Trapped In His Cruel Six Year Contract
Essie sold herself to ruthless billionaire Kieran Cortez on a six-year contract just to pay for her paralyzed brother's staggering medical bills.
But the morning Kieran’s face was plastered on the front page announcing his engagement to a wealthy heiress, he violently refused to let Essie go. When she quietly asked if their contract was over, he trapped her against the marble counter.
"You don't have the right to call this off. It would be a shame if Charles lost his spot in the medical trial."
Trapped, Essie endured his brutal, punishing kisses in hidden corners, terrified of being discovered by his new fiancée, who worked as a doctor at her hospital. But the ultimate betrayal came from home. When her brother saw the dark, violent bruises Kieran had deliberately left on her neck, he didn't care about her sacrifices. He threw scalding coffee on her burned hand.
"You disgusting whore! I would rather die than use the dirty money you make spreading your legs!"
Even Kieran's fiancée investigated her finances, cornering her to smugly warn her to know her place as a lowly sugar baby. Essie had sacrificed her dignity, her body, and her soul to keep her brother alive, only to be treated like disposable trash by the man who owned her and despised by the family she saved.
Why did her endless sacrifices only buy her a suffocating, inescapable hell?
Staring at the phone screen flashing with Kieran’s demand to be at his penthouse by eight, a dead calmness finally washed over her. She held down the power button until the screen went black. Even if his wrath destroyed her tomorrow, tonight, she was taking her life back.
Chapters
Share
Chapter 9
Essie trudged through the freezing wind for three long blocks. By the time she reached her building, her lips were a pale, sickly blue, and she couldn't feel her fingers.
She shoved her key into the rusted lock with shaking hands and pushed the flimsy wooden door open.
The living room was pitch black. The only light came from the sickly yellow streetlamp shining through the dirty window.
Assuming Charles was asleep, Essie closed the door as quietly as possible. She ran her numb hand along the wall and flicked the light switch.
Click. The faulty overhead bulb flickered violently before finally buzzing to life.
Essie gasped, her heart leaping into her throat.
Charles was sitting dead center in the living room in his wheelchair. He was holding a plastic ice pack against his bruised, swollen cheek. He looked like a statue carved out of pure hatred.
The sudden cold and the shock made Essie instinctively reach up. She pulled the collar of her turtleneck higher and quickly hooked a blue surgical mask over her ears.
Charles stared at her with dead, cold eyes. "Why are you so late?" his voice was a low, scratchy rasp.
Essie kept her eyes glued to the floor. "There was an emergency surgery. They needed extra hands," she lied, her voice trembling.
Charles let out a harsh, mocking laugh. He grabbed the wheels of his chair and pushed himself forward. The rubber tires ground heavily against the cheap wood floor.
He stopped right in front of her. His sharp eyes locked onto the blue mask covering half her face.
"Wearing a mask inside your own home?" Charles sneered. "What, does the stench of poverty in here bother you now?"
Essie shook her head frantically. "No, I just... I think I caught a cold. I don't want to get you sick."
Charles's eyes darkened into something terrifying. Before Essie could react, his hand shot out like a viper.
He grabbed the fabric of the mask and yanked it down with brutal force.
The elastic strings dug into Essie's ears before snapping with a loud pop. The mask fluttered to the floor.
Under the harsh, unforgiving glare of the overhead light, Essie's face was fully exposed. Her lips were swollen and split. And right above the collar of her sweater, the dark, angry purple hickey Kieran had sucked into her skin was impossible to miss.
Charles's pupils shrank to pinpricks. The muscles in his face contorted in a mix of absolute shock and explosive rage.
He hurled the ice pack at the floor. The plastic burst open, sending ice cubes and freezing water exploding across the room.
Charles pointed a shaking finger right at her face. He opened his mouth and unleashed a torrent of pure venom.
"You disgusting whore!" he screamed, his voice cracking. "You actually went out and sold yourself to those sick, rich old men!"
He gripped the armrests, his knuckles turning white. "I would rather be a cripple for the rest of my miserable life! I would rather blow my brains out right now than spend one single cent of the dirty money you make spreading your legs!"
Every word was a serrated blade slicing directly into Essie's heart. Everything she had sacrificed, every piece of her soul she had sold to keep him alive, was being spat on.
