Bought A Gigolo, Got A Billionaire CEO

Alexis hurried down the long, carpeted hallway of the penthouse level, her heels in her hand. She pressed the elevator button, her heart hammering against her ribs until the doors opened and she stepped inside.

Back in the suite, the harsh sunlight finally reached the pillows.

Jarrett's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes. He reached his heavy arm across the mattress, expecting to pull warm, soft skin against his chest. His hand hit flat, cold sheets.

He sat up abruptly. The blanket pooled at his waist. His dark eyes scanned the massive, empty room. The silence grated on his nerves.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He walked toward the nightstand to grab his watch. That was when he saw it.

Underneath a half-empty glass of water sat a neat stack of twenty and fifty-dollar bills.

Jarrett stared at the money. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He reached out and snatched the bills. He thumbed through them. Eight hundred dollars.

A harsh, humorless laugh ripped from his throat. The heir to the Aurelian Group. The man who moved billions with a signature. He had just been given a price tag.

He grabbed the hotel phone and hit the speed dial.

"Get up here. Now," he barked into the receiver, his voice dripping with ice.

Less than a minute later, the suite door clicked open. Bruno rushed in, out of breath. He took one look at the rumpled bed, the scattered clothes, and the terrifyingly dark expression on his boss's face, and snapped his mouth shut.

Jarrett threw the wad of cash onto the glass coffee table. The bills scattered.

"Pull the hotel security footage," Jarrett ordered, his chest rising and falling with controlled anger. "Find out exactly who she is. I want her entire life on my screen before I finish my coffee."

Miles away, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb in the Upper East Side.

Alexis pushed the door open and stepped out onto the freezing pavement. She stood in front of the massive, multi-story townhouse she used to call home. Her stomach churned with nausea.

She pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. It clicked green. She pushed the heavy door open and walked into the pristine, silent living room. She needed to pack her remaining personal items before Carlos changed the locks.

She pulled a suitcase from the hall closet and began shoving her coats and shoes inside.

The front door suddenly slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud crack.

Carlos strode into the foyer, a triumphant, cruel smirk on his face. He wasn't drunk, but his eyes held the manic gleam of a predator who had just savored a kill. His face was flushed with the thrill of victory. He saw Alexis kneeling by the suitcase. The veins in his neck bulged. He crossed the room in three long strides and kicked the suitcase. It flipped over, spilling her clothes across the hardwood floor.

Alexis froze. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes cold and dead. She reached out to pick up a fallen sweater.

Carlos lunged. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging brutally into her skin, and yanked her upward.

The sudden, violent pull caused the collar of her trench coat to slip down her shoulder.

Carlos's eyes dropped. Right on the pale skin of her collarbone was a dark, purple bruise. A fresh hickey.

His pupils dilated. The muscles in his face contorted with a sickening mix of jealousy and rage.

"Where the hell were you last night?" Carlos spat, his saliva hitting her cheek. "Who were you spreading your legs for?"

Alexis didn't flinch. She stared right into his bloodshot eyes. "Let go of me. My private life is none of your business anymore."

The words snapped the last thread of his sanity. Carlos raised his free hand and swung.

The loud smack echoed in the large room. The force of the slap threw Alexis's head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste flooded her mouth. Blood pooled in the corner of her lips.

She didn't cry. She just slowly turned her head back, her eyes burning with pure hatred.

Carlos let out a guttural yell. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her toward the grand staircase. He dragged her toward the master bedroom.

"I'm going to make you regret you were ever born!" he roared.

Alexis gasped in pain as her scalp burned. She twisted her body, lifting her leg, and drove the sharp heel of her shoe directly into his shin.

Carlos grunted in pain, but his grip on her hair only tightened.

At that exact moment, back in the penthouse, Bruno handed a sleek tablet to Jarrett.

Jarrett swiped the screen. His eyes scanned the detailed background check. He saw the marriage certificate. He saw the divorce filing from yesterday. He saw the name of the ex-husband.

Carlos Martin.

Jarrett's thumb stopped moving. A slow, dark smirk curled the corners of his mouth. The woman who had bought him for eight hundred dollars was his own nephew's discarded wife.

He tossed the tablet onto the sofa and grabbed a fresh, perfectly pressed white shirt.

"Get the car ready," Jarrett commanded, buttoning his cuffs with lethal precision. He glanced at the address on the screen. "We're going to the Upper East Side."