Trapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Husband

The bass in the Meatpacking District's VIP club vibrated so hard it rattled the ice in Finley's glass.

She held up a bottle of Ace of Spades champagne, throwing her head back in a loud, exaggerated laugh. The strobe lights flashed across her face, hiding the absolute deadness in her eyes. The trust fund kids around her cheered, oblivious to the fact that she wasn't looking at them at all.

Tinsley leaned in close, screaming some meaningless gossip over the deafening music.

Finley nodded, flashing a brilliant, empty smile. Beneath the edge of the table, her thumb swiped aimlessly across her phone screen, the bright display flashing with the latest high-end jewelry collections and designer handbags. Her heart beat as wildly as the heavy bass vibrating through the floorboards, a frantic rhythm that she hoped would drown out the suffocating emptiness echoing in her chest. She scrolled faster, pretending to care about the diamonds, just to keep her mind blank.

The heavy velvet door of the private booth burst open.

Four bodyguards in identical black suits shoved their way in. The music cut off abruptly. Someone screamed as the lead bodyguard marched straight toward Finley.

His face was a slab of granite. He snatched the champagne flute right out of her hand.

"Mr. Benton is in critical condition," the bodyguard said, his voice cutting through the sudden silence.

Finley's fake smile cracked. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Her grandfather.

She tried to rip her arm away from the bodyguard's grip. Her six-inch heels caught on the thick carpet, and she stumbled forward.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, but the men simply flanked her, half-dragging her toward the club's back exit.

A blast of freezing night air hit her face.

Before she could scream for help, she was shoved into the backseat of an armored SUV. The heavy doors slammed shut. The locks clicked into place with a sharp, final sound.

The SUV tore away from the curb. Finley slammed her fists against the tinted window, her chest heaving.

The bodyguard in the passenger seat turned and handed her a crisp, white medical waiver.

Finley's hands froze. She snatched the paper. The streetlights flickered across the text. Her stomach dropped to the floor.

At the very bottom of the critical care authorization, the signature read: Haiden Mitchell.

Bile rose in her throat. The sheer disgust of seeing his name mixed with a heavy, suffocating panic.

The tires screeched as the SUV plunged into the underground parking garage of Mount Sinai Hospital. The harsh, fluorescent lights stabbed at her eyes, making her squint.

The doors unlocked. Finley scrambled out, her heels clicking wildly against the concrete. She bolted for the elevator, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

The elevator doors slid open on the VIP floor. Finley rushed out and slammed directly into a solid wall of muscle.

A sharp scent of cold cedar and mint filled her lungs.

Large, warm hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her. Finley looked up.

Haiden Mitchell stared down at her. His dark eyes swept over her smeared eyeliner and her sequined dress, his jaw ticking with undisguised judgment.

"Get your hands off me," Finley spat, slapping his arms away. Her skin crawled where he had touched her. "Where is he?"

Haiden stepped aside, his face an emotionless mask. "His organs are failing. The doctors are doing what they can."

Finley pushed past him. Through the glass window of the ICU, she saw Benton. Tubes snaked out of his mouth and arms. The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor was too slow.

Her chest tightened so hard she couldn't breathe. She shoved the door open.

"Grandpa," Finley choked out, throwing herself at the edge of the bed. She grabbed his frail, wrinkled hand. Tears spilled hot down her cheeks. "Wake up. Please."

Benton's eyelids fluttered. He took a rattling breath.

Suddenly, his fingers clamped down on her wrist. The grip was shockingly tight, his nails digging into her skin.

"Marry Haiden," Benton wheezed, his voice barely a whisper, but heavy with absolute command. "Secure the board."

Finley felt the blood drain from her face. She yanked her hand back, jumping to her feet.

"Are you insane?" she screamed, her lungs burning. "He's a parasite! He's just waiting for you to die so he can steal everything!"

Haiden stood in the shadows near the door. He didn't say a word. His dark eyes locked onto Finley's shaking shoulders.

Benton slammed his weak fist against the mattress. "You are reckless! A fool! You know nothing about this company!"

Finley bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. The humiliation burned her throat. But beneath the rage, a cold, calculating part of her brain—the part she kept hidden from everyone, the part that had secretly aced every finance elective at Columbia before dropping out—whispered that her grandfather wasn't wrong about her public persona. She had spent years playing the dumb heiress, letting everyone underestimate her. It was the only way she had survived her mother's death and her father's abandonment. But the act was suffocating.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the edge of a document sticking out of Haiden's suit pocket. It was covered in dense charts and strings of numbers. She could read them—every last goddamn derivative and valuation model—but admitting that would mean exposing the one weapon she had left. So she clenched her fists and pretended to be lost. A sudden, inexplicable irritation flared in her chest. She hated those numbers. She hated everything they represented. An impulsive urge washed over her to snatch the papers and rip them to shreds, just to wipe that smug, controlling look off his face.

Finley grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it at the wall.

The glass shattered into a hundred pieces, exploding across the linoleum floor. "I won't do it!" she shrieked.

A nurse peeked her head through the door. Haiden shot her a look so lethal the woman instantly vanished, pulling the door shut.

Benton started to cough. It was a wet, violent sound.

The heart monitor suddenly shrieked. A flashing red light bathed the room. The numbers on the screen plummeted.

Finley stumbled backward, her hands flying to her mouth. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Doctors burst through the door, shoving her out of the way.

Haiden stepped forward. He wrapped a thick arm around Finley's waist and hauled her backward, dragging her out of the chaotic room.

Finley fought him the entire way down the hall. She stomped her stiletto heel down hard onto his leather shoe.

Haiden didn't even flinch.

He slammed her against the cold wall at the end of the corridor. He planted both hands on the wall beside her ears, caging her in.

"If he dies tonight," Haiden said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble, "the board will tear Blackwell Industries apart by morning. You will have nothing."

Finley stared up at him. His eyes were completely black in the dim light. For the first time, the sheer, suffocating weight of his power terrified her.

Down the hall, the emergency lights flashed. A doctor stepped out, his face grim. "He's stable for now, but he could crash at any second."

Finley's knees gave out. Haiden caught her by the waist.

She squeezed her eyes shut. A single tear dropped onto the back of Haiden's hand.

"Fine," Finley gritted out, the word tearing her throat. "I'll do it."

Haiden stared at the wet spot on his hand. A complicated, dark emotion flickered in his eyes before his mask slammed back into place.