Bought A Gigolo, Got A Billionaire CEO

The tip of the expensive fountain pen tore through the crisp white paper.

Alexis Sweet pressed down so hard her knuckles turned stark white. She signed her name on the final page of the divorce agreement. The document that stripped her of everything. No assets. No alimony. Just the clothes on her back.

She folded the thick stack of papers, her fingers trembling slightly, and shoved them into her designer leather bag.

Sitting at the dimly lit bar of the Manhattan luxury hotel, she grabbed the chilled martini glass in front of her. The cold condensation wet her palm. She tipped her head back and swallowed the clear liquid in one massive gulp. The alcohol burned a harsh trail down her throat, settling like a hot coal in her empty stomach. It did nothing to burn away the humiliation.

Her phone buzzed against the mahogany bar top. The screen lit up with a text from her best friend, Ayla.

I handled it. Top-tier entertainment for tonight. Room 5012. Go ruin yourself a little, Lexi. You deserve to forget that bastard Carlos.

Alexis stared at the glowing words. Her chest heaved. Carlos had spent the last two years treating her like dirt, and today he threw her out like garbage. She needed this. She needed to feel something other than the crushing weight of betrayal. She needed to use someone the way she had been used.

A sudden shift in the air pulled her attention.

A low murmur rippled through the entrance of the bar. The crowd naturally parted, stepping back as if repelled by an invisible force.

Jarrett Hughes walked into the dim light. He wore a charcoal, hand-tailored suit that clung perfectly to his broad shoulders and narrow waist. His jaw was sharp, his expression entirely devoid of warmth. He moved with the slow, predatory grace of a man who owned the ground he walked on.

Behind him, his assistant Bruno leaned in, speaking in a hushed, urgent tone about that high-stakes real estate acquisition.

Alexis's alcohol-blurred vision locked onto Jarrett. Her breath hitched. The sheer, aggressive masculinity radiating from him made her skin prickle. Her buzzed brain connected the dots instantly. Ayla had paid for top-tier. This man, with his flawless face and expensive costume, had to be the high-end gigolo.

She slid off the high barstool. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor. The room spun slightly, but she forced her legs to move, swaying toward him.

Bruno noticed her approaching. His eyes widened, and he immediately stepped forward, raising a hand to block her path.

Jarrett lifted two fingers. Bruno froze and stepped back instantly. Jarrett's dark, piercing eyes dropped to Alexis's flushed cheeks and slightly parted lips. He watched her with a dangerous, quiet curiosity.

Alexis stopped inches from his chest. She could smell his cologne-cedar, bergamot, and something dark and expensive. She held up a plastic keycard between her index and middle finger.

She slapped the keycard flat against the hard muscle of his chest.

"You're mine for the night," she said, her voice thick with vodka and reckless defiance. "I bought your time."

Jarrett's eyes narrowed. A flicker of dark amusement sparked in his irises.

Bruno sucked in a sharp breath. He opened his mouth to shout at the woman who had just assaulted the CEO of Phoenix Realty.

Jarrett let out a low, rough chuckle. He reached up, his long fingers brushing against her knuckles as he slid the keycard out from under her hand.

He leaned down. His lips brushed the shell of her ear, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a shiver straight down her spine.

"Lead the way."

Jarrett turned his head and gave Bruno a single, sharp look. Stay here. Bruno swallowed hard and nodded.

Jarrett wrapped a heavy, warm arm around Alexis's waist. He pulled her flush against his side and guided her toward the private VIP elevators.

The metal doors slid shut. The sudden silence of the small space was deafening. The heavy scent of male pheromones wrapped around Alexis, making her lungs feel tight.

The elevator dinged at the penthouse level. They stumbled out, Jarrett's hand gripping her hip tightly. He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the suite.

The second the door clicked shut, the dynamic flipped. Jarrett pinned her against the solid wood. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her head back, and his mouth crashed down on hers.

Clothes were torn away, dropping to the thick carpet. They fell onto the massive, soft bed. The world disappeared into a blur of skin, heat, and desperate friction.

Hours later, a sliver of harsh morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the blackout curtains. It hit Alexis right in the eye.

She gasped and shot up in bed. Her head pounded. She looked to her left. The stranger was fast asleep on his stomach, the white sheet draped low over his muscular back. The memories of his hands, his mouth, his relentless stamina slammed into her brain.

Her stomach twisted with violent regret. Panic seized her throat.

She threw off the covers. Her bare feet hit the cold floor. She scrambled around the room, snatching her scattered clothes and pulling them on with shaking hands.

She grabbed her purse. She unzipped the wallet and pulled out every single bill she had left to her name. Eight hundred dollars.

