaded the moment this party ended and they were finally alone.