The Coldhearted Billionaire's Violent Possession

Gisele walked through the grand foyer of the estate like a ghost. The music from the ballroom sounded like underwater noise. She pushed open the massive front doors and stepped out onto the portico.

A violent Long Island thunderstorm had rolled in. Sheets of freezing rain lashed against the marble steps, driven by a howling wind. The driveway was empty. No taxis. No ride-shares. Just a wall of black water.

Gisele stood under the awning, shivering violently in her thin black dress. She wrapped her arms around herself, her teeth chattering.

Suddenly, the deafening roar of a V8 engine echoed from the underground garage.

A bright red Ferrari shot up the ramp, its tires screeching on the wet pavement. It skidded to a halt right in front of the portico.

The tinted passenger window rolled down.

Channing was in the driver's seat, wearing dark sunglasses despite the night. Sitting next to him, laughing and holding a bottle of champagne, was a stunning blonde woman in a dress that barely covered her chest.

Gisele's stomach violently heaved. The betrayal was so sudden, so brazen, it took her breath away.

Channing leaned over the blonde, looking at Gisele with absolute boredom. "I'm going to the city. Constantine ruined my night. Don't wait up."

Panic, raw and desperate, clawed its way up Gisele's throat. The hospital. The money.

She ran down the marble steps, the freezing rain instantly soaking her hair and dress. She grabbed the edge of the passenger window, ignoring the blonde's disgusted look.

"Channing, please!" Gisele screamed over the sound of the engine and the rain. "My mother! They're going to kick her out tomorrow! Just give me the loan you promised. Please!"

Channing rolled his eyes, a look of profound annoyance crossing his face. "Jesus, Gisele. You are a broken record. You ruin everything with your depressing poverty."

He reached into the center console. He pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills.

He didn't hand them to her. He threw them.

The heavy stack of cash hit Gisele in the chest and exploded. Dozens of Benjamin Franklins fluttered into the air, instantly caught by the wind and the driving rain, scattering across the muddy driveway.

"Buy yourself a cab," Channing sneered.

He hit the gas. The Ferrari roared, its rear tires kicking up a spray of dirty water that splashed across Gisele's legs, before disappearing down the long driveway.

Gisele stood alone in the torrential rain. The freezing water plastered her dress to her skin. She looked down at the hundred-dollar bills floating in the muddy puddles around her feet.

She didn't bend down to pick them up.

Her dignity was dead, but she wouldn't scrape it off the pavement.

"Miss."

Gisele turned slowly. The estate's head butler was standing under the awning, holding a large black umbrella. His face was a mask of polite disdain.

"Mr. Warner requested that you not loiter at the front entrance," the butler said coldly. "If you are unable to leave due to the weather, I have prepared a room for you in the staff quarters at the back of the house."

He wasn't offering hospitality. He was putting her in her place.

Gisele nodded numbly. She followed him around the side of the massive house, the wind biting through her soaked clothes.

The staff room was tiny, smelling of bleach and cheap linen. The moment the butler closed the door, leaving her alone, Gisele's legs gave out.

She slid down the wooden door, hitting the floor hard. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and let out a raw, agonizing sob. She cried until her throat was raw, mourning her mother, her pride, and the two years she had wasted on a monster.

After what felt like hours, her phone buzzed in her clutch.

It was a text from her younger brother, Miles.

Hospital just called. Mom's heart rate dropped again. They need the money by 8 AM or they stop the expensive meds. Please tell me you got it.

Gisele stared at the screen. Her vision blurred.

She wiped her eyes fiercely with the back of her hand. She couldn't break down. She stripped off the freezing, wet dress and found an oversized, faded cotton nightgown in the small closet. She pulled it on, shivering as the dry fabric touched her icy skin.

Her stomach let out a painful, hollow cramp. She hadn't eaten since yesterday morning. If she was going to fight tomorrow, she needed food.

She opened the door and crept down the dark, narrow servant hallways. The house was dead silent. It was past 2 AM.

She found the massive, industrial-grade main kitchen. Only a single, dim amber light burned over the massive marble island.

Gisele moved silently on bare feet. She didn't dare touch the expensive refrigerators. She opened a dry pantry and found a cheap box of plain spaghetti.

She filled a pot with water, turned on the gas stove, and watched the blue flames flicker. She stood there, staring at the water, her mind racing with desperate plans to find investors.

A soft, distinct sound of a leather slipper scuffing against the marble floor broke the silence.

Gisele froze. The wooden spoon in her hand slipped, clattering loudly against the edge of the metal pot.

She spun around.

Constantine was standing in the arched doorway of the kitchen.

He was wearing a dark gray silk robe, tied loosely at the waist, revealing a V of hard, muscular chest. He held an empty crystal water glass in one hand.

His dark, predatory eyes locked onto her, pinning her to the spot.