The Captive Runaway Wife Of The Billionaire

folder to her chest like a shield and walked, dazed, into a bustling Manhattan cafe just a block away. The rich, warm

n a corner booth, her brow furrowed in concentr

arely a whisper as she slid into

face, the torn collar of the dress she'd been forced to wear, the haunted l

aling her lips. "I... I got away from him," she said, the words

ers she couldn't give. With a sigh, she turned her laptop scre

"Wall Street's Predator Strikes Again: Kensington Capital Triggers Hostile Takeover." Below it w

ng Ken

blood

all him the Shark of Wall Street. He's known for destroying companies overnight, just for sport. His legal team is legendary-they say no on

was impossible. An annulment was impossible. She was trapped. Not just in

lled office, watching the lights of Wall Street flicker against the darke

oulders. Mason placed a tablet on the massive, polished oak desk. "Sir. McFarland Industries' stock has p

by forty-two percent in pre-market trading. They

ent to the SEC within the hour." Mason hesitated. "Sir, completely destroying both of t

umpled cardboard box-the Plan B package, retrieved from the penthouse floor. He t

er, sliding the box inside, behind a stack o

. "And call my driver. I

assive. "Understood, sir."

his desk, staring a

tasted like dirt. She was trying to process what Aubrie had

the wooden table, the screen d

he answered it cautiously,

e filled her ear, devoid of any gre

already being replaced by a stubborn, defensive

for you to earn your grandmother's medical care," he said, his voic

to begin. "I can't," she argued, her mind racing. "

and dismissive. "My driver is already outside

ne wen

the invisible chains of the non-disclosure ag