Trapped with My Billionaire Stepbrother

POV: Ivy

By seven the next evening, the heavy scent of roasted garlic and expensive Cabernet suffocated me inside the private dining room of a downtown steakhouse. I sat rigidly in my high-backed leather chair, staring at the condensation on my water glass while Mr. Gorski’s sweaty palm slid another inch up my bare thigh beneath the white linen tablecloth. I shifted my leg, trying to dislodge him subtly, but his thick fingers immediately followed the movement, squeezing my knee with a sickening sense of entitlement.

Across the round table, my new regional manager, David, pretended to be entirely absorbed in the dessert menu. He had hired me three days earlier for a junior sales position at this Blackwood-owned distribution subsidiary, and he had seated me next to our most lucrative client on purpose. I bit the inside of my cheek so hard I tasted copper. The text message Eric had sent me yesterday in the utility room still burned brightly behind my eyelids: fifty thousand dollars by noon tomorrow, or he would flood my new corporate lobby with the horrific photos from the underground club. If I caused a scene and lost this commission, I would have absolutely zero leverage left to fight the blackmail.

David finally looked up, raising his champagne flute with a wide, practiced smile. "To a highly productive partnership, gentlemen. And to our newest associate, Ivy, who truly understands the importance of keeping our top clients completely satisfied."

The thinly veiled, disgusting implication in David's toast shattered the last remaining fraction of my endurance. I pushed my chair back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the polished floor tiles, and announced I needed to use the restroom before walking briskly out of the dining room.

The corridor outside was quiet, lined with dark wood paneling and vintage photographs of old New York. I took a deep, trembling breath, desperately trying to scrub the phantom feeling of Gorski's greasy fingers off my skin. Heavy footsteps thudded against the carpet behind me.

"You left before dessert," Gorski said, stepping forward to block the narrow hallway.

"Go back to the table, Mr. Gorski," I demanded, my pulse spiking. "We are finished discussing business for the evening."

"David told me you understood exactly what was expected to close this deal," Gorski sneered, shoving his heavy weight against me to trap me against the wall. "Do not act innocent. Girls like you do not get hired into rooms like that for their spreadsheets."

He grabbed the front collar of my silk blouse, his breath reeking of bourbon. Something inside my chest went completely, terrifyingly calm. I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face with every ounce of strength I possessed.

The sharp, cracking sound of my palm striking his cheek echoed violently down the empty corridor.

"You little bitch," Gorski hissed, his face turning a mottled red as he raised his massive fist to strike me back.

A large hand shot out from the shadows and caught Gorski’s thick wrist in mid-air.

Kyle Blackwood materialized beside us, his dark eyes radiating pure, unadulterated violence. He did not ask for an explanation or hesitate for a single second. Kyle twisted Gorski's arm downward with a sickening pop, driving the massive man backward into a brass service cart before delivering a single, ruthless strike to his ribs that folded the client in half.

Gorski collapsed onto the carpet amid a shower of shattered dessert plates, groaning in agony.

"Touch her again," Kyle warned, his voice a low, lethal rumble that shook the air, "and the contract you came here to celebrate will be the least expensive thing you lose tonight."

David rushed around the corner, his face draining of color as he took in the carnage. "Mr. Blackwood! I can explain this, it was a client-management decision—"

"You are fired," Kyle stated coldly, not even turning his head to look at the manager. "Security will collect your badge."

I stared at the billionaire heir, my chest heaving, but I felt absolutely no rush of gratitude. I will play the attentive, protective billionaire, his voice echoed perfectly in my memory from the billiards room. I knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't saving me; he was executing his twenty-nine-day playbook. He was systematically destroying my independent income and isolating me, playing the violent hero so I would be forced to rely entirely on his wealth and protection.

"You do not get to storm into my job and rearrange everyone around me," I snapped, furious that he was using my trauma as a prop for his bet.

Kyle turned his intense gaze onto me, looking as if I had completely lost my mind. "He was assaulting you in a hallway."

"And I handled it," I shot back, lifting my chin.

His eyes dropped to the torn button at my collar, his jaw locking so tightly the muscle ticked beneath his skin. "We are leaving right now."

He clamped his hand around my wrist, ignoring my protests, and dragged me out the front doors, shoving me directly into the backseat of the idling black Maybach waiting at the curb. He climbed in right after me, hitting the electronic divider control to seal us in the back of the cabin away from the driver.

"How desperate are you for money?" Kyle demanded, shifting closer to pin me with his stare. "You would rather let garbage like that touch you than ask me for a single dime of help."

"Do you really think this is about my pride?" I yelled, shoving his solid chest to put distance between us. "If I lose my job, I lose the only income I have to pay a lawyer and fight the loan sharks trying to destroy my life! I am trying to survive!"

"You will destroy yourself just to prove you do not need my family's money," Kyle countered, his tone laced with heavy frustration.

"And you are furious because I keep surviving without your permission!" I fired back. "We are two enemies trapped under the same roof, Kyle. Whatever happened at that hotel changed absolutely nothing."

Kyle stared at me for a long, suffocating moment, his chest rising and falling heavily in the dark cabin. To completely shut down his arrogant savior complex, I reached into my clutch and pulled out my phone, unlocking the screen.

I shoved the glowing device directly into his chest. The highly realistic, fabricated naked photograph of me burned brightly between us, accompanied by Eric's filthy blackmail ultimatum, freezing the furious billionaire into absolute, horrified silence.