The Billionaire's Contract for Revenge

The air in the apartment was thick with the stench of his betrayal, a cloying odor of cheap apologies and crocodile tears that seeped under the door. He pleaded, he cajoled, he ev

ery sacrifice, every 'I believe in you,' every late night I'd worked so he could practice-it

through the blinds, he changed tactics. A soft, hesitant knock,

r all. "Clara, please. I know you're angry. You have every right to be. But I have an emergency. Daniel... he's secured a last-minute audition for me. With the Veridia Philharmonic.

ie. My first instinct, my every instinct, screamed at me to say no, to

. I'll pack my things and be gone when you get back.

eved in closure. A clean break. The thought was seductive. To have him gone, to have this s

ords a death sentence for my self

or, my voice flat and dead. "

misery, was in the back. The car was filled with the cloying scent of Daniel's expensive cologne-sandalwood and arrogance-and the palpable tension crackling between the three of us. I kept my eyes fixed on the r

back seat, his voice smooth and condescending. "Ma

un his voice, their presence, the wreckage of my life sitting in my car. My mind was

spinning metal and shattering glass. I remember wrenching the wheel, a purely instinctual act to swerve away from the impact on my side. The car slammed into a lamppost, the

dark

ered windshield, cold against my face. A sharp, metallic taste filled my mouth. My head throbbed, but it was the ago

ly unhurt, scrambling out of his side. He rushed around the vehicle, his face p

enched open the rear door where Dani

his voice shrill with panic. "His hand! Yo

niel's hand, then looked at me, slumped against the steering

e driver's seat is mo

rted into a mask of pure, selfish terror. "Hi

d sacrificed my own dreams, completely disregard my agony in favor of his patron, something inside me didn't just br

hey cut me out of my favorite sweater, pumped me full of painkillers that barely touched the edges of the pain, and wheeled me from one brightly lit room

o operate, put in a plate and screws. But I have to be honest with you, Ms. Evans. There w

hen they landed, heavy and cold as a tombstone. My drawing hand. My career

hool of fish. He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit that seemed to absorb the frantic light of the hospital. His hair was black, his face was a collection of sharp, un

voice, low and commanding, a stark contrast to Mark's hysterical babbling. A few minutes later

, and utterly exposed. He looked down at me, his icy eyes cataloging my disheveled state, the tears tracking through the gr

r. The head of Thorne Industries. A man who

er," he stated. It

d, my throat to

ng his face closer to mine. His voice was a quiet, deadly whisper that cu

you," he said, his cold blue eyes boring int

-