I Am Not Your Pawn Anymore

I Am Not Your Pawn Anymore

Ting Er Xiao Ling

5.0
Comment(s)
View
100
Chapters

Barrett handed me a Montblanc pen and a legal document, his voice as cold as the rain lashing against his Tribeca penthouse. He told me to sign an admission of guilt for an SEC violation I never committed. "Eighteen months in prison, Anaya," he said, adjusting his cufflinks without looking at me. "The trust fund is set up. You'll get twenty million dollars the moment you step out." I was being sold. The man I had loved for ten years, the man whose secrets I had kept, was trading my freedom to save his merger with Adele Townsend. He had scrubbed the digital logs of Adele's illegal trades and pinned everything on me. When I refused, he didn't see my heartbreak; he only saw a malfunction in a business transaction. "Do not speak her name," he hissed when I mentioned Adele's fraud. "This merger is bigger than you." He forced the pen into my hand, calling me dramatic while his security guards dragged me to a locked bedroom to "cool down." I spent three days parched and starving, listening to the muffled sound of champagne corks popping down the hall. They were celebrating my destruction. My heart finally gave out in that luxury cage, the darkness swallowing me as I realized I was nothing more than a disposable asset to him. I died in that room, alone and betrayed by the person I trusted most. How could he do this? How could a decade of loyalty be worth less than a stock price? Why did I let him treat me like a sacrificial lamb for so long? GASP. I shot up in bed, my lungs burning, but I wasn't in the penthouse. I was in my old, peeling Brooklyn apartment, and the date on my phone was May 12th-three years ago. My phone buzzed with a text from Barrett: "Where are you? Bring the Townsend files. Now." A cold, cruel smile touched my lips as I typed the reply that would start his nightmare. "I quit."

Chapter 1 1

The fountain pen felt like a lead weight in Anaya's hand. It was a Montblanc, heavy, black, and cold-just like the man standing by the floor-to-ceiling window.

"Sign it, Anaya. We're running out of time."

Barrett Meyers didn't turn around. He was adjusting his cufflinks, his silhouette sharp against the gray, storm-battered skyline of Tribeca. The rain lashed against the glass, a chaotic rhythm that matched the thumping in Anaya's ears.

She looked down at the document on the mahogany desk. Admission of Guilt regarding SEC Violation 10b-5.

It was a lie. All of it.

"Two years," Barrett said, his voice flat, devoid of the cadence that usually charmed boardrooms. "With good behavior, you'll be out in eighteen months. The trust fund is set up. Twenty million dollars, accessible the moment you step out of the facility."

Anaya's stomach twisted. A violent, physical rejection of his words rose in her throat. She looked at his back. The broad shoulders she had leaned on. The neck she had kissed.

"You're selling me," she whispered. Her voice cracked, dry and brittle.

Barrett finally turned. His face was a mask of perfect, icy control. He glanced at her trembling hand, and she saw the flicker of annoyance in his eyes. He didn't see her pain; he saw a malfunction. A delay in the transaction.

"I am protecting the company," he corrected her, walking toward the desk. "And I am compensating you for your sacrifice. It's a transaction, Anaya. Don't make it emotional."

"Adele," she said. The name tasted like ash. "Adele Townsend authorized the trades. Her signature is on the digital logs. You scrubbed them."

The air in the room dropped ten degrees. Barrett stopped. He placed his hands on the edge of the desk, leaning in. He was using his height, his presence, to suffocate her. It was a tactic she had seen him use on competitors a thousand times. She never thought she would be the target.

"Do not speak her name," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "This merger is bigger than you. It's bigger than us. If Adele is implicated, the Townsend deal collapses. The stock tanks. I won't let that happen."

"So I go to prison."

"You get twenty million dollars."

Anaya let out a laugh. It was a short, sharp sound, devoid of humor. It sounded like something breaking.

"You think I'll survive prison?" she asked. She stood up. Her knees knocked against the heavy desk, a dull thud that vibrated up her thigh. "With what I know? With the secrets I hold for this family? I won't make it to the first parole hearing, Barrett. You're not sending me to jail. You're sending me to the slaughterhouse."

