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 7
Giovanny pulled Clarissa into the grand foyer of the estate. The rubber soles of his shoes squeaked sharply against the polished marble floor.
Arthur stepped forward, his hands trembling. "Sir. Master Theodore has just been stabilized."
Giovanny stopped dead. His shoulders dropped three inches. He let out a harsh, ragged exhale. The crushing grip on Clarissa's hand loosened just a fraction.
"Take me to him," Giovanny rasped.
Arthur nodded quickly and led them down a long corridor lined with oil paintings of Bartlett ancestors. They headed straight for the east wing, which had been converted into a state-of-the-art private medical facility.
The heavy double doors of the medical wing were closed.
Dr. Alistair Frye, the family's concierge physician, stood outside in the hallway, scrolling through a tablet.
Giovanny marched up to him. "Report."
"Acute myocardial ischemia, Giovanny," Dr. Frye said quietly. "It was severe. But thanks to the equipment here, we caught it in time. He is out of the woods for now."
Clarissa let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Her knees suddenly felt weak. She swayed slightly, leaning her weight against the wall.
Just then, the side door of the medical wing clicked open.
Genevieve Bartlett walked out.
The matriarch of New York high society always looked flawless. But tonight, her blonde hair was messy. Her mascara was smudged under her eyes.
She saw Giovanny and let out a broken sob. She threw her arms around her son's neck, burying her face in his chest.
"Oh, Giovanny, I was so terrified," she cried.
Giovanny wrapped his arms around her, patting her back gently. "It's over, Mother. He's safe."
After a minute, Genevieve pulled back. She wiped her eyes with a tissue.
She turned her head and finally noticed Clarissa standing against the wall.
Genevieve's eyes swept over them. She blinked. Then, she looked closer.
She looked at her son. Giovanny's hair was still damp. His shirt was completely unbuttoned at the collar, and the middle buttons were mismatched, exposing his chest.
Then, Genevieve looked at Clarissa.
Clarissa was wearing Giovanny's massive black trench coat. The coat was open. Underneath, her silk dress was completely soaked, clinging to every curve of her body like a second skin.
Genevieve's eyes moved up to Clarissa's face. Clarissa's cheeks were flushed a deep, bright red from the humiliation in the bathroom. Her eyes were slightly swollen from crying.
Genevieve's brain connected the dots.
The fear in the older woman's eyes vanished. It was instantly replaced by a look of absolute shock, followed by a massive, undeniable spark of joy.
Genevieve gasped loudly. She covered her mouth with her hands.
She leaned forward, dropping her voice into a loud, conspiratorial whisper.
"Oh, dear God," Genevieve said, her eyes darting between their messy clothes. "Did I... did I interrupt you two in the middle of something very important?"
Clarissa froze. Her brain short-circuited.
She looked down at herself. The wet dress. The flushed skin. Giovanny's misbuttoned shirt.
The realization hit her like a freight train.
Her face burned hotter than fire. The blood rushed to her ears.
"No!" Clarissa stammered, waving her hands frantically. "No, Genevieve, it's not-it was an accident in the bathroom, we were just-"
Genevieve smiled. It was a knowing, thrilled smile. She stepped forward and grabbed Clarissa's cold hands.
"Oh, sweetheart, you don't have to explain," Genevieve cooed. "You young people are so passionate. You didn't even have time to dry your hair before rushing here!"
Two maids and Dr. Frye immediately looked down at the floor, trying to hide their awkward smiles.
Clarissa wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. She looked at Giovanny, her eyes wide with panic. She silently begged him to fix this. To tell the truth.
Giovanny stood perfectly still.
He looked at his mother's overjoyed face. Then he looked at Clarissa's terrified, flushed expression.
A dark, calculating shadow fell over Giovanny's eyes. A new, terrifying plan formed in his mind.
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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.