Bought By My Obsessive Billionaire Ex

Aubrey pressed her spine against the freezing surface of the swan ice sculpture, desperate to shrink into the shadows of the Vance estate ballroom.

The cold seeped through the thin silk of her dark red dress, but it did nothing to slow her racing heart.

She lifted a crystal flute to her lips, taking a slow sip of champagne. The bubbles burned the back of her throat, a harsh distraction from the suffocating anxiety twisting in her stomach.

"Hiding already?"

Aubrey flinched. Beatrice Vance appeared beside her, wearing a custom haute couture gown and a teasing smirk.

"I'm not hiding," Aubrey lied, her fingers tightening around the fragile stem of her glass. "Just avoiding the cameras."

Beatrice leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You might want to stay out here. Word is the heir to the Wyatt empire is arriving tonight. My dad's face went completely pale just talking about it, and the air pressure in the ballroom has already dropped ten degrees."

Before Aubrey could ask who, the heavy oak double doors at the entrance of the ballroom were violently pulled open by two waiters.

The deafening symphony orchestra continued to play, but the loud chatter of hundreds of guests instantly dropped to a hushed murmur. People unconsciously lowered their voices, their heads turning toward the doors as a heavy, suffocating mix of awe and tension flooded the room.

Aubrey's head snapped toward the entrance, driven by the same magnetic pull that silenced the crowd.

Callum Wyatt stepped into the halo of the massive crystal chandelier.

He wore a tailored black Tom Ford suit that clung to his broad shoulders.

Aubrey's lungs seized. The air was physically punched out of her chest.

She immediately took a half-step backward, letting the thick shadow of a Roman pillar swallow her completely. Her hand shook so violently that the champagne threatened to spill over the rim of her glass.

Callum stood at the entrance, his face an unreadable mask of cold stone. He unbuttoned his expensive cashmere overcoat and shoved it into the waiting hands of Reginald, the head butler, without a single glance.

Then, he looked up.

His dark, predatory eyes swept across the ballroom. It wasn't a casual look. It was a hunt.

Even hidden behind the pillar, the hairs on the back of Aubrey's neck stood up. A violent chill shot down her spine. She felt like a rabbit caught in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.

Beatrice, entirely oblivious to Aubrey's internal collapse, nudged her arm.

"Come on," Beatrice whispered. "Let's go say hi before the vultures swarm him."

Aubrey immediately reached up, pressing two fingers hard against her temple.

"I can't," Aubrey said, forcing her voice to stay steady. "A migraine just hit me. It's blinding."

Beatrice's smile fell, replaced by genuine concern. "Oh, no. Do you need to go up to a guest room?"

"I just need some quiet," Aubrey murmured, already stepping further back. "I'll go rest."

Beatrice nodded sympathetically.

Aubrey didn't wait. She peeked around the pillar. Callum was already walking toward Theodore Vance at the center of the room.

The elite socialites of New York parted for him like the Red Sea, pulling their expensive gowns out of his path.

While every eye in the room was glued to Callum, Aubrey turned on her heel and practically sprinted toward the side corridor.

She just needed to get to the back exit. She just needed to disappear.

She rounded the corner of the buffet tables, her eyes fixed on the hallway.

Suddenly, a waiter carrying a massive silver tray of oysters stepped out from a blind spot, cutting directly across her path.

Aubrey slammed on the brakes. Her four-inch stilettos skidded on the polished marble floor.

She managed to stop inches from the waiter, but the sudden momentum sent the tall glasses on his tray crashing into each other.

The sharp, high-pitched clinking of glass rang out like a gunshot in the quiet room.

At the center of the ballroom, Callum stopped mid-conversation.

He tilted his head slightly. His razor-sharp gaze snapped directly toward the source of the noise.

Aubrey's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She instantly ducked her head, shoving herself behind two plump, wealthy matrons covered in diamonds, using their bodies as a human shield.

Callum narrowed his eyes. He stared at the spot where the noise happened. He caught a fleeting flash of a dark red dress disappearing behind the crowd.

A heavy, violent sense of familiarity slammed into his chest.