She walked over to the nightstand. She placed the cash down and set a glass of water on top of it to keep the bills from blowing away. Her final payment for his services.

Alexis grabbed her bag, held her breath, and slipped out of the heavy suite door like a thief.

Alexis hurried down the long, carpeted hallway of the penthouse level, her heels in her hand. She pressed the elevator button, her heart hammering against her ribs until the doors opened and she stepped inside.

Back in the suite, the harsh sunlight finally reached the pillows.

Jarrett's brow furrowed. He opened his eyes. He reached his heavy arm across the mattress, expecting to pull warm, soft skin against his chest. His hand hit flat, cold sheets.

He sat up abruptly. The blanket pooled at his waist. His dark eyes scanned the massive, empty room. The silence grated on his nerves.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. He walked toward the nightstand to grab his watch. That was when he saw it.

Underneath a half-empty glass of water sat a neat stack of twenty and fifty-dollar bills.

Jarrett stared at the money. A muscle in his jaw ticked. He reached out and snatched the bills. He thumbed through them. Eight hundred dollars.

A harsh, humorless laugh ripped from his throat. The heir to the Aurelian Group. The man who moved billions with a signature. He had just been given a price tag.

He grabbed the hotel phone and hit the speed dial.

"Get up here. Now," he barked into the receiver, his voice dripping with ice.

Less than a minute later, the suite door clicked open. Bruno rushed in, out of breath. He took one look at the rumpled bed, the scattered clothes, and the terrifyingly dark expression on his boss's face, and snapped his mouth shut.

Jarrett threw the wad of cash onto the glass coffee table. The bills scattered.

"Pull the hotel security footage," Jarrett ordered, his chest rising and falling with controlled anger. "Find out exactly who she is. I want her entire life on my screen before I finish my coffee."

Miles away, a yellow cab pulled up to the curb in the Upper East Side.

Alexis pushed the door open and stepped out onto the freezing pavement. She stood in front of the massive, multi-story townhouse she used to call home. Her stomach churned with nausea.

She pressed her thumb to the biometric lock. It clicked green. She pushed the heavy door open and walked into the pristine, silent living room. She needed to pack her remaining personal items before Carlos changed the locks.

She pulled a suitcase from the hall closet and began shoving her coats and shoes inside.

The front door suddenly slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud crack.

Carlos strode into the foyer, a triumphant, cruel smirk on his face. He wasn't drunk, but his eyes held the manic gleam of a predator who had just savored a kill. His face was flushed with the thrill of victory. He saw Alexis kneeling by the suitcase. The veins in his neck bulged. He crossed the room in three long strides and kicked the suitcase. It flipped over, spilling her clothes across the hardwood floor.

Alexis froze. She slowly lifted her head, her eyes cold and dead. She reached out to pick up a fallen sweater.

Carlos lunged. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging brutally into her skin, and yanked her upward.

The sudden, violent pull caused the collar of her trench coat to slip down her shoulder.

Carlos's eyes dropped. Right on the pale skin of her collarbone was a dark, purple bruise. A fresh hickey.

His pupils dilated. The muscles in his face contorted with a sickening mix of jealousy and rage.

"Where the hell were you last night?" Carlos spat, his saliva hitting her cheek. "Who were you spreading your legs for?"

Alexis didn't flinch. She stared right into his bloodshot eyes. "Let go of me. My private life is none of your business anymore."

The words snapped the last thread of his sanity. Carlos raised his free hand and swung.

The loud smack echoed in the large room. The force of the slap threw Alexis's head to the side. A sharp, metallic taste flooded her mouth. Blood pooled in the corner of her lips.

She didn't cry. She just slowly turned her head back, her eyes burning with pure hatred.

Carlos let out a guttural yell. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her toward the grand staircase. He dragged her toward the master bedroom.

"I'm going to make you regret you were ever born!" he roared.

Alexis gasped in pain as her scalp burned. She twisted her body, lifting her leg, and drove the sharp heel of her shoe directly into his shin.

Carlos grunted in pain, but his grip on her hair only tightened.

At that exact moment, back in the penthouse, Bruno handed a sleek tablet to Jarrett.

Jarrett swiped the screen. His eyes scanned the detailed background check. He saw the marriage certificate. He saw the divorce filing from yesterday. He saw the name of the ex-husband.

Carlos Martin.

Jarrett's thumb stopped moving. A slow, dark smirk curled the corners of his mouth. The woman who had bought him for eight hundred dollars was his own nephew's discarded wife.

He tossed the tablet onto the sofa and grabbed a fresh, perfectly pressed white shirt.

