Trapped By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex

Annette shot up from the sofa.

Her knee slammed into the low glass table. A tall wine glass tipped over and shattered against the floor. The sharp sound of breaking crystal echoed in the silent room.

Nobody moved.

Annette ignored the broken glass at her feet. She stared straight into Declan's eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"For the record," Annette said, her voice raspy but violently steady. "I don't regret a single choice I made five years ago."

The words hit the room like a bomb.

The cold indifference in Declan's eyes vanished. It was instantly replaced by a raging, violent inferno.

Declan kicked the coffee table.

The heavy glass table screeched against the floor, sliding two feet away from him.

He stood up. The dark, suffocating aura radiating from his body made the hair on Annette's arms stand up. He didn't say a word. He turned his back and walked out of the VIP lounge, his heavy footsteps echoing down the hall.

Ciera shot Annette a look of pure murder. She grabbed her designer clutch and ran after him.

The party atmosphere was completely dead.

Leo rubbed his face, sighed heavily, and walked toward the front desk to pay for the broken glass.

Clara grabbed Annette's arm and pulled her into a small, private alcove near the coat check. She shut the heavy velvet curtain behind them.

The second they were hidden, Annette's knees gave out. She slid down the wall and hit the floor, burying her face in her hands. Her body shook with silent, dry sobs.

Clara crouched down and handed her a glass of lukewarm water.

"Why did you do that?" Clara asked, her voice tight. "Why did you provoke him?"

Annette took a shaky breath. "I'm tired of being looked at like a circus animal."

Clara bit her lip. She pulled her phone out of her purse and tapped the screen. She held it out to Annette.

It was the digital front page of the Wall Street Journal.

The headline screamed in bold black letters: Declan Carter Assumes Full Control of Carter Family Trust.

"He's not the boy who ate street hotdogs with you in Brooklyn anymore, Annie," Clara whispered. "His net worth is a number normal people can't even comprehend. He owns half the commercial real estate in Manhattan. The mayor answers his calls on the first ring."

Annette stared at the screen. She read the words 'corporate acquisitions' and 'billion-dollar mergers'.

Her stomach cramped violently again. Every word on that screen was a physical reminder. She had destroyed her own life, her own reputation, just to make sure his security clearance wasn't ruined by her father's criminal record.

She had bought him this throne with her blood.

Annette pushed the phone away. She forced her face into a mask of indifference.

"That has nothing to do with me," Annette lied.

Clara looked at the frayed collar of Annette's dress. She sighed. "Just... stay away from Ciera."

"I need to use the restroom to fix my makeup," Annette said, pulling herself up from the floor.

She walked out of the alcove. The hallway was completely empty. The dim yellow wall sconces cast long, lonely shadows on the carpet.

Annette leaned her back against the cold wall. She reached into the deep pocket of her coat and pulled out a small, unlabeled white plastic bottle.

Her hands shook so badly she almost dropped it. She popped the cap, shook two heavy pills into her palm, and swallowed them dry. The pills were large and chalky, scratching her throat as she forced them down. A wave of nausea immediately rolled in her stomach, a familiar, bitter cost for a few hours of chemical peace.

Suddenly, a cold draft hit her ankles.

At the end of the hallway, a heavy metal fire door creaked open. The wind howled through the crack.

Annette felt suffocated by the heavy air inside the restaurant. She needed real oxygen.

She walked toward the door and pushed it open.

She stepped out onto the rusted metal platform of the fire escape. There were no streetlights here. Only the faint, bleeding neon colors from the distant Manhattan skyline cut through the pitch-black darkness.

The cold rain hit her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

The second she exhaled, a massive, muscular arm shot out from the absolute darkness.

A large hand clamped around her waist like a steel vice.