Tears flooded her face. "Shut up! Just shut up!" she screamed back, her voice breaking into a sob.
Charles didn't stop. "You make me sick! Just looking at you makes me feel filthy!"
The last thread of Essie's sanity snapped.
She raised her right hand and swung it with every ounce of strength she had left in her exhausted body.
Smack.
The sharp, explosive sound of her palm hitting his face echoed off the cramped walls. Charles's head snapped to the side. A thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
The world stopped spinning. The silence in the room was deafening.
Charles slowly turned his head back. He stared at her, his eyes wide with shock, slowly filling with a hatred deeper than anything she had ever seen.
Essie looked down at her stinging, trembling hand. She slapped both hands over her mouth, letting out a choked, devastated wail.
She couldn't look at him for another second. She spun around, stumbled down the short hallway, and threw herself into her tiny bedroom.
She slammed the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid down the cheap wood until she hit the floor, sobbing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Keep Reading
The story is getting intense! Switch to App to
Unlock All Chapters
You may also like
7.6
After an exhausting fourteen-hour flight, Katia returned to her Upper East Side penthouse, expecting the quiet comfort of the life she had built.
Instead, she found a pair of familiar red stilettos in the foyer and her fiancé, Caleb, tangled in their bedsheets with his twenty-two-year-old assistant.
She didn't scream or cry. She simply took off her three-carat engagement ring, threw it at his bare chest, and demanded he buy out her half of the penthouse by Friday.
Seeking to numb the sickening disgust, she got blackout drunk and crashed at a luxury hotel, accidentally stumbling into the wrong suite.
Thinking the imposing man inside was a high-end escort hired by her friend, she threw him over her shoulder and spent a wild night with him.
The next morning, she left five thousand dollars on his nightstand with a lipstick-stained note.
"Good Job."
For six years, she had funded Caleb's dreams and built his startup from the ground up, only to be treated like a lifeless ATM.
With ruthless precision, she spent the next two months systematically bankrupting his company, cutting off his venture capital, and erasing his life's work.
She felt no heartbreak, only a cold, calculating need to cleanse herself of his betrayal.
But when Katia finally returned to corporate headquarters to co-lead a massive merger, she literally crashed into the new Vice President.
Strong arms caught her waist, and the sharp scent of cedarwood and whiskey hit her like a freight train.
"You came back," Jackson whispered, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman who had treated him like a cheap gigolo.
9.2
Averie spent hours preparing a perfect third-anniversary dinner for her billionaire husband, Jarett Sharp.
Instead of celebrating, she received an anonymous photo of him intimately holding another woman.
When Jarett finally arrived, he didn't even look guilty.
"Candida. It's okay. Don't be scared. I'm on my way."
He simply took a call from his mistress, shoved Averie aside, and walked right back out the door.
That same night, Averie's father suffered a massive heart attack.
The hospital demanded a half-million-dollar deposit before they would operate.
But when Averie frantically tried to use the emergency medical trust card Jarett had given her, it was declined.
Jarett had deliberately frozen her access to the funds just hours earlier.
While she begged his assistant on the phone, Jarett refused to be disturbed, busy wrapping his expensive coat around his mistress in the hospital garden.
Averie collapsed in the hallway, realizing the man she loved was deliberately letting her father die.
In the end, a childhood friend stepped in to pay the bill and save her father's life, while her billionaire husband later pinned her to their bed, throwing a check at her and reminding her he had bought her for three million dollars.
Averie didn't shed a single tear.
She slowly ripped his check into pieces, left her massive diamond ring on the dresser, and walked out into the cold New York night with nothing but her old suitcase.
She pulled out her phone and dialed her old ballet professor.
She wasn't just going to leave Jarett Sharp. She was going to destroy him.
8.7
For three years, I played the perfect, submissive housewife to billionaire Julian Harrison.
But right after an intimate night together, he coldly threw a divorce agreement onto the bed.
"Scarlett landed an hour ago. I need my single status restored to welcome her back."
That same night, I ended up in the emergency room and discovered I was pregnant with twins.
When Julian found out, he didn't show a shred of joy. Instead, he stormed into my hospital room, threw a blank check directly at my face, and ordered me to get rid of them.