Barrett's jaw tightened. He reached out, grabbing her wrist. His fingers were warm, but his touch sent a shiver of pure terror down her spine. He tried to force the pen back into her hand.

"Sign the paper, Anaya. Stop being dramatic."

The touch triggered it.

The memory of the future-or the fear of it-flashed before her eyes. Gray walls. Metal bars. A shank made of a toothbrush handle. The coldness of a concrete floor.

Her pupils contracted. Her breath hitched, trapped in her chest.

Her free hand scrambled across the desk. Her fingers brushed against cool metal. The silver letter opener. It was an antique, sharp enough to slice through heavy cardstock.

"It's for the best," Barrett murmured, looming over her.

Anaya didn't think. She didn't plan. She just reacted.

She swung her arm.

It wasn't a graceful arc. It was a desperate, jagged motion. The silver blade sliced through the air and connected.

Rip.

The sound of expensive fabric tearing was louder than the thunder outside.

Barrett stumbled back, his eyes wide with shock. He looked down at his arm. A line of crimson was blooming rapidly on the crisp white starch of his dress shirt, right above the wrist.

He wasn't badly hurt. It was a scratch, deep enough to bleed but not life-threatening. But the violence of it-the sheer audacity-froze time.

Anaya stood there, the bloody letter opener shaking in her grip. Her chest heaved. She expected to feel horror. She expected to drop the weapon and apologize.

But she didn't. She felt a terrifying, electric surge of adrenaline.

The heavy oak doors burst open. Two men in dark suits rushed in-Barrett's personal security. They reached for their holsters.

"No!" Barrett barked. He held up his uninjured hand.

He didn't look at the guards. He kept his eyes locked on Anaya. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it against the wound on his wrist. The white silk turned red instantly.

"Don't call the police," Barrett said, his voice eerily calm. "We can't have a scandal right now. The SEC is watching."

"Sir?" one guard asked, confused.

"Take her to the master bedroom," Barrett ordered, his eyes cold and dead. "Lock her in. She needs to... cool down. We'll deal with the paperwork in the morning."

Anaya dropped the letter opener. It clattered onto the Persian rug, staining the intricate pattern.

The guards grabbed her arms. They weren't gentle. They dragged her backward. Anaya didn't fight. She stared at Barrett, watching him wrap his bleeding wrist, watching him turn back to the window as if she didn't exist.

They threw her into the bedroom. The door slammed shut. The heavy click of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed like a gunshot.

Anaya slid down the door until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest. The room was luxurious, filled with the scent of lavender and expensive linens, but it was a cage.

She closed her eyes, and the first tear finally fell. She knew, with a chilling certainty, that she would never sign that paper. And she knew that Barrett Meyers would never let her walk out of this room alive.

Continue Reading

Other books by Ting Er Xiao Ling

More
When Memory Returns, Love Dies

When Memory Returns, Love Dies

Romance

5.0

Sunlight hit my face, but I woke to a room I didn' t know, a smiling couple in a picture on the nightstand-strangers. Panic built. Then, a man from the picture walked in, tray in hand. "Good morning, sleepyhead," he said. He was my husband, Ethan, and my name was Ava, but it meant nothing. My memory reset every night, a rare amnesia, he explained. Then, one evening, it happened. My memory didn' t reset. I remembered everything: his assistant Chloe, their too-familiar glances, and their cruel whispers in his office. "It's convenient," he' d said. "She doesn't remember. I can do whatever I want." He saw me as a broken toy, his "perfect arrangement." I ran, lost in a city that was supposed to be home. When I returned, defeated, Chloe was on my sofa, wine in hand, acting like she owned the place. "Where else would you go?" she purred. Ethan, instead of concern, was annoyed. When I dared to demand a divorce, he grabbed me, threatening. He coerced me into kneeling before Chloe, forcing me to apologize. Then, she slapped me. He watched. The monster had built his life on my disability, isolating me, delighting in my helplessness. He had convinced my parents I needed isolation, turning me into a commodity. He didn' t just exploit me; he maintained my torment. How could he be so cruel? But then, a secret journal, hidden by a past self, revealed everything. He hadn't just used me; he was enabling my condition. The realization was sickening. I was trapped, but this time, the truth was burned into my mind. I knew I had to escape.

