A Serial Billionaire Killer

{Anya}

The gavel struck like a gunshot.

The sound echoed through the courtroom, final and absolute.

The judge's words barely registered. A long-winded declaration of guilt, of justice being served. The jury had decided, the evidence had spoken, and now my fate was sealed.

That was it. Curtains closed. The end of my life - for a crime I did not commit.

Some watched with grim satisfaction, others with feigned indifference, but no one looked at me like I was innocent. No one except him... Alexander Cain sat in the back, a shadow among the crowd.

He had always been a man of silence, and yet at that moment, his presence was deafening. His expression was unreadable, but beneath it, I knew. He was watching, like he was waiting for something.

I wanted to laugh. Maybe I did. The guards at my sides stiffened as if I might lunge across the room and slit the judge's throat with my bare hands. As if I were capable of something so savage. But to them, I already was, and, of course, the sentence was death.

Death.

The word should have sent me into a panic. Instead, I felt nothing but cold, creeping contempt.

Then-

The doors burst open.

Gasps rippled through the courtroom as a figure stumbled inside, breathless, wild-eyed.

"I have evidence to prove Ms. Loraine's innocence!"

The judge's gavel slammed again. "Who are you, and how dare you interrupt-"

"Look at this!" The man -older, face slick with sweat - waved a film in the air. "This is everything you need."

Whispers rose like a murmur of wind, there was an uproar in the court. My sentence had been given, the evidence was undeniable... Yet here we were, just what could this figure have discovered?

My pulse quickened as the prosecutor stood, face dark with irritation. "Your Honor, this is outrageous."

"I tried to submit this before, but it was ignored," the man cut in. "Evidence to turn this case on its head."

The words should have filled me with hope, but they didn't... because I knew better. This was his doing.

I turned, searching for him.

Alex had vanished.

And suddenly, I wasn't sure how to feel about this ray of hope. After all, not all that glittered was gold. I knew more than anyone that he was a man who never moved without purpose.

They will tell you it began with a gala. A room of opulence and indulgence, surrounded by the wealthy elite... whom I sought to drag down.

That's the story they'll write. The perfect narrative. The scandalous downfall of Anya Loraine, the woman who clawed her way to the top and still wanted more. They'll say I was ruthless, driven by greed, that I plotted against the powerful, that I wanted chaos, that I... Killed.

But that's not where the story starts.

The first time I met Alexander Cain, it wasn't beneath chandeliers or amidst whispers of billion-dollar deals. It was in an alley slicked with blood. I cursed the misfortune of ever crossing paths with him.

I remember the alley - how the cobblestones gleamed wet beneath the dim glow of a streetlamp. My heels echoed as I walked, the umbrella in my hand an unnecessary burden. The forecast had promised rain, but the skies had betrayed me.

Lost in my thoughts, I almost didn't see him.

A figure slumped against the wall.

Blood seeped through his shirt. His head lifted, and our eyes met. Inky black. Cold. Comforting.

I froze.

For a moment, I thought I was staring at a ghost - too pale, too still.

"Help me."

His voice rasped like something dragged over stone, low and rough and impossibly commanding.

Everything in me screamed to turn away. To run.

But I couldn't.

There was something in his eyes - a crack in the armor, a flicker of something raw and human. For all reason, I moved closer, crouching beside him.

"What happened? "Should I call-?" My voice broke as I fumbled for my phone.

"No hospitals. Just... help me to my car."

This was insane.

I should've left him there, gone home, and forgotten the whole thing.

"Alright," I whispered, sliding an arm around his shoulders. His weight pressed into me, and together we stumbled toward a sleek black car parked nearby.

He winced as I helped him into the driver's seat, his jaw tight with pain. I hesitated, watching as he fished a set of keys from his pocket. Blood slicked his fingers, staining the pristine leather interior.

"You're braver than you look," he murmured, his voice faint but edged with a strange sort of amusement.

I didn't reply. My heart thundered too loudly for words.

"I'll be fine," he said, slipping effortlessly into a tone that brooked no argument. "Go home, Miss...?"

"Loraine," I managed. "Anya Loraine."

His gaze lingered on me for a beat too long, then he spoke: "Alexander Cain."

Of course, I knew who he was. Everyone did. A name that carried weight in every corner of New York - a billionaire, a genius, a man who turned ambition into gold.

And yet, at that moment, he was no myth. Just a man, bleeding in an alley, his mask cracked.

"Do you need someone to -"

"I said I'll be fine." The words were sharper this time, a blade that made me flinch. He softened, the edges of his voice smoothing. "Go home, Anya. And forget you ever saw me tonight."

The car roared to life before I could argue.

And then he was gone.

I stood there, an umbrella dangling uselessly at my side, the world around me slipping back into motion.

This was the moment. The first domino. The point of no return.

And I didn't even know it yet.

But meeting him wasn't the only life-changing thing that happened that night. Somewhere, a siren wailed - distant, fading. I paid it little attention as I turned to leave. There was something important that needed my attention and then....

My phone vibrated in my bag. I pulled it out with numb fingers. Half expecting a calendar reminder or some ad.

Once again, my world spun.

The message was from my mom and it read: