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Hiding The Ruthless Billionaire's Genius Heir Novel Cover

Hiding The Ruthless Billionaire's Genius Heir

Five years ago, Colette Orr was drugged and hunted by her stepsister and fiancé. She survived by hiding in a dark hotel suite with a wounded stranger. Now a struggling single mother and hotel manager, her nightmare returns when her stepsister Chelsey hosts a lavish wedding at Colette's hotel. Chelsey publicly frames Colette as a deranged stalker and corporate spy, while the groom's mother cruelly calls her young son Leo a fatherless bastard. As Colette clutches her boy in despair, the ballroom doors burst open. Julian Heath IV, the ruthless billionaire from that fateful night, strides in with armed guards. Before Colette can flee, Leo launches himself at Julian and shouts, "Daddy!" Julian's cold gaze locks onto her as he orders every exit sealed.
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Chapter 1

Colette Orr's lungs burned.

Each frantic breath felt like swallowing ice and fire, turning to white mist in the cold Hamptons night air.

A low oak branch whipped across her cheek. The sting cut through the chemical fog in her brain.

Behind her, the baying of dogs grew closer. Fear drove her forward.

Then the drug surged. A syrupy warmth turned her legs to lead. She stumbled, twisting her ankle, and fell into a pile of rotting leaves.

She bit her lower lip. The taste of blood kept her awake, She forced herself up, her silk gown tearing on a root.

Three flashlight beams sliced through the darkness above.

"She went this way!" a man shouted.

She dove behind a bush, holding her breath, her body trembling.

"Relax, she can't have gone far." That voice belonged to Chelsey Burke—Colette's best friend. Chelsey's voice was close, dripping with fake sweetness.

"Chelsey, aren't you worried? She's still my fiancée, after all." Preston Hawthorn's tone was mocking—Colette's fiancé, the man who had promised to love her forever, now standing shoulder to shoulder with her so-called best friend.

Chelsey laughed, a silky, venomous sound. "Your boring, frigid fiancée? We've been together for three years, Preston. Three years. Do you know how pathetic she's been all this time? Every time you whispered sweet words to her, you ended up in my bed right after. And she's still stupid enough to think you're the perfect man."

Colette's blood turned to ice. Three years.

"Honestly," Preston said, his voice dripping with disdain, "I've long had enough of her fake aloofness. Not even allowed to touch it. Being with her is like guarding a block of ice. "

"Don't worry," Chelsey purred. "After tonight, after Mr. Slater's done with her, we'll see how she keeps up that act. Don't you want to watch that proud face of hers get torn apart?"

"I've waited too long for this moment," Preston lowered his voice, his tone urgent, "I really want to see how Mr. Slater pretends to be a chaste and virtuous woman when he takes care of her."

"Don't worry," Chelsey said softly. "I set up cameras in the guest room. Every moment, recordedIf she dared to say these things, the whole internet would see—the high-ranking Colette Orr, being toyed with by a man. "

Preston let out a low chuckle. "Chelsey, you're a damn genius. We can watch the video together. Maybe while we watch, we can..." His voice dropped to something obscene.

Their footsteps faded into the night, along with their laughter.

Colette pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a dry heave. Preston—the man who had whispered sweet promises into her ear just days ago—had been with Chelsey all along. Every kiss, every vow, every word—all lies. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn't let them fall.

A crackle from a walkie-talkie. Chelsey's voice, sharp and venomous: "I want her alive. Deliver her to the guest room. Mr. Slater is waiting."

Colette's blood ran cold.

The footsteps moved on. She allowed herself a second of relief—

A rough hand clamped over her mouth from behind, dragging her out of the bush.

She fought, kicking, elbowing. She thrashed wildly, her muffled screams trapped in her throat as she glared at Chelsey with murder in her eyes.

Chelsey stepped closer, a cold smirk curling her lips. Without warning, her hand lashed out.

Smack.

The blow cracked across Colette's cheek, snapping her head to the side. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

"You're just as cheap as your mother," Chelsey spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "Playing the chaste little virgin. And you dared to get in my way?" She let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

The man grunted, but his grip on her hair only tightened.

He dragged her down the gravel path. Sharp stones tore at her bare knees, her gown shredding. She stopped struggling, saving her strength, searching for any chance to fight back.

They dragged her into the main house and shoved her into a room that smelled of cigar smoke and old leather. A heavy mahogany door slammed shut.

Rick Slater rose from a leather armchair. He was a notorious Wall Street hedge fund manager, a man known for his ruthless tactics and insatiable appetites. He reeked of new money and cheap cologne. His small, piggy eyes roamed over her torn dress and bleeding knees with disgusting hunger.

"Well, well," he drawled, swirling his whiskey. "Look what the cat dragged in. The high and mighty Colette Orr. Preston's told me a lot about you. Said you're the most difficult woman he's ever met." He licked his lips. "But you know what? I love breaking in wild horses."

She ignored the heat coiling in her stomach—the drug's vile side effect. She met his gaze, her eyes cold and steady. She wouldn't let him see her fear.

"Don't look at me like that, sweetheart," he sneered, stepping closer. "Think you're still some untouchable princess? Tonight, you're just my dinner."

She recoiled as if burned, stumbling backward into a small table.

A glass ashtray shattered on the hardwood floor.

Rick's mask fell. He lunged, backing her against the billiard table.

Her hands grabbed blindly and found a pool cue.

Rick laughed. "What are you going to do with that, princess? You really think you can take me?" He wrenched it from her grasp with ease and tossed it aside. Despair washed over her.

He pushed her down onto the green felt. His hot, whiskey-sour breath fanned across her neck as his hand fumbled with her gown. "Scream all you want. This room is soundproof."

Her right hand brushed the floor. Her fingers found something sharp.

Broken glass.

She closed her hand around a large shard. The glass bit into her palm, the searing pain cutting through the drug's haze.

As Rick fumbled with the zipper of her torn dress, she drove the jagged glass into his thigh with all her strength.

He screamed, a high-pitched, pig-like squeal. He staggered back, clutching his bleeding leg, his face a mask of shock. "You—you crazy bitch!"

Colette scrambled off the table, her bare feet slipping on the polished floor. She threw her entire body against the heavy mahogany door and burst into the long, empty hallway.

Behind her, Rick's curses and screams echoed. She didn't look back, She just ran.

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