Engaged to the Ruthless Billionaire
Eliana Rivera is the firstborn daughter of business tycoon Cassian Rivera. When her father's company falls into debt, he marries her off to the arrogant and ruthless billionaire, Alexander Grayson, as part of a business contract and under the threat of blackmail.
Alexander, the billionaire CEO, never planned to marry, but the pressure of blackmail forces him into a union with a woman he barely knows. Although Eliana doesn't see Alexander as her ideal partner, she agrees to the marriage out of a sense of duty.
Once engaged, however, he barely acknowledges her presence and harbours disdain for her because of her father's actions and their relationship. But as they navigate their newfound relationship, the unexpected desire for each other's touch ignites-a twist neither of them planned, leading them toward an unforeseen love.
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Chapter 1
"Oh God, I had actually forgotten how annoying these events usually are," Katherine said as she glided beside me with her third glass of champagne tonight.
I nodded in agreement.
Being one of the event planners for this charity gala meant that I had to observe every detail, ensure that the party was running smoothly, and ensure that the guests received the best service.
When I first went into business, it felt weird working events I would otherwise be invited to as a guest. But I'd gotten used to it over the years, and the extra income allowed me a small degree of Independence from my father.
"Tell me about it. I've faked so many smiles tonight, my cheeks are actually starting to hurt," I replied as I scanned the opulent ballroom, my eyes darting from the Veuve Clicquot station to the swag table like a general surveying a battlefield.
"Please tell me you saw that woman in the Valentino swipe an extra gift bag," Katherine said, with an arched brow. "She looked like she was committing espionage, not petty theft."
"I did," I sighed. "Tilda Monroe. Third time this quarter. I'm starting to think she believes luxury gift bags are a form of cardio."
Katherine grinned and sipped her drink. "Honestly, I respect the hustle. Those bags are worth more than my monthly rent."
I pressed a hand to my earpiece. "Lilah, Code Pink at the swag table. Tilda Monroe again. Replace the bag before we have a pearl-clutching incident."
"Got it" she replied.
"God, I love it when you get all Mission Impossible," Katherine whispered, eyes sparkling. "Tell me you at least wore cute heels for your covert ops."
I glanced down at my Jimmy Choos and lifted a shoulder. "Six-inch stilettos. So when the chaos inevitably breaks out, I can run gracefully into a wall."
"Stunning. Inspiring. Brave."
"Shut up."
Katherine bumped her hip against mine. "This party's fabulous, by the way. The lighting is giving everyone a face-lift, and the tartlets are like crack. How do you do it?"
"I sell my soul to the glitter gods, threaten two rental vendors, and bribe the pastry chef with my diamond tennis bracelet," I said dryly. "Also, I'm on my third near-anxiety spiral of the night, so let's hope no one decides to set the floral arch on fire."
We both laughed-hers rich and open, mine a little more weary.
"I don't know how you do this for a living," Katherine said. "If I had to manage this many rich people in one room, I'd be hiding in the coat closet with a bottle of rosé and a stun gun."
"Honestly, that was Plan B." I chuckled in response.
But then, something shifted.
It started with a murmur, almost too soft to register at first. A ripple through the guests-a low, shared current of surprise and excitement.
My attention was still focused on the audio setup when Katherine gave a low whistle. "Okay, who just walked in and made half the room stop breathing?"
"I don't know," I said without looking up. "Probably someone with a yacht and a god complex."
"Or both," she said. "Tall, dark, and dangerous just stepped through the door. People are acting like Elvis came back from the dead and started handing out stock tips."
I frowned and glanced toward the entrance.
There, framed by the archway and the buzz of the crowd, stood a man in a black tuxedo so well-tailored it looked like it had been sewn onto his body by angels-or maybe devils. The lighting kissed the sharp lines of his jaw, his hair thick and ink-dark, his expression carved from cool indifference.
My breath hitched before I could stop it.
Katherine leaned closer. "Oh, I know that face. You recognize him."
"Sort of," I said tightly. "He didn't RSVP."
"And yet here he is, being ogled like a limited-edition Patek Philippe. Should I go find out his skincare routine? For science?"
"I think that's Alexander Grayson," I murmured, more to myself than to her.
Katherine straightened. "Wait, the Alexander Grayson?"
The whispers around us had reached a quiet frenzy.
"Yes," I said. "And he wasn't supposed to be here."
Katherine blinked. "Well, he is now. And he's walking this way."
I didn't turn around.
But I felt it. The shift in the room. The magnetic pull like a warning-part thrill, part threat.
Lilah squealed in my earpiece, and I had to visibly cringe at the shrill sound. "I thought he wasn't going to come"
I shrugged, "Maybe he's just really interested in helping the endangered animal."
I'm sure he definitely wasn't.