Dowry Denied, Destiny Rewritten

Dowry Denied, Destiny Rewritten

Modern

5.0

The air in the Las Vegas hotel choked with stale champagne and failure. My fiancé, Mark, slumped at the poker table, surrounded by his smirking cousins, Kevin and Brian. A fortune in chips piled before them. Mark' s pile was empty. My heart sank when Kevin announced the amount: "One hundred and eighty thousand dollars." That was my dowry, a fund for our future, our new home. Mark' s mother, Brenda, cornered me, her voice sharp. "You need to fix this, Sarah. It' s a family debt. You have the money. Pay it." My blood ran cold. She wanted my dowry to cover a reckless gambling debt. Mark wouldn' t even look at me, a pathetic man playing for sympathy. "Brenda, that' s… that' s everything we have," I stammered. "What kind of life will you have if your husband is in debt to his own family?" she countered. "Pay it, Sarah. It' s the only way." I looked at Mark, begging him with my eyes to defend us. He just shook his head, a weak gesture of defeat. The pressure was crushing, a trap closing in. My hand trembled as I reached for my purse, numb with shock and a twisted sense of duty. Then, a line of text shimmered in the air, a translucent pop-up. "Kevin and Brian are exchanging triumphant glances. They are predators who just cornered their prey." I blinked, shaking my head, but it was still there. Then another: "Brenda' s eyes are fixed on your purse, gleaming with anticipation, like a hawk watching a mouse." The fog in my brain cleared. This wasn' t tragic loss. This was a performance. A carefully planned scam to steal my money. Seven years of love, crumbling in an instant. The man I was to marry was a conspirator, his mother the mastermind. The devastation felt physical, but a cold, hard anger began to rise. They thought I was a fool. They were wrong. My hand became perfectly steady. I took a deep breath, the air tasting of betrayal. "No," I said, the single word cutting through the tension.

When Best Friends Become Strangers

When Best Friends Become Strangers

Young Adult

5.0

I spent my entire childhood as one-third of an inseparable trio: "EOM Forever." That meant a built-in future, headed to UCLA with my best friends, Olivia and Maya. And by college, I was supposed to choose which of them I' d pledge my heart to. But as my cursor hovered over the UCLA "Submit" button, thinking about that pact, triumph was replaced by a chilling sense of surrender. Instead, on a whim, I clicked "Confirm Enrollment" for Yale. It wasn't just a different school; it was an escape route. Because for months, our tight-knit world had been invaded by Liam Spencer, a charming new transfer. He charmed Olivia and Maya, and then effortlessly pushed me to the sidelines. My messages in our group chat became sparse, often ignored, as their plans revolved around him. Liam's "accidents" were always strangely convenient – a spilled glass of red wine on my laptop, a sudden "fainting spell" right before graduation. And every time, Olivia and Maya leaped to his defense, dismissing my feelings. "It's just a sweatshirt, Ethan," Olivia chided when Liam wore mine. "He needs it more," Maya chimed in, with a heart emoji. The ultimate betrayal came on Decision Day: Liam pushed me, cracking my head open on a stone planter. Even then, as I lay in the hospital, Olivia and Maya pled for his forgiveness, calling him "tormented." How could they be so blind? My childhood best friends had become total strangers, enabling a manipulative narcissist, turning my life into a living hell. I was done being their afterthought, their punching bag. Leaving them behind wasn't just a decision; it was a desperate declaration of war for my own life. But letting go of "EOM Forever" meant they wouldn't let go of me. Not Olivia, not Maya, and certainly not Liam.

You'll also like

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book