Bound By The Billionaire's Cruel Contract
Clarissa rushed into a crowded nightclub for one simple reason: to save her wildly drunk best friend.
But her ruthless billionaire husband, Giovanny, was watching from the VIP room. After effortlessly ruining a man just for grabbing her wrist, Giovanny punished Clarissa for breaching their public image contract with an impossible curfew.
When she inevitably arrived back at his penthouse late, he didn't just yell. He forced her to her knees by his bathtub to wash his back, making her watch an explicit, humiliating video as punishment.
A sudden family medical emergency dragged them to his parents' estate. Still in her soaked, transparent dress and his misbuttoned shirt, Giovanny's mother caught them. She joyfully assumed they had been passionately intimate.
Instead of clearing her name, Giovanny pulled Clarissa close and lied to his mother's face.
"We are working very hard on the family's future, Mother."
He locked her in the guest suite, tossed a sheer silk nightgown on the bed, and literally shattered the tablet holding their "no-contact" prenuptial agreement. He then slapped a file against the window—he had secretly bought all her father's toxic debt.
Clarissa was terrified. They were supposed to be business allies bound by a strict contract. Why was he suddenly acting like a predator determined to own her body and soul?
"Give me an heir, or your father goes to federal prison," he whispered.
Stripped of all choices, Clarissa picked up the white silk. She would surrender tonight to save her family, but as his shadow swallowed her, she made a silent vow to survive this monster, and one day, tear his empire to the ground.
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Chapter 2
Giovanny stared at her. His eyes dropped to her chest, then slowly moved down her arm to her red, swollen wrist.
A dark, violent flash crossed his eyes. It was there and gone in a second.
Clarissa opened her mouth. Her throat was dry. "Giovanny, I can explain-"
He raised a single finger.
The gesture was so small, but it cut off her words like a knife to the throat. She snapped her mouth shut.
Giovanny slowly turned his head. He finally looked at Dwayne, who was now being forced to his knees by two guards.
Dwayne's face was red with anger. "Do you know who my father is? He owns half the real estate in Manhattan! I'll have your badges for this!"
Giovanny let out a low, dry laugh. It held zero humor.
He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a custom, encrypted black phone.
He dialed a single number. He didn't wait for a greeting.
"Activate Protocol Omega on all Boggs assets," Giovanny said. His voice was smooth, deadly calm. "Liquidate their credit lines. Yes, all of them. I want them bled dry before midnight. Now."
He hung up. He slid the phone back into his pocket.
Less than ten seconds later, Dwayne's phone started vibrating violently in his pocket.
Giovanny nodded at his guard. The guard loosened his grip just enough for Dwayne to reach into his pants.
Dwayne pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear.
"Dad?" Dwayne said.
Even over the heavy club music, Clarissa could hear the hysterical screaming coming from the speaker. The voice on the other end was sobbing, screaming that Wall Street had just pulled every single line of credit the family owned. They were ruined.
All the blood drained from Dwayne's face. He looked like a corpse.
His hand went limp. The phone slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble floor.
Dwayne looked up at Giovanny. True, primal terror filled his eyes. He finally realized who was standing in front of him.
Dwayne's knees gave out completely. He tried to crawl forward on the sticky floor to grab Giovanny's shoes. "Please. Please, I didn't know-"
Giovanny stepped back. His face twisted in pure disgust.
The guard stepped forward and kicked Dwayne hard in the chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor.
"Take the trash out the back door," Giovanny ordered. His voice didn't rise above a conversational tone.
The guards grabbed Dwayne by his collar and dragged him away.
Giovanny turned his attention back to Clarissa. The air between them turned to stone.
Maya groaned from the floor. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, blinking up at Giovanny in a drunken daze. She let out a loud hiccup.
Giovanny looked at Maya. His upper lip curled in revulsion.
"You put yourself in danger for this worthless social interaction," Giovanny said. His words were clipped, hitting Clarissa like bullets.
Clarissa's hands shook. "She is my best friend. I couldn't just leave her here like this."
Giovanny took a step closer. His chest almost brushed hers.
"Clause four of our prenuptial agreement," Giovanny whispered, his voice dark and low. "You have an absolute obligation to maintain the public image of this family."