I didn't know him personally, and I didn't care to. I've heard enough about the arrogant billionaire CEO of Grayson Group to know to keep my distance.
"Oh, please, no one cares", Katherine stopped and lowered her voice " No one actually cares about the endangered animal, let's be honest. The people are only here for the scene."
She was right. But regardless of their respective reasons, at least the event kept my business running.
"The real topic of the night is going to be how good Alexander looks in that tuxedo"
"You have a boyfriend, Kat," I stated as I crossed my arms over my chest.
"Doesn't mean we can't appreciate other people's beauty", she replied with a grin.
"Yes, well, I think you've done enough appreciating. I'm here to work, not ogle the guests," I replied as I focused my attention back on the sound setup, and Katherine muttered, "Buzzkill" before walking away.
An insistent buzz against my hip washed away the tingles coating my skin and drew my attention away from Alexander's fan club. My stomach sank when I fished out my cell from my purse and saw who was calling.
I double-checked to make sure there were no emergencies requiring my immediate attention before slipping into the nearest restroom.
"Hello, Father." The formal greeting practically rolled off my tongue easily after almost twenty years of practice. According to him, it sounded more "sophisticated" and upper class."
"Where are you?" His deep voice rumbled over the line. "Why is it so echoey?"
"I'm at work." I leaned my hip against the counter and felt compelled to add, "It's a fundraiser for the endangered piping plover."
I smiled at his heavy sigh. My father had little patience for the obscure causes people used as an excuse to party, though he attended the events and donated anyway. It was the proper thing to do.
"Well, since you're at work, I'll keep this short," He said. " I'd like you to join my guest and me for dinner on Friday night. I have important news."
Despite his wording, it wasn't a request.
My smile faded. "This Friday night?" It was Wednesday , and I lived in New York while he and my sister lived in Boston.
It was a last-minute request even by his standards.
"Yes." He didn't elaborate. "Dinner is at seven sharp. Don't be late."
He hung up.
It was funny how one sentence could send me into an anxiety spiral.
I have important news.
Did something happen with the company? Was someone sick or dying? Was he planning to get married again after the death of our mother?
My mind raced through a thousand questions and possibilities that I didn't have the answer to, but I knew one thing.
An emergency summons like this to the Rivera Manor never boded well.
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7.4
I single-handedly saved my family's corporate empire from a hostile takeover, securing our market share for the next decade.
But my grandfather didn't see me as a hero. He saw me as a flawed piece of inventory.
To calm the board and fix the reputation I supposedly ruined, he forced me into an arranged marriage, auctioning me off to the highest bidder.
Desperate, I turned to my childhood friend, Egnacio, the only person who ever promised to protect me.
But instead of saving me, he publicly humiliated me. He used my desperation as a networking opportunity, pitching my arranged marriage as a business deal to a ruthless private equity king named Dexter Mathews.
Later that night, I caught Egnacio holding my cruel cousin in his arms.
"What man wants to be with a woman who looks at you like she's planning a hostile takeover?"
Hearing him mock my pain shattered the last bit of hope I had.
I realized I was never family to them. I was just a sharp knife, used to cut down their enemies and then traded for cash before I got dull.
The heartbreak vanished, replaced by a cold, violent rage.
I didn't break, and I didn't run.
Instead, I got into the back of Dexter Mathews's car. He had watched my family tear me apart, but he didn't see a broken pawn. He saw a queen.
And together, we were going to burn their entire empire to the ground.
9.3
Jessie's biological parents brought her back from a Rust Belt wasteland just to force her into marrying a paralyzed heir to save their bankrupt empire.
Three years later, when the global doomsday apocalypse hit, her own family shoved her into a swarm of infected corpses.
As she was being torn apart by mutated hounds, she was stunned by what she saw.
Her fake sister, Harley, was clutching the antique silver necklace she had stolen from Jessie—an heirloom that secretly contained a magical spatial dimension.
When the infected swarmed them, her biological mother didn't even look back.
"Jessie is just white trash, she is perfectly suited to buy us time to run!"
Harley used Jessie's stolen necklace to live in absolute safety and luxury, while Jessie's windpipe was ripped out in the rotting wasteland.
Until she died, Jessie didn't understand. She was their true flesh and blood.
Why did her parents hate her so much? Why was she sacrificed so easily while the fake daughter got everything?
Opening her eyes again, the blinding glare of a crystal chandelier stabbed into her retinas.
She was back in the Manhattan penthouse on the exact day they sold her off.
This time, Jessie calmly signed the marriage contract, demanded a one hundred million dollar buyout, and walked out to prepare for the apocalypse.
9.3
Alyssa Gregory slept with Benton Steele, a recently disgraced and bankrupt heir, just to humiliate him.
She threw a massive check at his bare chest, treating the former prince of Wall Street like a cheap escort.
