Woke Up Married To The Ruthless Heir

Caroline stared at him for three agonizing seconds before a dry, hysterical laugh ripped from her throat. She thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted hangover prank. But the man's expression didn't change. His icy blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He just stood there, his massive frame caging her in, watching her laugh. Caroline's laughter died in her throat. A chill crawled up her spine. He was serious. "Absolutely not," she snapped, her survival instincts kicking in. She gripped her torn dress tighter, shoved her hands against his solid chest, and tried to push him away. It was like pushing against a brick wall. He easily shifted his weight, blocking her path to the doorknob again. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. "Marry me," he said smoothly, "and I will give you endless wealth. Top-tier social status. Absolute protection. You will never have to worry about a single thing for the rest of your life." Caroline rolled her eyes so hard they ached. He was either a delusional schizophrenic or a really high-end con artist. "Thanks for the generous offer," she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I have to go to my shift at the diner so I can pay my rent. Move." He took a step closer. The aggressive scent of cedar and mint completely enveloped her, making her lungs tight. He reached out. His long, calloused fingers lightly traced the line of her jaw. A violent, uncontrollable shudder wrecked through Caroline's body at his touch. She slapped his hand away. The smack echoed in the quiet room. "I am not going to be bought by a lunatic whose name I don't even know!" she yelled. Before he could react, she ducked. She slipped right under his outstretched arm, grabbed the brass handle, and yanked the heavy door open. She expected him to grab her hair. She expected him to tackle her. But he didn't. He just stood there in the center of the room. A cold, calculating smirk played on his lips as he watched her run. Caroline sprinted down the hallway. Her bare feet slapped against the plush carpet. She reached the elevator bank and slammed her palm against the down button repeatedly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She kept throwing terrified glances over her shoulder, expecting the madman to come charging out of the suite. The metal doors slid open. She threw herself inside and frantically jammed her finger into the 'Close Door' button. The doors shut. She collapsed against the cold metal wall of the elevator car. Her chest heaved. A wave of immense relief washed over her as the digital numbers ticked down. When the doors opened at the lobby, she sprinted out. A burly security guard immediately stepped forward, raising his hands. "Ma'am, do you need assistance? You can't run through here-" But Caroline dodged him like a terrified animal, her bare feet skidding on the polished floor. She ignored the shocked gasps of the concierge, the bellhop, and the frantic shouts of the security team as she ran through the opulent marble lobby wearing nothing but a hotel bathrobe. The bright morning sun of New York City blinded her for a second. She ran to the curb and aggressively waved her arm at a passing yellow cab. The cab screeched to a halt. She dove into the backseat. "Brooklyn," she gasped out, rattling off the address of her rundown apartment building. "Please, just drive." The cab merged into the heavy traffic. Caroline melted into the cracked leather seat. She dug into her canvas tote bag with shaking hands, pulling out her phone to call the police. The screen was black. Dead battery. She pressed the heels of her hands into her temples, pushing hard until it hurt. She tried to piece together last night. Her roommate had ditched her at the bar. She had been drinking alone. A sudden flash of memory hit her-the handsome stranger sliding a shot of tequila across the sticky bar counter toward her. She groaned, dropping her head between her knees. The cab jerked to a stop outside a brick building with peeling paint. The stark contrast to the luxury hotel made her stomach churn. She dug a few crumpled bills from the bottom of her bag, shoved them through the partition, and pushed the door open. She walked into the damp, dark stairwell. The broken heel of her shoe clacked loudly against the concrete steps as she climbed to the third floor. Her hands were shaking so violently she dropped her keys twice before finally getting the deadbolt to turn. She pushed the door open. The sight of her cramped, messy, but familiar living room made her knees buckle with relief. She tossed her bag onto the scratched coffee table and let her body fall heavily onto the cheap fabric sofa. Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion. She closed her eyes. The nightmare was over. She had escaped the crazy rich guy. She was safe.