Pampered By The Ruthless Apex CEO

A throbbing hammer pounded against the inside of Chloe Collins's skull. She pried her eyelids open, the lavish hotel suite swimming in and out of focus. A thick, syrupy heat pulsed through her veins, making her skin feel too tight for her body. She was wearing a silk slip she didn't recognize, and the air tasted stale, metallic.

Panic, cold and sharp, began to cut through the chemical fog. She didn't know this room. She didn't know how she got here.

Then she heard voices through the heavy oak door. One was slick with false sincerity, a voice she knew better than her own. Her stepfather, Rick Tucker.

"She's a real firecracker, Mr. Carlisle, but she'll learn her place. A night with you, and she'll be putty in your hands. Consider it a gift... a down payment on our continued partnership."

A younger man's laugh, arrogant and dismissive, followed. "A gift? Rick, let's be honest. You're selling your stepdaughter to cover your gambling debts."

Chloe's stomach clenched into a knot of ice. The heat in her blood was instantly extinguished, replaced by a chilling certainty. He'd done it. The bastard had finally done it.

The door handle turned. She scrambled back against the headboard, her heart slamming against her ribs like a trapped bird. The man who entered was young, handsome in a predatory way, with a smirk that made her skin crawl. Ethan Carlisle.

"Well, hello, sleeping beauty," he purred, his eyes raking over her body. "Daddy said you were eager to meet me." He started unbuttoning his cuffs, the picture of casual entitlement.

Chloe forced her lips into a trembling smile, her mind racing faster than it ever had. She let her eyes flutter, feigning a drugged submission. "I... I feel a little dizzy."

"Don't worry," he said, moving closer, his cologne thick and suffocating. "I'll take good care of you."

He leaned over her, reaching to brush a strand of hair from her face. In that instant, Chloe's hand shot out, not to embrace him, but to grasp the heavy crystal lamp on the bedside table. She swung it with every ounce of strength she had.

The crack of glass and metal against bone was sickeningly loud.

Ethan staggered back with a cry of pain and shock, his hand flying to the side of his head. Blood streamed through his fingers. Chloe didn't wait to see more. She launched herself off the bed and sprinted for the door.

She burst into the hallway, only to freeze. A mountain of a man in a black suit stood directly in her path, blocking the elevators. Marco Sullivan, Ethan's bodyguard. His face was impassive as he moved to cut off her escape.

Trapped. The word screamed in her head.

Ethan stumbled out of the room, clutching his bleeding head, his face contorted with rage. "Get her, Marco! Don't let the bitch get away!"

Chloe backed away, her bare feet cold against the marble floor. The only way out was the end of the hall, where a large window overlooked the city. She didn't hesitate. She ran towards it, her hands fumbling with the latch. It swung open, letting in a blast of wind and rain.

New York glittered far below, a dizzying, rain-slicked abyss.

"Nowhere to run," Ethan snarled, advancing on her, Marco flanking him.

Chloe glanced down. Three floors below, a canvas awning jutted out from the hotel's side entrance, a small, dark rectangle in the storm. It was a crazy, suicidal chance. It was her only chance.

With a final, defiant look at her pursuers, she climbed onto the windowsill and jumped.

The wind ripped at her, the fall a terrifying, weightless moment. She hit the awning with a brutal, jarring impact that knocked the air from her lungs. The canvas ripped, but it slowed her descent just enough. She tumbled off the edge, landing hard in the filth of a back alley. A sharp, searing pain shot up from her ankle.

She ignored it. Scrambling to her feet, she limped, then ran, out of the alley and into the torrential downpour of the street. The rain plastered the thin silk to her skin, and every step on her injured ankle was agony.

She risked a glance back. Marco's imposing figure appeared at the mouth of the alley. He saw her.

Headlights cut through the rain. A black Maybach, sleek and powerful, glided down the street with the silent authority of a shark. It was the kind of car that belonged to the kings of this city. It was her only hope.

With the last of her energy, Chloe threw herself into the middle of the road, directly in its path, and spread her arms wide.

The massive car stopped just inches from her body, its engine a low, menacing hum. The tinted rear window slid down with an electric whir.

Through the rain, she saw a man's profile. Sharp, severe, and utterly devoid of emotion. His eyes were cold, chips of ice that seemed to look straight through her.

She didn't care. Marco was getting closer. Her voice was a raw, broken sob.

"Help me!"

The man in the car didn't look at her. His gaze drifted past her, down the street, where Ethan had now emerged from the alley, his face a mask of fury. A flicker of something-annoyance, disgust-crossed the man's features. Then, his cold eyes returned to her.