"Get the car ready," Jarrett commanded, buttoning his cuffs with lethal precision. He glanced at the address on the screen. "We're going to the Upper East Side."

Carlos dragged Alexis to the top of the stairs. He shoved her hard.

Alexis lost her balance. She crashed onto the thick Persian rug in the second-floor hallway, her shoulder taking the brunt of the impact. Pain shot down her arm.

She scrambled backward, her palms burning against the carpet fibers, trying to put distance between herself and the madman.

Carlos reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a thick stack of glossy photographs. He raised his arm and hurled them directly at her face.

The heavy paper hit her cheeks and fluttered to the ground, scattering across the intricate patterns of the rug.

Alexis looked down. Her breath caught in her throat.

The photos showed her in various hotel beds, tangled in the sheets with different, faceless men. The images were explicit, raw, and entirely fabricated.

"This is why you get nothing!" Carlos screamed, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You filthy whore! You thought you could play me?"

Alexis grabbed one of the photos. Her eyes, trained for years in architectural design, instantly caught the unnatural lighting on the collarbone, the pixelated blurring where her neck met the stranger's shoulder.

She let out a dry, harsh laugh. She gripped the edges of the photo and ripped it straight down the middle.

"This is a pathetic photoshop job, Carlos," she spat, throwing the torn pieces at his shoes. "You're delusional."

"Shut up!" Carlos roared. He stepped forward, raising his heavy leather shoe, aiming a kick at her ribs.

The sharp clack of high heels on the hardwood stairs interrupted him.

Bernice, Carlos's mother, walked up the steps, followed closely by Josie, Alexis's cousin.

Bernice looked at the photos littering the floor. Her face twisted in disgust. "Look at this filth. I always knew you were a slut, Alexis. You've dragged the Martin name through the mud."

Josie hurried forward. She placed a delicate hand on Carlos's chest, leaning her soft body against his rigid muscles.

"Don't be angry, Carlos," Josie cooed, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "She's not worth raising your blood pressure. We finally got the trash out of the house."

Alexis stared at the three of them. The puzzle pieces slammed together in her head. The sudden divorce. The fake photos. The absolute lack of alimony. It was a coordinated slaughter, and her own cousin was sleeping with the butcher.

Alexis placed her hands flat on the floor and pushed herself up. Her knees shook, but she locked them. She wiped the blood from her lip with the back of her hand, lifting her chin with the ingrained pride of her upbringing.

Josie saw her standing tall. A flash of irritation crossed Josie's eyes. She stepped away from Carlos and walked toward Alexis, extending a hand as if to help her brush off her coat.

Josie leaned closer to Alex, lowered her voice, and whispered maliciously in a voice only Alex could hear, "You're a curse to everyone who comes near you. Luckily, Carlos wisely left. Guess what surprises await you next?"

Alexis didn't blink. She raised her right hand and brought it across Josie's face with every ounce of strength she had left.

The loud crack echoed off the high ceilings.

Josie shrieked. She threw herself backward, collapsing dramatically into Carlos's arms, clutching her rapidly reddening cheek and sobbing loudly.

"You bitch!" Carlos bellowed. He lunged past Josie, his fist pulled back, aiming straight for Alexis's face.

Alexis didn't retreat. She ducked to the side, her hand shooting out to grab the heavy bronze vase sitting on the hallway console table. She swung it downward with brutal force.

A sickeningly sharp crack ripped through the air as a shard tore Carlos's ankle. Carlos let out a painful howl and collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg.

Bernice screamed, clutching her pearls. "Call the police! Arrest this psycho!"

Alexis dropped the vase. It hit the floor with a heavy thud. She looked down at the writhing man and the screaming women.

"I am done with this family," Alexis said, her voice eerily calm and cold.

She turned on her heel. She stepped over the scattered, fake photos, ignoring Carlos's groans. She walked down the stairs, her spine perfectly straight.

She pushed open the heavy front door. The morning sun had already been swallowed by a sudden, heavy wall of snow clouds, plunging the city into a premature, bruised twilight.

A blast of freezing New York winter wind hit her instantly, biting through her thin trench coat.

Alex stepped down the stairs onto the cold street. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, shivering. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her phone, her fingers stiff with cold. She needed to call an Uber. She had to get out of this neighborhood.

She tapped the screen. The battery icon flashed red once, twice, and then the screen went completely black.

Dead.

Alexis stood under the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp that had hummed to life in the midday gloom. The wind howled around her. She had no money. No phone. No home. Her chest tightened, panic finally clawing its way up her throat as the freezing gloom swallowed her.