He accused me of using the babies as a sick game to trap his assets.
Then, his ruthless lawyer kicked me out of our penthouse, confiscating the jewelry he gifted me and tossing my worn-out notebook onto the floor like garbage.
Standing in the freezing rain, my heart completely died.
I had swallowed my pride, managed his life, and cooked his meals to his exact standards for three years, only to be thrown away the second his first love returned.
But he didn't know that the notebook his lawyer discarded contained the secret formulas of Aura Beauty, a billion-dollar empire I built in the shadows.
I tore his check into pieces, blocked his number, and left in a Maybach sent by my associate.
Logging into my global CEO database, I looked at his company's fragile stock chart with a predatory smile.
The docile Mrs. Harrison died in the rain. It was time to crush his empire.
9.5
My husband, Colton, the Wall Street mogul, slid annulment papers across the table, coldly discarding me and our unborn child. He thought he was getting rid of a useless wife, but he was actually throwing away the secret architect of his entire empire. Now, I'm ready to make him pay for every insult, every lie, and every single secret I've kept.
For three years, eight months pregnant, I secretly saved Colton's ten-billion-dollar company from collapse, enduring a cold, transactional marriage.
One night, he shattered that illusion, serving annulment papers and callously discarding me and our unborn child.
I signed, leaving luxury behind. Exposing his butler's fraud, I escaped. Colton later found his wedding ring gone and, on his desk, my SEC compliance fixes—proof I was his hidden genius.
Blindsided, he realized he’d destroyed his own empire. His mother then called, gloating. The injustice ignited a fierce resolve within me.
The next morning, I launched Kidd Legal Consulting. I'd use forty-seven folders of Farmer Capital's un-patched loopholes to force a fair settlement, securing my daughter's future.
9.5
As a highborn succubus, I somehow managed to starve myself to death-thanks to my obsessive cleanliness and ridiculously picky appetite.
When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into Vivian Hartwell-the long-lost "real" daughter with a tragically cursed fate.
I had barely been taken back into the Hartwell family before they forced me to attend a so-called "death matchmaking" event in Kingsford-on behalf of Natalie Hartwell, the fake heiress-to meet Damian Blackwood, the infamous "living reaper."
Rumor had it Damian was brutal and bloodthirsty-every woman who'd ever been involved with him either ended up dead or driven insane.
At the event, over a hundred socialites were trembling on their knees, silently praying they wouldn't be the one chosen.
Just as Damian let out a cold smirk and reached to pick his unlucky victim, I took a deep breath from the back of the crowd.
The scent emanating from him was a rare, potent masculine essence-something encountered perhaps once in ten millennia.
For a painfully picky succubus like me, this was nothing short of salvation.
I kicked aside the girl blocking my way, my eyes practically glowing as I threw both hands up. "Pick me! Hurry, pick me!"
7.5
To survive a lethal genetic breakdown, Holden, a legendary mercenary known as "Ghost," was forced into an arranged marriage with the wealthy heiress Julia Ramsey.
But the moment he stepped into the lavish estate wearing an oil-stained jacket, he was treated like absolute garbage.
Julia accused him of being a perverted stalker, pulling a gun on him and demanding he be thrown out. Even after Holden used a forbidden kinetic strike to save her grandfather from a fatal heart attack, the family still looked at him with pure disgust. Julia confined him to a cramped guest room, warning him to stay out of her life. To make matters worse, his other estranged fiancée, an elite military commander, barged into the penthouse just to throw an annulment in his face.
"You are a pathetic, bottom-feeding parasite! You have no ambition. You hide in this woman's apartment like a stray dog. You are entirely beneath me."
She mocked him in front of Julia, completely blind to the fact that Holden had just effortlessly incapacitated her Tier-1 operative with a single strike. They all thought he was just a greedy, low-class thug clinging to their wealth. They had no idea they were mocking an apex predator who commanded the city's underground and hunted mutant monsters for sport.
When Julia forced him to attend a high-society yacht party as part of a trap to publicly humiliate him, Holden just smirked and took a sip of his cheap beer.
He was more than happy to play along, already calculating exactly how he was going to tear their arrogant little world apart.