But Benton didn't take the charity.
Instead, he manipulated her anger, tricking her into signing an ironclad contract that surrendered absolute control of her entire trust fund to him.
When her abusive mother found out she had funded a penniless outcast, she slapped Alyssa across the face.
Her mother froze all her bank accounts, locked her inside her bedroom, and arranged to sell her off to a degenerate politician.
Desperate to escape, Alyssa climbed down her balcony, falling fifteen feet and shattering her ankle on the stones below.
Stripped of her money and freedom, she dragged her broken body to a VIP club just to publicly declare that Benton belonged to her.
She thought she was the boss, playing a rebellious game with a broken man.
But when Benton effortlessly carried her away from the club and locked her inside his rundown apartment, the terrifying calculation in his dark eyes shattered her illusion.
How could a man stripped of his entire empire still radiate such suffocating, violent power?
"You bought me," Benton whispered, his massive frame trapping her against the sofa. "That means I have to take care of you."
Physically trapped and completely broke, Alyssa stared into his consuming eyes, her mind racing to find a way to turn the tables.
7.2
Azura Briggs was just a broke college student working freezing valet shifts to pay her adoptive mother's crushing medical debt.
Her desperate life shattered the night a bulletproof Maybach violently cornered her in an alley, and a ruthless billionaire kidnapped her by mistake.
After a harrowing escape, Azura was forced to take a humiliating "plus-one" gig at a high-end gala just to survive. But her date turned out to be the billionaire's arrogant nephew, who promptly abandoned her to the wolves. Cornered by a sleazy executive and his psychotic wife, Azura was publicly slapped, her dress torn, and left bleeding on the floor while hundreds of elites watched in disgust.
Just as she prepared to fight to the death, the crowd violently parted. Hunter Mcintosh, the terrifying man who had kidnapped her days ago, dropped to his knees in the broken glass and wrapped his bespoke jacket around her trembling shoulders.
Azura was completely paralyzed. Why was the monster who threatened her life now destroying billionaires just to protect her?
But the illusion of safety didn't last. Trapped in his Maybach hours later, Hunter threw a draconian employment contract at her feet.
"Sign it, and her care is covered. Forever."
He knew exactly how to break her. He was offering to pay off her mother's debt, but only if she signed her life away to become his personal assistant. With no other way out, Azura picked up the heavy pen.
8.2
Trapped in a deadly fire at my own engagement party, my lungs burned as I reached a shaking hand out to my fiancé for help.
He stopped and looked right at me through the thick smoke. But instead of saving me, he wrapped his jacket tightly around my stepsister and ran, leaving me to burn.
I barely survived. But when I woke up in the hospital, my father and stepmother didn't even ask about my injuries.
They threw a stack of legal documents right onto my bed.
"Sign the papers, Avah. Step aside. Jaclyn is far better suited to be Kain's wife."
My fiancé then stormed into the room, publicly humiliating me with false rumors of an illegitimate child and threatening to bankrupt my company.
Four years of swallowing my pride to be the perfect, obedient pawn for our family business, all for nothing.
They threw me to the wolves without a single second of hesitation, expecting me to just lower my head and cry like I always did.
But the fire had burned that pathetic version of me away.
I ripped out my IV, letting the blood drip onto the sheets, and tore their contracts straight down the middle.
"The engagement is over."
I threw my million-dollar ring right at my ex's chest, then picked up the phone to call my trust lawyer. They wanted to take everything from me, so I was going to make them bleed.
9.0
I died on the cold delivery table, bleeding out while the heart monitor flatlined.
Through the blinding surgical lights, I heard my husband Damon's cold, final order to the doctors.
"The child is the priority."
He didn't care about my life. To him, I was just a vessel to produce an heir, a tool to fulfill his prenuptial clause and secure his billionaire empire.
While I took my last agonizing breath, he was already planning his future with his fragile, theatrical mistress, Jasmin.
In my past life, when he first brought her into our home claiming she was a helpless victim, I shattered.
I screamed, threw vases, and played the hysterical wife perfectly.
My desperate pleas for his affection only gave him the exact weapons he needed to ruin my reputation, isolate me, and ultimately force me onto that fatal delivery bed.
Until my very last moment, the suffocating pain in my chest wasn't just physical.
I couldn't understand how the man I loved could treat my death like a simple business transaction.
Why was my absolute devotion rewarded with a carefully calculated execution?
But then, my eyes snapped open.
I was sitting on the edge of my king-sized bed, exactly three years before my death.
From downstairs, I heard Damon's voice echoing in the foyer, bringing Jasmin into our home for the very first time.
This time, the scream building in my chest turned to ice.
I didn't cry or throw a fit.
Instead, I calmly swallowed a secret birth control pill, smiled at his mistress, and dialed the most ruthless divorce lawyer in Manhattan.