He looked her up and down. "And tonight, you are fighting at a bar like a cheap escort. You are in breach of contract."
Clarissa bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Tears burned the back of her eyes. The humiliation settled heavy in her stomach. She refused to let the tears fall.
Giovanny raised his left arm. He pulled back his cuff to reveal a Patek Philippe watch.
"It is ten forty-five," Giovanny said.
He dropped his arm. He looked straight into her eyes.
"As a consequence of your actions, your curfew is now eleven o'clock. Every night. Starting tonight."
Clarissa's eyes widened. Her lungs stopped working. "That is insane! I can't even get her home by eleven!"
Giovanny ignored her. He turned his back to her and started walking toward the VIP exit.
Clarissa took two steps after him. Her mind raced. She thought he was going to take them to his car.
Giovanny stopped. He turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder.
"My car does not carry drunks," he said. His voice was completely hollow.
He turned fully to face her. "You will figure out how to handle your friend's mess. And you will be back at the penthouse before eleven o'clock."
He didn't wait for a reply. He pushed through the heavy exit doors, his guards flanking him. He disappeared into the cold New York night.
Clarissa stood frozen.
She looked down at her own watch. Fifteen minutes.
A heavy, suffocating wave of despair crashed over her. Her stomach twisted into knots.
She turned and bent down. She grabbed Maya's arm and hauled her heavy, limp body up.
Clarissa dragged her friend toward the front doors of the club, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was entering a race she already knew she was going to lose.
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9.5
My boyfriend, Jefferson, convinced me to give up my Yale scholarship for him. He was my secret, my escape from the shame of my mother's past, and I threw away my future for our love.
Then, at a gala, he publicly announced his engagement to Aubrey Carroll-the girl who made my high school years a living hell.
He trapped me in his mansion, forcing me to become her personal servant. She tortured me daily, culminating in her brutally killing our dog, Charlie, with a garden trowel.
When her friends arrived, they joined in, stripping me half-naked and live-streaming my panic attack for the world to see.
The man who once promised to protect me watched as they destroyed me.
But as I lay bleeding out on the floor, it wasn't an ambulance that arrived. It was the private security of Alexzander Stevens-my estranged, billionaire grandfather.
He revealed I was his sole heiress, and now, we were going to make them pay for every last tear.
8.9
I was tossed into a dark alley like rotting garbage, bleeding and grieving the child I had just lost.
When I was finally brought back to my fiancé Angelo's penthouse, instead of comfort, I was met with absolute disgust.
His family declared me "unclean" after the kidnapping. Angelo coldly announced he was burying the scandal by marrying my sweet, innocent cousin, Carissa.
When we were alone, Carissa stood over my bed, her voice dripping with venomous delight.
"My father arranged the kidnapping. And now, Angelo and I can finally be together."
Before I could react, she forced a silver letter opener into my hand, deliberately stabbed her own shoulder, and let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Angelo stormed in, struck me across the face, and gathered a sobbing Carissa into his arms, looking at me with absolute revulsion.
The family matriarch appeared at the door, her cold eyes sweeping over the scene before she gave a chilling order to the maids.
"Clean this up."
They pinned me down and brutally drove the blade directly into my chest.
I choked on my own blood, staring at the man who had promised me the world as he turned his back, calling my murder a "mercy."
As my heart beat its final agonizing rhythm, I made a silent vow to the shadows that if there was a next life, I would have my vendetta.
When I opened my eyes again, there was no blood, only the soft silk of my nightgown.
I had returned to the day before my eighteenth birthday.
This time, I wouldn't play the desperate victim. I was going to ally with the Devil of Chicago and burn them all to the ground.
9.5
Blaire's mother gave her a ruthless ultimatum: find a husband today, or never call her mother again.
Desperate to escape the suffocating control and disastrous blind dates, Blaire agreed to a fake marriage with a stranger she met through an old woman.
She thought she was marrying a dirt-poor salesman drowning in mortgage debt.
They lived in a rundown Queens apartment and split the living expenses fifty-fifty.
He drove a sputtering Toyota Camry, established extreme territorial rules, and treated her like a gold-digging biohazard.
When she accidentally tripped and spilled hot soup on him, he didn't help her up, instead accusing her of using pathetic tricks to seduce him.
