Trapped By The Ruthless Wall Street King

"Sit up straight. You are embarrassing the family."

Eleanor's voice was a sharp hiss that cut through the heavy air of the private Upper East Side cathedral.

Chloe sat in the middle row of the oak pews, tucked away in the shadowy corner. She stared down at her hands resting in her lap. Her fingers were trembling so violently that she had to interlock them to make it stop. The grand choir sang a hymn at the front of the church, but the sound was completely drowned out by the roaring in her ears. Every time she closed her eyes, her mind was flooded with the memory of the hotel bed from last night. The tearing pain. The heavy weight of a man pinning her down.

She immediately straightened her spine at Eleanor's command. The sudden movement pulled at the muscles in her lower back. A sharp, burning ache shot up her spine. Chloe sucked in a harsh breath, her teeth biting down hard on her lower lip to keep from making a sound.

The heavy wooden doors at the back of the cathedral were pushed open.

Arthur walked in. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit that seemed to absorb the dim light of the church. He brought the crisp, biting chill of the autumn wind inside with him.

The entire congregation seemed to hold its breath. Heads turned. Eyes locked onto the heir of the Beaumont family. Chloe stopped breathing completely. Her stomach tied itself into a tight knot. She lowered her head until her chin touched her chest, wishing she could disappear into the floorboards.

Arthur did not look left or right. He walked straight down the center aisle and took the seat right next to Eleanor in the front row. He acted as if he had not even seen Chloe sitting in the back.

Eleanor leaned over and whispered something to him. Suddenly, her eyes stopped moving. She stared intently at his jawline.

"What happened to your face?" Eleanor asked, her voice low but carrying enough in the quiet space for Chloe to hear, the cathedral's unique vaulted ceiling echoing her words with terrifying clarity. "That is a very obvious scratch from a woman's fingernails."

Chloe's heart skipped a beat. The blood drained from her face. She remembered the feeling of her nails digging into his skin last night when the pain became too much to bear.

Arthur raised his hand lazily. His long fingers brushed against the red mark on his jaw. "A wild cat scratched me last night," he said. His tone was completely flat.

As he said the words "wild cat," Arthur turned his head. His deep, dark eyes looked past the rows of wealthy congregants and locked precisely onto Chloe's face.

The look in his eyes was pure aggression. It burned her skin from a few rows away. Chloe panicked. She jerked her gaze away, staring at the floor. The tips of her ears turned burning red.

The service finally ended. People began to shuffle out of the pews. Chloe grabbed her small purse and tried to blend into the crowd, hoping to slip out through the side door unnoticed.

"Chloe. Come here." Eleanor's voice stopped her dead in her tracks. "Come greet your elders."

Chloe forced her legs to move. They felt like lead. She walked over to where Eleanor and Arthur stood near the altar. She kept her eyes glued to Arthur's polished leather shoes.

"Brother Arthur," Chloe whispered. Her voice was so small it barely existed.

Arthur looked down at her. His throat moved as he swallowed. He let out a single, cold snort that pressed down on her chest like a physical weight.

"The driver asked for the day off," Eleanor complained, adjusting her silk scarf. "Arthur, drive Chloe back to Columbia University."

Chloe's head snapped up in pure terror. "No. It is fine. I can take the subway."

Arthur did not give her a chance to argue. He turned his back to her and started walking toward the parking lot. "Follow me," he ordered.

Chloe had no choice. With Eleanor watching her every move, she stiffly put one foot in front of the other and followed Arthur out into the open-air parking lot.

They reached the black Rolls-Royce. Chloe immediately walked to the back door and pulled the handle. It was locked. Inside, Mr. Miller sat in the driver's seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield.

The passenger side window rolled down. Arthur sat in the front seat, looking at her with eyes like crushed ice. "Get in the front."

Under the curious stares of the passing socialites, Chloe swallowed her humiliation. She opened the passenger door and slid into the seat.

The car pulled smoothly onto the streets of Manhattan. The cabin was immediately filled with the scent of cedar and the icy edge of cold rain. It was Arthur's signature cologne. The smell triggered a visceral reaction in Chloe's body. Her lungs felt tight. She could barely breathe.

Arthur pressed a button on the center console. A thick, dark privacy glass slowly rose behind their heads, completely sealing off the front seats from Mr. Miller in the back.

The mechanical hum of the glass locking into place sent a wave of panic through Chloe. She was trapped. She grabbed the seatbelt and held onto it like a lifeline.

The car stopped at a red light. Arthur slammed his foot on the brake.

He suddenly leaned over the console. His massive frame trapped her between the leather seat and his chest. He reached out, his long fingers catching a strand of her hair.

"Why did you run this morning?" he asked. His voice was rough, scraping against her nerves.

Chloe's eyes filled with tears. She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. "Last night was a mistake. Please. Just forget it happened."

Arthur let out a low, dark laugh. His eyes dropped to her neck, staring at the skin hidden beneath her high-collared sweater.

"There are no mistakes in the Beaumont family," Arthur whispered, the sexual tension in the small space thick enough to choke her. "Only prices to pay."