Aubrey didn't look back. She nodded a frantic apology to the confused waiter and bypassed him as fast as her heels would allow.

She reached the end of the hall and threw her weight against the heavy burgundy velvet curtains blocking the archway.

She stumbled through, leaving the suffocating ballroom behind, and stepped into the dim, quiet back corridor.

Aubrey slammed her back against the freezing plaster wall. She gasped for air, her chest heaving.

Her hands were trembling so badly she could barely open her clutch. She dug her fingers inside, pulling out her phone to call her driver. She had to get out of this house right now.

Aubrey shoved her phone back into her Bottega Veneta clutch. The driver was waiting at the side gate.

She pushed off the wall and walked quickly down the long corridor toward the spiral staircase that led to the side exit.

The antique wall sconces cast a dim, yellow light, making the edges of the marble steps blur into the shadows.

Her mind was completely consumed by the oppressive weight of Callum's gaze. Her steps were frantic, lacking their usual practiced elegance.

She grabbed the hem of her red dress, lifting it slightly, and threw her right foot forward onto the first step.

Her four-inch stiletto slid perfectly into the narrow gap of the vintage metal anti-slip strip on the edge of the marble.

The heel snapped into the groove.

Aubrey's ankle twisted violently outward. A sharp, agonizing pain shot up her leg.

She lost her balance instantly. A short, panicked gasp ripped from her throat as her body pitched forward into the empty air above the steep staircase.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the impact of her neck snapping against the marble.

A solid, muscular arm shot out from the shadows behind her.

The arm, wrapped in a tailored suit, clamped around her narrow waist with brutal precision.

A terrifying force yanked her backward. She slammed hard into a broad, rock-solid chest.

Instantly, her lungs were filled with the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood mixed with a faint trace of tobacco.

The smell was carved into her bones. Aubrey's pupils dilated. Her heart simply stopped beating.

"Have you forgotten how to walk?"

The voice came from right above her head. It was incredibly low, dark, and laced with a dangerous rasp.

Aubrey's entire body went rigid. Her blood turned to ice.

She turned her head stiffly, her eyes traveling up the sharp line of his jaw until she met Callum's deep, freezing eyes.

The second Callum saw her face clearly, the careless indifference in his eyes shattered. A violent storm of raw, unhinged emotion exploded in his dark pupils.

The arm around her waist tightened. He squeezed her so hard her ribs ached, as if he wanted to crush her bones into his own.

Aubrey gritted her teeth against the throbbing pain in her ankle and the suffocating pressure on her waist. She slammed both hands against his hard chest, pushing with all her strength to create distance.

Callum didn't let go. Instead, he stepped forward, driving her backward until her spine hit the wooden banister. He pinned her completely between his body and the railing.

He lowered his head, his face inches from hers. His warm breath brushed her ear as he ground out her name through his teeth.

"Aubrey."

Aubrey dug her nails into her palms. She forced the cold, untouchable mask of a Hollywood actress onto her face. The corners of her lips curled into a mocking smile.

"Thank you for the save, sir," she said, her voice dripping with polite, distant unfamiliarity. "Now, let go of me."

That single sentence was a lit match dropped into gasoline.

Callum's suppressed rage from the last four years ignited.

His free hand shot up, his long fingers gripping her jaw. He squeezed hard, forcing her to look directly into his furious eyes.

"You drug me," he whispered, his voice vibrating with lethal anger. "You run away like a coward. And now you dare pretend you don't know me?"

Aubrey's heart was screaming, tearing itself apart in her chest. But her eyes remained dead, filled with nothing but cold disdain.

"I remember you," she mocked, letting out a dry laugh. "I'm just surprised the CEO of Wyatt Corp is still obsessing over a woman he slept with once."

Callum's jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. His eyes turned pitch black, looking at her like a predator ready to tear her throat out.

Before he could speak, the sharp clicking of heels and the sound of women laughing echoed from the other end of the corridor.

Aubrey's survival instinct kicked in.

She lifted her uninjured foot and stomped her stiletto heel down as hard as she could onto Callum's expensive leather shoe.

