Marrying My Cheating Ex's Billionaire Boss

The freezing rain soaked through Alena's trench coat in seconds. The heavy, wet fabric dragged against her calves as she stumbled blindly across the Manhattan asphalt.

She didn't know where she was going. She just kept walking.

She stepped off the curb at a crosswalk, her eyes blank.

Suddenly, a blinding pair of high beams flashed from her left. The intense light seared her eyes. She threw her arms up over her face.

The violent screech of tires tearing against wet pavement ripped through the air.

A massive, black extended Maybach jerked to a halt. The front bumper stopped less than four inches from her knees. The sharp smell of burnt rubber mixed with the rain.

Alena lost her balance. She fell backward, her palms scraping hard against the rough, wet asphalt. Blood immediately welled up in the scratches.

Her heart hammered wildly against her ribs. She gasped for air.

Inside the Maybach, the tinted rear window rolled down exactly halfway.

The interior was dark, but a pair of eyes, sharp and predatory like a hawk's, locked onto her through the heavy rain.

Andrew Spencer sat in the back seat. He looked at the bruised, soaked woman on the ground. The fingers of his right hand, holding a lit cigar, paused in mid-air. A dark, unreadable emotion flashed in his eyes.

The driver panicked. He reached for his door handle, ready to jump out.

"Drive," Andrew commanded. His voice was a low, freezing rumble that instantly stopped the driver's hand. He narrowed his dark eyes, watching her struggle in the rain. "But keep her in sight. Follow her at a distance. Let me know exactly where she ends up."

Alena couldn't see the man in the back seat. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself off the ground. A pedestrian reached out to help her, but she flinched and pulled away.

She limped toward the shadows on the other side of the street.

The Maybach's engine roared. The tires spun, splashing a wave of dirty puddle water over Alena's shins as it drove past her.

Alena kept walking until the towering buildings gave way to the grittier streets of Hell's Kitchen.

She looked up and saw a flickering, blood-red neon sign for a rundown, dimly lit dive bar on the corner. It wasn't the kind of place she would ever usually step foot in, but she needed to hide from the rain and the crushing weight of her reality. She didn't care about the grime or the shadows. She pushed the heavy metal door open and walked inside.

The heavy bass of the music vibrated through the floorboards, rattling her teeth. She ignored the bouncer's scanning eyes and walked straight to the darkest corner of the bar.

She sat on a stool and looked at the bartender. "Whiskey. Neat. The strongest you have."

The bartender slid a glass across the wood. Alena threw it back. The liquid burned a fiery trail down her throat, settling hot in her stomach. It briefly numbed the tearing pain in her chest.

She ordered another. Then another.

By the third glass, the alcohol hit her bloodstream. Her vision blurred at the edges. She rested her forehead against the sticky wood of the bar and let out a single, broken whimper.

Three men in cheap leather jackets were standing a few feet away. They watched the beautiful, soaked woman drinking alone. They exchanged a look.

The leader of the group walked over and slid onto the stool right next to her. The overwhelming smell of cheap cologne and stale beer hit Alena's nose.

The man reached out. His rough, dirty fingers stroked her cold cheek.

"Rough night, sweetheart?" he slurred.

Alena's stomach churned violently. She slapped his hand away with a sharp smack. She grabbed her empty whiskey glass and slammed it down on the bar right in front of him.

"Get away from me," she spat.

The glass shattered. Shards flew across the counter. A few people looked over, but this was Hell's Kitchen. No one moved to help a stranger.

The man's face flushed red with anger. He grabbed Alena's wrist, his thick fingers digging into her skin so hard she felt her bones grind together.

His two friends stepped up behind him. Their large bodies formed a solid wall, blocking her from the rest of the room.

Panic spiked in Alena's chest. She thrashed against his grip. She lifted her heel and stomped her stiletto straight down onto the leader's foot.

The man yelled and let go.

Alena shoved him hard in the chest and bolted for the back exit.

The alcohol made her legs heavy. She burst through the metal door into a dark, narrow alleyway. The cold air hit her face, but before she could take three steps, a heavy hand grabbed a fistful of her wet hair.

Pain exploded across her scalp. Her head was yanked backward.

The man cursed at her, his voice bouncing off the brick walls. Pure terror wrapped around Alena's heart like a snake.

He shoved her violently. Her back slammed against the wet, mossy brick wall. The impact knocked the wind out of her. The man pressed his body against hers and grabbed the lapels of her trench coat, trying to rip it open.

Alena's hand dropped to the ground. Her fingers brushed against a loose, heavy brick.

She grabbed it, swung her arm up, and smashed it directly into the side of the man's head.

He screamed. Blood instantly poured down the side of his face, blinding him.

The other two men rushed into the alley. One of them swung his arm and backhanded Alena across the face.

The force threw her to the ground next to a rusted dumpster. Black spots danced across her vision.

The men moved in, raising their boots to kick her.

Suddenly, the heavy, rhythmic sound of expensive leather shoes stepping onto the wet pavement echoed from the mouth of the alley.

The footsteps stopped.

A blinding beam from a tactical flashlight cut through the darkness, hitting the three men straight in the eyes. They threw their hands up, squinting against the glare.

Behind the halo of light stood a towering figure in a tailored black overcoat. The red cherry of a cigar glowed in the dark, pulsing with a terrifying, quiet rage.

Andrew took a slow drag of his cigar. He exhaled the smoke into the freezing rain.

"Let her go," Andrew said. His voice was a low, vibrating threat that seemed to shake the walls of the alley.