Trapped By My Sister's Billionaire Fiance

Rain began to hit the windows. Not a gentle drizzle. A November storm, fat drops hammering against the bulletproof glass. The sound should have been comforting. It wasn't.

Alyssa tried to remove the jacket again. Cornell pressed one finger against the back of her hand. Just one finger. She jerked away as if burned.

He settled back into his seat, legs crossed, and studied her with the same attention he'd given her on stage. His gaze traveled from her face to her throat to where the wet dress clung to her chest. She wanted to cover herself. She wanted to disappear.

"Thank you," she forced out. "For what you did in there. But I need to get home. The next subway-"

"There is no next subway." Cornell reached for a button on the center console. The partition between front and back seats began to rise again. "Not for you. Not tonight."

"Stop." Alyssa lunged for the controls. He caught her wrist. His grip was iron. The partition sealed with that same soft, terrible hiss.

She grabbed for the door handle. It didn't move. Child locks. Of course. She was in a car designed to protect its occupants from the outside world. And from escape.

Cornell loosened his tie. The silk made a whispering sound. "Let's discuss payment."

"I told you. I don't have money. I have nothing."

"Money?" His laugh was low, intimate. "I have more money than I could spend in ten lifetimes. I want something interesting." He leaned forward. His hand closed around the back of her neck, pulling her toward him until their foreheads nearly touched. "I want to know what you'll do when you have no choices left. I want to see how far that pride of yours extends before it breaks."

Alyssa's eyes burned. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. She would not cry. Not in front of him. Not ever.

His thumb traced her lower lip. The touch was almost gentle. It terrified her more than violence would have.

"You're shaking," he murmured. "Good. Fear is honest. Fear is-"

The car swerved. Hard. The driver cursed, brakes squealing as a taxi cut across their lane. The momentum threw Cornell sideways. His grip loosened for one fraction of a second.

Alyssa moved.

She drove her elbow into his sternum with every ounce of strength she possessed. Her other hand found the window controls. The glass began to descend. Cold rain sprayed into the cabin, shocking against her skin.

Cornell grabbed for her. She twisted, kicked, clawed. Her fingers found the door handle. The lock had disengaged with the window. She threw her weight against the door and tumbled out into the street.

Her knees hit wet asphalt. Pain exploded through her legs. She didn't stop. She scrambled up and ran, her flats slipping on the slick pavement, her lungs burning. The lights of Times Square blazed ahead. Crowds. Safety in numbers. She plunged into the river of tourists and street performers and never looked back.

Behind her, the Maybach sat motionless in the rain. The rear door hung open. Cornell Knight watched her disappear into the neon and the chaos, water pooling around his expensive shoes. He didn't follow. He didn't call out.

He smiled.

He reached for his phone and dialed a number from memory.

"Morgan. I need everything. Medical records. Financial history. Family connections. Every building she's lived in. Every school she attended. Every person she's ever loved." He paused, watching the space where she'd vanished. "Have it on my desk by morning."

He ended the call and leaned back into the seat. His fingers closed around something on the leather. A canvas strap. Her bag. She'd left it in her panic.

Cornell lifted it to his face and inhaled.