Trapped In The Billionaire's Golden Cage

bsolute that the hum of traffic o

old air. The arrogance that had fueled him moments ago

lastered across her face. "This is a misunderstanding! This girl-she's an unstable former

't even tu

er slamming into Mrs. Sanders with enough force to spin her around,

" Boyce s

anding at six-foot-three, his broad shoulders blocked o

id, his voice quiet, almost conver

. "Mr. Barnes, please! She's my ex! She spent last nig

ashed with a le

nish the sentence, De

t kick slammed directly into

AC

giving way was s

collapsing onto the ground, clutching hi

ir heavy combat boots pinning Anwar's shoulders

hand, grabbed a fistful of Anwar's styled hair, and yanked his

spered into Anwar's ear, loud enough for every microphone

aught in his throat, a sound like

was

o left those marks. It was the s

ground, pressing her hands to her mouth, her e

yping into their phones, realizing they were witnessing

o the dirt. He stood up, took a sanitizing wipe from Boyce,

g?" Deven tossed the soiled wipe onto Anwar's bloody cheek. "Denied. I've initiated margin calls on a

ant leg with his bloodied fingers. "Please, Mr. Ba

nwar's wrist, cutting off his

Deven said coldly.

d demeanor shifting into something dark, inte

hest heaving, watching the total annihilatio

nd swept her into his arms before

er hands instinctively grabbing hi

" he growled aga

st the wailing Mrs. Sanders, and deposited her

hut with a vault-like thud, inst

into the Midtown traffic, f

f into the corner of the leather seat, her breathing shallow. Her

her voice shaking with adrenaline and stubb

ed the raw red bruise blooming along her jaw where Anwar's fingers had dug in. His to

ut make no mistake. Mrs. Sanders still holds one last hidden card. Her brother sits on the board of

d. She had nearly forgo

ed, and yet her words carried less defiance than before. The

. There was no taunting whisper, no playful pet name. His

But that only shields you from open attacks. If Mrs. Sa