Framed By Betrayal: Billionaire's Possessive Contract

The revolving door spat Haylie out onto the sidewalk like a piece of trash. The security guard gave her one last push. She stumbled, her heels skidding on the wet concrete.

The rain hit her like a wall of ice. It soaked through the thin cashmere blanket and her dress in seconds, the cold seeping into her bones. A gust of wind nearly knocked her over.

Her ankle twisted. She went down hard, her knees slamming into a deep puddle. Pain shot up her leg, and she felt the wet warmth of blood trickling down her shin.

She scrambled onto her hands and knees, gasping. Her fingers scraped against the pavement. She patted her pockets frantically. Empty. Her phone was gone.

A lump of plastic skidded across the sidewalk toward her. One of the guards had tossed her clutch. It landed in a puddle, the contents spilling out. Her lipstick rolled into the gutter. Her old backup phone, tucked into the hidden lining of the clutch, had spilled out.

She grabbed the phone with trembling fingers. It was her old backup,now obsolete smartphones, the battery low but holding a signal. She flipped it open.

She dialed the only number that mattered. The only person who could make this nightmare stop.

It rang. And rang. And rang.

Just when she thought it would go to voicemail, the line clicked.

"What." Bryan's voice was flat, irritated. The sound of clinking glasses and laughter echoed in the background.

"Bryan," she sobbed, the words tumbling out. "Bryan, it's me. Chester threw me out. He fired me. I'm outside in the rain, I don't know what's happening, please, you have to come get me-"

"Stop." The single word was a bucket of cold water.

Haylie froze, the rain streaming down her face.

"I just saw the Wall Street Journal alert," Bryan said. His tone was devoid of any emotion. It was the voice he used when firing a subordinate. "Did you leak the Meridian data to my father's company?"

The world tilted. "What? No! Bryan, I would never-"

"Don't." His voice hardened. "My father saw the news. Logan Group can't be associated with a corporate espionage scandal. We're in damage control mode."

Her teeth chattered violently. The cold was a physical weight crushing her chest. "Bryan, we've been together for three years. You know me."

"Apparently, I didn't," he replied, the words crisp and final. "It's over, Haylie. Don't call this number again."

The line went dead.

The beep beep beep of the disconnect tone was louder than the thunder. She stared at the screen until it went black. The phone slipped from her numb fingers, but she scrambled to snatch it back from the wet pavement, clutching it to her chest like a lifeline.

She stayed there, kneeling in the dirty water, the rain pelting her back. She didn't move. She couldn't.

A yellow cab sped past, hitting a pothole. A wave of muddy water drenched her from head to toe. The driver leaned on his horn, shouting something obscene out the window before disappearing into the night.

She tried to stand. Her right ankle screamed in protest, the pain bringing tears to her eyes. She collapsed back onto the wet asphalt.

"Hey, baby," a voice slurred from the shadows. "Need a ride?"

A man stumbled out of an alleyway. His eyes were glassy, his grin predatory. He reached out a hand toward her shoulder.

Fear, sharp and immediate, cut through her grief. She scrambled backward, her injured foot dragging behind her. She turned and ran,endure the pain ,or rather, hobbled, as fast as she could toward the glowing sign at the end of the block.

The subway station was a concrete tomb. The tile walls were covered in grime and old posters. The few fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered. It was empty, save for a sleeping homeless man on a bench.

She limped to the MetroCard machine. Her hands shook so badly she dropped her wet bills three times before the machine accepted them. The card popped out. She pushed through the turnstile, the metal bar heavy against her hip.

The platform was deserted. The warm, metallic smell of the tracks filled her nose. She slumped onto a wooden bench, pulling the wet blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her body heaved with silent sobs.

The downtown express roared into the station, the wind whipping her hair into her face. She dragged herself onto the car.

The train was mostly empty. She chose a corner seat, tucking her legs up under her. She buried her face in her knees, trying to make herself as small as possible.

The window acted as a mirror in the dark tunnel. She caught a glimpse of herself. Hair plastered to her skull. Mascara running down her cheeks in black rivers. And there, on her neck, a dark, bruising mark in the shape of a mouth.

She yanked the collar of her dress up, hiding the evidence of Chester's possession. But she couldn't hide the shame burning in her gut.

She rode the train to the end of the line. When she got off, she realized she was in an unfamiliar neighborhood. The street signs meant nothing to her.

She walked for blocks, limping past dark storefronts and boarded-up buildings. Finally, a beacon of light appeared. A 24-hour bodega. The neon sign buzzed, the letter 'B' flickering erratically.

She pushed the door open. A bell chimed. The man behind the counter looked up, his eyes lingering on her ruined dress and bare feet.

"Band-aids," she croaked, pointing to the rack. "And antiseptic."

She paid with her last few damp dollars. The clerk handed her the change, his gaze never leaving the bruise on her neck. She grabbed the items and fled back into the rain.

She huddled under the narrow awning outside the store, the rain still driving down just inches from her shoes. She pulled out the backup phone and typed out a text message with shaking thumbs.

"Brenda. It's Haylie. Please. Can I come home?"

The minutes stretched into an eternity. The cold was a living thing, gnawing at her fingers and toes. She closed her eyes, leaning her head against the cold glass of the window.

The phone vibrated.

"Yes. Come right now."

The dam broke. She pressed a hand over her mouth, a broken wail escaping her lips. She stepped out into the rain, holding her arm up. A car slowed down. An Uber. She climbed into the backseat, giving her address in a voice that didn't sound like her own.

She curled up in the corner of the seat, staring at nothing. The city lights blurred past, a million windows full of a million lives, none of which cared about hers.