Blackmailed Into The Ruthless Tycoon's Bed

Adaline sits on the floor next to the sofa.

She pushes herself up. Her muscles ache from the tension. She walks over to the floor-to-ceiling windows of her apartment. The London streets below are slick with rain. She presses her hot forehead against the cold glass, trying to force her heart rate to slow down.

A sharp ping echoes from her phone.

Adaline flinches. She spins around, her eyes darting to the device on the sofa.

She walks over and snatches the phone. The notification on the screen makes her stomach drop.

Barron Cooke has accepted your request.

She unlocks the phone and opens the chat. The cursor blinks on the empty text field. She types out the first words that come to her mind: I hope you and my father are happy with your little hostage situation.

Before she can hit send, the screen shifts. An incoming FaceTime call takes over the display.

The caller ID reads: Green Poole (Dictator).

Adaline takes a sharp breath. She swipes the green button to accept the call.

"Show me the cat," Adaline demands instantly. Her voice is ice-cold. She does not offer a greeting.

Green chuckles. The sound grates against her nerves. "You sent the request. Good girl. As long as you cooperate, the animal will be returned to your apartment tomorrow."

"I do not trust a single word that comes out of your mouth," Adaline snaps. Her fingers grip the edges of the phone so tightly her knuckles turn white. "Show me the cat right now, or I block Barron Cooke, book the next flight to JFK, and smash every window in your corporate headquarters."

Green is silent for two seconds. He knows his daughter is impulsive enough to do exactly that.

"Fine," Green says.

The camera feed flips.

Adaline recognizes the background immediately. It is the mahogany-paneled study in their Long Island estate. Standing near the massive fireplace is Mrs. Gable, the housekeeper. In her arms, wrapped in a familiar blanket, is Monty.

The cat looks terrified, but he is alive.

Adaline's shoulders drop. The crushing weight on her chest lifts slightly. She exhales a shaky breath. "Monty," she whispers to the screen.

The camera flips back to Green's face. His expression is stern. "You will maintain daily contact with Barron. No tantrums. No ignoring his messages."

Adaline rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to tell him to go to hell.

Before she can speak, a sound cuts through the audio of the video call.

It is the sharp, rhythmic click-clack of expensive leather dress shoes stepping onto the hardwood floor of the study. The footsteps are slow, deliberate, and approaching her father.

Adaline narrows her eyes. She instinctively pulls the phone closer to her face.

"Green," a voice says.

The voice does not belong to her father. It is a man's voice. It is incredibly deep, carrying a magnetic, gravelly texture, yet it is completely devoid of warmth. It is the voice of someone who is entirely used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question.

"Regarding the Omni Corp acquisition..." the voice continues.

The sound sends a strange, involuntary shiver down Adaline's spine. The hairs on her arms stand up.

On the screen, Green's arrogant expression vanishes instantly. His posture straightens. His face twists into a sickeningly polite, almost sycophantic smile.

"Barron," Green says, his tone dripping with deference. "You are here. Please, have a seat."

Adaline's breath catches in her throat.

Barron.

Her eyes widen. She stares intensely at the edge of her phone screen, trying to catch a glimpse of the man.

The camera shakes as Green hastily adjusts his phone. For a fraction of a second, a figure enters the frame.

Adaline does not see a face. She only sees a section of an arm resting on the edge of her father's desk. The sleeve belongs to a dark, immaculately tailored suit. The fabric looks impossibly expensive. Peeking out from the crisp white cuff of the shirt is a Patek Philippe watch.

"Are you dealing with family matters?" Barron asks. His tone is flat, completely unbothered. "Do you need me to step out?"

Adaline's mind races.

Her father is the CEO of a massive corporation. He bows to no one. Yet, this Barron Cooke speaks to her father as an equal-no, as a superior. The realization makes her stomach twist. If this man has that much power over her father, he must be ancient. A wealthy, old tycoon using his capital to buy a young bride.

"No, no, not at all," Green says quickly. He fumbles with the phone, turning the camera so the screen faces the room. "This is my daughter, Adaline."

Adaline is suddenly thrust into the view of the man in the room.

She is completely unprepared. Her eyes are red and swollen from crying. Her blonde hair is a tangled mess around her shoulders. Her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her lower lashes.

She gasps and instinctively raises her free hand to cover the phone's camera lens.

Through the audio, she hears a faint sound.

"Hmm."

It is a single, dismissive syllable from Barron. There is no interest in his voice. There is no surprise. It is the sound a person makes when looking at a blank wall.

The absolute indifference hits Adaline like a physical blow.

Her humiliation instantly transforms into a burning, aggressive pride. She drops her hand from the lens. She glares into the camera, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"Say hello to Barron, Adaline," Green commands. His voice is tight with forced cheerfulness. He is begging her to behave.

Adaline grinds her back teeth together. She forces the corners of her mouth up into a wide, entirely fake, and deeply sarcastic smile.

"Not interested," Adaline says. Her voice is sharp and clear. "Goodbye."

She presses the red end-call button.

The screen goes black. The oppressive presence of that deep voice is severed.

Adaline tosses the phone onto the sofa. Her chest rises and falls rapidly. Her heart is hammering against her ribs. She cannot get the sound of that voice out of her head. Or the sight of that cold, calculated suit sleeve.

She walks over to the kitchen island. She grabs a glass, shoves it under the refrigerator dispenser, and fills it with ice water. She drinks it in three huge gulps. The freezing water chills her throat, but it does nothing to cool the anger boiling in her veins.

She sets the glass down with a loud clack.

The phone on the sofa lights up.

Adaline freezes. She walks back slowly, as if the device is a live explosive.

She picks it up. A new WhatsApp message from the black void profile.

She opens the chat.

Barron Cooke: My people will deliver the cat to your apartment tomorrow at 2:00 PM.

Adaline stares at the text. Her brow furrows in deep confusion.

He didn't ask her father to do it. He bypassed Green entirely and took control of the situation.