The CEO's Runaway Cinderella Returns
At the project kickoff party, Isabelle casually mocked the new capital representative, calling him a suit with a trust fund.
A low, magnetic voice spoke from the shadows right behind her.
It was Bennett Lloyd, the man holding the purse strings for the entire project.
But as Isabelle turned around, her blood ran cold.
He wasn't just her new boss. He was the stranger she had a desperate one-night stand with five years ago.
The man she had fled from before dawn, leaving only a fake name.
In her panic to escape him, Isabelle tripped on the marble stairs and left behind a single, custom-made diamond heel.
Bennett found it, but instead of exposing her, he began a terrifying game of cat and mouse.
He forced her to be his exclusive on-site consultant, vetoed her vacation time, and isolated her from her team.
He trapped her in his office, his touches lingering just enough to remind her of that night, slowly suffocating her professional life as payback.
Pushed to the brink of a breakdown by his relentless torment, Isabelle sat in a hotel bar, drowning her panic in vodka.
She pulled out her phone, intending to send a voice memo to her best friend to confess the suffocating guilt she had hidden for years.
"I can't do this anymore. I'm a sinner. I killed her... I killed my mother."
She hit send, only to realize her screen didn't show her friend's name.
The confession had gone straight to Bennett Lloyd.
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Chapter 3
By 9:00 AM the next day, the firm's Slack channel was on fire. The topic GalaShoe was trending at the top of the feed.
It started with a grainy photo someone had posted at 2 AM — a shot of Bennett Lloyd bending down on the staircase landing, a glittering high heel in his hand. The caption read: "Our new boss playing Prince Charming. But whose shoe?"
By morning, the speculation had spiraled. Phoebe Keller was leading the charge. "Someone definitely left a 'glass slipper' last night. Custom Louboutins? Who are we trying to impress?"
Isabelle sat at her desk, staring at the screen. Her hand was clamped around her mouse, the plastic creaking under the pressure of her grip.
A shadow fell over her keyboard. Eleanor walked past, her gaze dropping to Isabelle's feet. Isabelle had swapped the heels for a pair of sensible black flats. Eleanor's eyes lingered for a second too long before she moved on.
Isabelle's stomach twisted. If this didn't stop, someone would dig up the custom order. The shoe had her name on it. Literally.
She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing pulse. She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her photos. She found a picture she had taken last night-a cheap, $40 pair of black pumps she had bought at a CVS a block from the hotel. She had worn them to get home.
She uploaded the photo to the Slack channel. "I think there's a misunderstanding. My shoes are pretty cheap. Definitely not custom."
The channel went quiet for a moment. Then Clara sent her a private message. A sigh-of-relief emoji. "Thank god. I was worried they were yours."
Phoebe, never one to let a drama die, replied in the main channel. "Oh? Then whose is the custom one?"
Isabelle's fingers hovered over the keyboard. She was about to type "No idea" when a notification popped up at the top of the screen.
Bennett Lloyd has joined the channel.
Isabelle's fingers froze. A sharp cramp seized her stomach, doubling her over for a second.
Before she could even process his presence, a message appeared.
@IsabelleDominguez: "Since your shoes are fine, Ms. Dominguez, it seems you have the capacity for more time on-site."
Isabelle stared at the words. What did that mean?
A second later, a new email chimed in her inbox. It was an official appointment letter, CC'd to Eleanor and HR.
"Effective immediately, Isabelle Dominguez is appointed as the on-site technical consultant for the capital representative."
Isabelle shot to her feet. Her chair scraped against the floor, the sound piercing the quiet office.
Eleanor stepped out of her office. Her face was grave, her eyes locking onto Isabelle. "Isabelle. The client specifically requested you. This is a major project. Don't let me down."
Isabelle opened her mouth to refuse. She wanted to say she couldn't do it. But the warning in Eleanor's eyes-the unspoken threat to her career-choked the words back down.
She looked back at the Slack channel. Bennett's avatar was a solid black square. It stared at her like a single, unblinking eye.
The realization hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her denial hadn't put out the fire. It had handed him a perfect excuse. If she had just admitted the shoe was hers, it would have been awkward. But by lying, by claiming she was available, she had given him the rope to tie her to his side.
It was a checkmate. She had walked right into it.
Isabelle grabbed the rolled-up blueprints off her desk. Her nails dug into the thick paper, leaving crescent moons in the margins.
She had to go to his office. It was company policy. It was an order.
She walked into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. She watched the numbers climb, each ding tightening the knot in her chest.
The doors opened. The hallway was silent, ending at a heavy oak door that looked like the mouth of a beast.
She knocked.
"Come in." That low voice. The same one from the terrace.
Isabelle pushed the door open. Bennett was sitting behind his massive desk. And in his hands, he was casually turning over a very familiar, diamond-encrusted high heel.
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7.2
Four years ago, Madelynn accepted money from Caiden's family and vanished. She thought it was for the best-he would remain the untouchable heir while she faced her tough life alone.
When they met again, Caiden humiliated her in public, yet appeared when she was cornered by a difficult client, pulling her back into his life.
He forced her to stay as his lover, using her mother's medical bills as leverage, whispering, "What you owe me... you'll repay the same way."
Madelynn believed he despised her. Only after the accident, when he ran toward her before the explosion, did she understand-he never let go.
