Trapped By My Sister's Billionaire Fiance

The doormen at Henrietta's building wore uniforms that cost more than Alyssa's monthly rent. They looked at her dress, at her borrowed faux-leather tote, at the Burberry coat that didn't quite fit. Then they checked the visitor list and their expressions shifted to professional blankness.

"Miss Medina. Penthouse B. Elevator to your left."

The elevator was lined with mirrors and marble. Alyssa watched her reflection multiply into infinity, each version smaller and more frightened than the last. The doors opened onto a hallway carpeted in something that felt like walking on clouds.

She pressed the doorbell.

Henrietta Snyder opened the door. She wore silk pajamas at seven in the evening, her hair arranged in a perfect chignon, her face painted with the kind of makeup that took hours to apply. She held a champagne flute in one hand.

"You're late." But she was smiling. The smile didn't reach her eyes. "Come in. We have so much to discuss."

The apartment was a cathedral of glass and money. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed Central Park, the trees bare and black against the city lights. Alyssa's feet sank into a Persian rug that probably cost more than Elena's surgery.

Henrietta poured sparkling water into a crystal glass and pressed it into Alyssa's hand. "I'm getting married. Next month. Small ceremony, but the reception will be significant. You'll be there, of course. I'll have my assistant send you the dress code."

"Congratulations." Alyssa's voice sounded strange in her own ears. "Who is he?"

Henrietta's smile turned sharp. "The most eligible bachelor in New York. Old money. Real power." She opened her mouth to say the name.

The lock beeped. Footsteps in the hallway. Measured. Confident. Each one striking Alyssa's spine like a hammer.

Henrietta's face transformed. The sharpness melted into something soft, almost girlish. She set down her glass and floated toward the entrance. "Darling. You're early."

Alyssa turned.

Cornell Knight stepped out of the shadows. He wore a charcoal suit that fit him like armor. His gaze traveled past Henrietta, past the champagne, past the view, and found Alyssa with the accuracy of a targeting system.

Her glass slipped from her fingers. It hit the marble floor and shattered. Sparkling water splashed her ankles. She didn't move. She couldn't.

"Careful." Cornell was beside her. She hadn't seen him cross the room. His hand closed around her elbow, steadying her, trapping her. "We wouldn't want you hurt."

His fingers burned through the coat sleeve. She jerked away. Her knee caught the edge of the coffee table. Pain flared in her injured joint, white-hot and agonizing. She shifted her weight to her good leg, biting the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper to keep from crying out.

Henrietta frowned. Her smile didn't waver, but her eyes narrowed, tracking the violent tremor in Alyssa's hands and the unnatural stiffness of her posture. The shrewd, calculating instinct that made her a Wall Street apex predator flared to life. She masked it instantly, though her gaze lingered on the shattered glass with intense suspicion. "Alyssa? What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The word came out strangled. "I just-I wasn't expecting-I'm nervous. Meeting someone so important."

Cornell's lips curved. "Important?" He repeated the word as if tasting it. "Hardly. Just a man in love." He extended his hand. "Cornell Knight. And you must be the talented sister Henrietta never stops talking about."

Alyssa stared at his hand. She couldn't touch him. She couldn't.

Henrietta laughed. "Don't be shy, Lyss. Cornell doesn't bite."

"Not unless asked," Cornell murmured. His hand remained extended, patient as a spider. "Please. Call me Cornell. Or better yet-" He paused, his eyes locked on Alyssa's face, watching for every micro-expression. "Call me brother. Or brother-in-law, I suppose. Though that feels so formal, doesn't it?"

The word hit her like physical force. Brother-in-law. This man. This predator. Her sister's husband.

"Sit," Henrietta commanded. "Both of you. I'll open the good champagne."

Alyssa found herself on a velvet chair, facing them across a glass coffee table. Henrietta curled against Cornell on the sofa, her hand possessive on his thigh. He listened to her discuss venues and florists, his head tilted in apparent fascination.

His foot found Alyssa's ankle under the table.

She flinched so hard her knee cracked against the table base. Henrietta looked up, concerned.

"Alyssa? You're pale. Are you ill?"

"I-" Alyssa's voice broke. She looked at her sister, at the happiness Henrietta wore like a new coat, at the future she'd clearly already mapped out. She thought of the car. The rain. The hand on her neck.

She opened her mouth.

Cornell's fingers tapped twice against the leather armrest. A soft sound. Barely audible.

He looked at her. His expression hadn't changed. But his eyes-his eyes held everything. The warning. The promise. The absolute certainty that he could and would destroy everything she loved if she spoke one wrong word.

Alyssa's throat closed. The truth died there, unborn.

"I'm fine," she whispered. "Just tired. The commute from Brooklyn."

Henrietta's concern evaporated. "You should move closer. I could help you find something. Though of course, after the wedding, I'll be traveling so much. Cornell's business takes us everywhere."

"Everywhere," Cornell agreed. His foot pressed harder against Alyssa's ankle, then withdrew. "We'll have to make time for family, though. Won't we, little sister?"