Trapped By The Billionaire's Vicious Vows

Wedding night. He slid a contract across the table, not a ring. Sign, or your family is destroyed. His true love returned. Threw herself down the stairs. Blamed me.

He killed my career. The internet sent death threats. I fled. Taxi. Semi-truck. Blood. The last thing I saw in my mind: his tender look at her.

I died. Pathetic. Unwanted. Wrongly hated.

Wedding night. Again.

This time, I'm writing the ending.

...

The silk of the Vera Wang dress was cold against my skin. I sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, smoothing the lace skirt for the tenth time. Candles flickered on the nightstand. Champagne chilled in an ice bucket. Manhattan's skyline glittered through floor-to-ceiling windows. Tonight was my wedding night. I had dreamed of this moment for three years.

The heavy oak door clicked open. My heart exploded. I leaped to my feet, a radiant smile breaking across my face. "Julian—"

He didn't look at me. He walked past me like I was furniture, loosening his black silk tie with a violent tug. The smell of whiskey rolled off him in waves. He reached the coffee table and threw a manila envelope onto it. The slap echoed through the silent room.

"Sign it." Two words. Flat. Cold.

My smile crumbled. "Sign what? Julian, what's wrong? It's our wedding night—"

"It's over." He finally turned. His storm-gray eyes—the eyes I had fallen in love with three years ago—held nothing but cold contempt. "This farce is over."

"Farce?" I took a step back, my voice barely a whisper.

"You manipulated my grandmother. Fed her your small-town sob story until she forced this ridiculous union on me." He stepped closer, invading my space. "A nobody designer from Ohio, desperate to claw her way into New York society. Marrying me was your golden ticket. Did you think I wouldn't see through your little scheme?"

The words were knives. I felt each one in my chest. "That's a lie. Evelyn and I just talked. She was kind to me—the only person in your family who ever was."

"Don't you dare say her name." His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Sign. The papers."

I looked down at the envelope. Divorce Agreement. On my wedding night. While I still wore my wedding dress. The dress I had spent weeks choosing, dreaming of this moment. The dress I had thought would be the beginning of my happily ever after.

"No." The word hung in the air between us. A challenge.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. "Excuse me?"

"I said no." I straightened my spine, the corset digging into my ribs. "You came to my parents' house yourself. You asked them for my hand. You stood at that altar and said vows. You let me believe this was real. And now, on our wedding night, you want to throw me out like garbage? No. I won't do it."

Silence. Then Julian Harrison smiled. It was the coldest thing I had ever seen.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black Montblanc pen. He clicked it open. The sound was unnervingly loud. He grabbed my hand—his grip like steel—and tried to force the pen into my fingers. I struggled. "Let go of me!"

He leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "Your parents. Dayton, Ohio. Nice little house. Your father's pension from the auto plant. Your mother's retirement savings." His voice was a venomous whisper. "It would be a tragedy if some unfortunate market fluctuations wiped all of that out."

My blood turned to ice. The fight drained out of my body. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." His eyes held no hesitation. No guilt. Just a cold gray void. He would destroy my family without blinking. The candles had all burned out. The dream was dead.

My hand shook violently as I took the pen. Tears splattered onto the paper as I scrawled my name. Kianna Brennan. I didn't wipe them away. I wanted him to see.

He snatched the document the second I lifted the pen. Folded it. Placed it back in the envelope. Then he pressed a button on the wall intercom. "Alfred. The master bedroom. Now."

Within a minute, the butler and two maids appeared. Julian was already walking toward the door. "Search her luggage. Make sure she takes nothing that belongs to this family." He paused, his hand on the doorframe, still not looking at me. "Then get her out of my sight."

The door clicked shut behind him.

The maids unzipped my suitcases and dumped my belongings onto the expensive rug. My sketchbooks. My clothes. My underwear. All of it pawed through by strangers while the butler watched with dead eyes. I saw my favorite sketchbook—its leather cover worn from years of use—being flipped through carelessly. "Stop," I choked out. "Please, not that." One of the maids simply turned, blocking my path with her body.

Alfred straightened. "Nothing of value, sir. Just personal effects." But Julian was no longer there to hear it.

I stood alone in the center of the master bedroom, still in my wedding dress, surrounded by the wreckage of a life that had ended before it ever began. The candles were dead. The champagne was warm. The city lights glittered outside the window, indifferent to all of it.

But beneath the grief, something else was taking root. Cold. Hard. Fury. Julian Harrison thought he had broken me. He thought I was just a naive small-town girl he could crush under his heel and discard.

He had no idea who he was dealing with.