Callum winced, his grip loosening for a fraction of a second.

Aubrey shoved him hard, breaking free from his cage. She didn't look back. Dragging her throbbing ankle, she limped frantically toward the heavy side door and pushed it open.

Aubrey stumbled through the heavy door, the cold night air hitting her flushed skin.

She was in the Vance estate's sprawling French garden. The manicured hedges offered no place to hide.

The stabbing pain in her right ankle flared with every step. She couldn't walk anymore. She limped toward the large marble fountain in the center of the garden and collapsed against the stone edge, gasping for air.

She reached down, unbuckling the straps of her stilettos, and pulled them off. She dropped her bare feet onto the freezing stone path, the cold offering a tiny bit of relief to her swollen joint.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in."

The sharp, nasal voice cut through the sound of the running water.

Aubrey looked up. Kloe Holder was walking down the rose-lined path, wearing a blinding silver sequined dress and holding a glass of champagne.

Kloe wasn't alone. Three of New York's most notorious gossip socialites trailed behind her, their eyes raking over Aubrey's bare feet and disheveled hair with open disgust.

Aubrey cursed under her breath. She immediately straightened her spine, pulling a pair of oversized sunglasses from her clutch and sliding them onto her face to hide her red-rimmed eyes.

Kloe stopped a few feet away, her voice artificially loud.

"Aubrey! What happened?" Kloe gasped in fake concern. "Did your sugar daddy cut you off? You can't even afford shoes that fit anymore?"

The socialites behind her erupted into cruel, muffled giggles. The hostility in the air was thick enough to choke on.

Aubrey's lips curved into a sharp, bloodless smile.

"My acting fee for one episode could buy your entire closet of cheap knockoffs, Kloe. Don't project your financial insecurities onto me."

Kloe's face flushed an ugly shade of red. The malicious glint in her eyes sharpened into pure poison.

She turned away from Aubrey, addressing her friends loudly.

"Did you guys know?" Kloe sneered. "Her mother was a disgusting homewrecker. A cheap whore who tried to ruin a respectable family's marriage for a payout."

Kloe pointed a manicured finger at Aubrey. "She's nothing but a dirty little stray. A bastard child who shouldn't even exist."

The bomb dropped.

Guests strolling nearby stopped dead in their tracks. Heads turned. The music from the ballroom seemed a million miles away as the garden fell into a shocked silence.

The socialites stared at Aubrey like she was a diseased rat.

The whispers started immediately, washing over Aubrey in a suffocating wave. They judged her blood, her mother, her existence.

Aubrey's hands dropped to her sides. She clenched her fists so hard her fingernails broke the skin of her palms. A drop of blood welled up, hidden in the shadows.

The image of her mother, Lillian, coughing up blood on a white hospital bed flashed behind her eyes.

The urge to lunge forward and rip Kloe's throat out was blinding. But the cold logic of her revenge plan forced her feet to stay planted.

Kloe saw Aubrey's silence and assumed she had won. She took a step closer, her face twisted in a victorious sneer.

Kloe tilted her champagne glass, aiming the pale yellow liquid directly at Aubrey's red dress.

"Trash like you doesn't belong at a Vance party," Kloe spat.

Aubrey's eyes turned to ice. She didn't flinch. She lifted her chin, ready to take the humiliation.

Just as the liquid left the rim of the glass, a massive, knuckle-scarred hand shot out from the darkness.

The hand clamped down on Kloe's wrist with bone-crushing force.

Kloe shrieked in agony. Her fingers opened. The crystal glass dropped to the stone floor, shattering into a hundred pieces. The champagne splashed back, soaking the hem of Kloe's own silver dress.

The crowd gasped in horror. Every eye snapped to the man who had just materialized from the shadows.

Callum Wyatt stood right beside Aubrey.

He didn't look like a CEO. He looked like a god of war stepping onto a battlefield.

His dark eyes were fixed on Kloe, staring at her with the cold, empty look of a man staring at a corpse. The terrifying, suffocating pressure radiating off his body made the air in the garden impossible to breathe.