Her own mother even crashed their apartment, ruthlessly mocking his pathetic financial state and calling him a total loser.
Blaire endured his coldness and extreme germaphobia, genuinely pitying him for his stressful, low-paying job.
She refunded his money and defended his dignity, refusing to take advantage of a struggling man.
But she couldn't understand why this supposedly broke guy possessed such a lethal, commanding aura, or why an incredibly expensive cashmere blanket mysteriously appeared on her when she was freezing on the couch.
Until her brother called with a shocking warning.
"Blaire, the name on your marriage certificate belongs to the notoriously secretive billionaire CEO of New York's top financial syndicate!"
Blaire laughed out loud, completely unaware that behind the bedroom door, her "broke" husband was frantically ordering his PR team to bury his true identity.
9.3
To escape my abusive adoptive mother selling me to a loan shark for $50,000, I rushed to City Hall to marry a blind date.
In a blind panic, I grabbed the wrong man.
He was Julian Cardenas IV, a billionaire CEO who desperately needed a fake wife to dodge a corporate arranged marriage. We signed the papers on the spot.
He became my legal shield. He moved me into his pristine penthouse and secretly protected me from my family's violent threats. When I broke down crying in the freezing cold, he quietly left me hot cocoa. For the first time in my life, I felt safe.
But then, Julian overheard me complaining to my sister about my constantly breaking-down car, groaning that I had to "get rid of this baby four times."
He thought I meant abortions.
The man who was slowly melting my frozen heart instantly turned to ice. He threw away the dinner he had specially bought for me, his eyes filled with absolute disgust and blinding rage.
I was left entirely confused and terrified. Why did my savior suddenly look at me like I was the most repulsive thing in the world? What had I done to deserve this sudden cruelty?
I thought this fake marriage was my ticket out of hell. I didn't realize I had just locked myself in a cage with a furious, ruthless CEO who now wanted to destroy me.
7.5
I am the biological daughter of the wealthy Fitzpatrick family, but I spent my childhood eating out of dumpsters.
When I was finally brought back to the estate at age seven, I thought I would experience my parents' love.
Instead, my biological parents looked at my dirty clothes with raw disgust. They only cared about Hallie, the fake daughter who lived like a princess.
The moment I walked in, Hallie hurled a heavy ceramic cup at my head, slicing my hand open.
"Get out of my house!"
My father didn't even look at the blood. He raised his hand to strike me, accusing me of bringing trailer park rules into his home.
In my past life, I dropped to my knees and begged for their forgiveness. I endured their abuse, hoping they would eventually love me.
But they let the maids humiliate me, let Hallie steal my identity, and eventually threw me back onto the streets to die. Even my playboy Uncle Byron, the only person who ever showed me mercy, was driven to suicide by them.
I didn't understand why my own flesh and blood hated me so much, or why a vicious liar deserved everything while I was treated like a jinx.
Opening my eyes again, I was back on the exact day I first returned to the estate.
As my father raised his hand to hit me, I didn't cower.
Instead, I looked at the family patriarch and pointed directly at my notorious, alcoholic uncle.
"I want him to be my new guardian."
8.8
Alaia Dudley spent her life playing the devoted partner, completely unaware that her fiancé Austen was sleeping with another woman.
She thought the worst he could do was break her heart, until she found herself pinned to a cold operating table.
Austen held her down with a cruel smirk while a scalpel sliced through her sternum.
They cracked her chest open while she was still fully conscious.
The agonizing pain of her heart being cut out burned into her nerve endings.
She realized then that to him, she was never a lover—just a spare organ, a boring piece of wood to be discarded the second his true love needed it.
She died in excruciating agony, choking on her own blood while the man she loved walked away with her heart.
Until her last breath, she didn't understand why she had to suffer so brutally.
Why did she waste her life begging for a monster's attention? Why did they get a happy ending while she was carved up like an animal?
But then, ice-cold water flooded her lungs, and Alaia violently broke the surface of her bathwater.
Her trembling fingers touched her smooth, flawless chest. No scars. Her heart was still beating.
The date on her phone glared back at her: it was exactly five years ago.
Tonight was the exact night Austen first took his mistress to a hotel room.
This time, she wouldn't just expose them. She would use Wall Street's most terrifying tyrant as her personal weapon to strip them of everything they had.