8.9
I returned to New York for my welcome-home party, expecting a warm embrace from Edwin, my devoted fiancé of twenty years.
Instead, his first words to me were a cold, public warning to stay away from his new girlfriend, Kacy.
He stood in my family's hotel, shielding a girl I had never even met, and painted me as a vicious, jealous bully.
"She is very sensitive, Kaitlyn. Her background is tough. Please, be gentle with her. Don't upset her."
He humiliated me in front of our entire elite circle, allowing them to mock me as the aggressive, discarded ex while he carried her away like a fragile princess.
For twenty years, I had been his loyal shadow, fixing his mistakes and loving him unconditionally.
I couldn't understand how decades of deep devotion could be instantly erased by a few crocodile tears and a manipulative damsel act.
He was absolutely certain I would throw a tantrum, cry, and eventually crawl back to beg for his attention.
But he was wrong.
He didn't know that Everett Rowe, a billionaire tech mogul, had been patiently waiting five years to marry me.
He also didn't know that during my three years abroad, I wasn't just studying art—I became "K.B.", the ruthless Wall Street predator who could swallow his family's empire whole.
I calmly pulled out my phone, ignored the mocking whispers around me, and typed a single message to Everett.
"Yes. I'll marry you."
8.7
Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.
Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.
When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.
"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"
But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.
Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.
But tonight, he returned.
When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:
"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."
Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.
I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?
I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.
I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.
9.6
Haylie waited nervously at the Wall Street charity gala for her boyfriend Bryan, but a spiked drink hit her hard, leaving her stumbling into a VIP lounge.
There, Chester Steele, the ruthless CEO of Steele Industrial, found her—drugged and vulnerable. What started as a frantic claiming in the shadows ended with him whispering she was his.
But moments later, a security alert shattered everything: data breach traced to Haylie's terminal. Chester's fury exploded. He saw her brush past a Logan Group rival on footage and dumped her in the rain, firing her as a corporate spy.
Bryan answered her desperate call with ice: "It's over." Reporters swarmed her door, branding her a traitor. Arrested at the office by FBI agents, she watched smug coworker Erin wave goodbye.
Thrown in a cell, chained and grilled with fake evidence—offshore accounts in her name—Haylie learned the worst: charges now included her sick father, Ernest, framed for laundering the leak money. Plead guilty or he dies in prison.
Innocent and raging, she couldn't fathom who planted it all—the gala bump, the logs, the forgeries. Why her? Who hated her enough to destroy her life?
Chester burst in, posting unlimited bail but forcing her signature on a slave contract: live in his penthouse, serve him 24/7. As she collapsed in his arms, trapped in his gilded cage, Haylie vowed silently—she'd uncover the real traitor and make them pay.
8.4
Everly spent four years playing the perfect, accommodating wife to Carson Moss, swallowing every grievance just to secure medical treatments for their sick daughter.
But at a high-society banquet she exhausted herself organizing, Carson's pregnant mistress crashed the party.
The woman shoved an ultrasound of Carson's "real heir" directly into Everly's frail grandfather's face.
The shock triggered a massive heart attack.
Carson refused to use his private helicopter to save the dying old man, choosing to protect his mistress and his company's IPO instead. Her grandfather died on the hospital table.
Instead of remorse, her mother-in-law demanded Everly publicly cover up the murder.
"You will do exactly as I say, or I will freeze every single cent of the medical trust fund paying for your crippled daughter's treatments."
When a battered Everly returned to the estate, she discovered her three-year-old daughter covered in dark bruises and pinch marks. Her in-laws were deliberately torturing her disabled child.
Everly couldn't comprehend how a family could be so utterly heartless. Her only family was murdered, her child was abused, and her husband threw a five-million-dollar check at her face as hush money.
They thought she would just break and quietly disappear.
But when a terrifyingly powerful billionaire unexpectedly blocked Carson's security team from locking her up, Everly finally saw her window.
She grabbed her sleeping daughter and ran out into the freezing storm, making a blood-bound vow to make the entire Moss family bleed.
7.0
Eleanore thought her fiancé, Johan, was her only salvation after her family went bankrupt.
But at a high-society gala, he handed her a drugged glass of water. As the unnatural heat burned through her veins, the horrific truth hit her. Johan had isolated her and controlled her finances, all while secretly getting engaged to a wealthy heiress. He drugged Eleanore to ruin her completely, planning to lock her away as his helpless, secret mistress.
Desperate and losing her mind to the drug, Eleanore fled down the hallway. With Johan and his bodyguards hunting her, she stumbled into the dark presidential suite.
But she wasn't alone. Sitting on the leather sofa was Alexander Briggs—the most feared corporate raider on Wall Street, and Johan's exiled brother.
Outside the door, Johan was screaming, ready to drag her back to hell.
"I can be your antidote. But it's going to cost you."
The ruthless billionaire looked at her trembling body with cold calculation. He offered her a staggering deal: a three-month fake marriage to destroy Johan's empire, and in return, absolute protection and her father's massive debts paid in full.
She couldn't understand why the most powerful predator in New York would use a ruined girl as his weapon, but she knew she would rather die than let Johan touch her again.
When Johan finally broke down the door to claim his prey, Alexander calmly pulled Eleanore into his arms.
"Watch your mouth. You are speaking to my future wife."