Bound By The Billionaire's Cruel Contract

Clarissa pushed through the heavy, soundproof doors of The Obsidian Room.

The bass from the speakers hit her chest instantly. It was a physical blow, rattling her ribs and making her teeth ache.

She frowned. The smell of cheap sweat masked by expensive cologne filled her nose.

She stood on her toes, her eyes scanning the dark, crowded dance floor. Laser lights sliced through the smoke in jagged green and red lines. She clutched the strap of her leather purse so tightly her knuckles turned white.

She needed to find Maya. Fast.

Her eyes darted to the far edge of the long marble bar. She spotted a familiar head of messy blonde hair. Maya was slouched over the counter, holding a shot glass of tequila. Her eyes were red and unfocused.

Clarissa shoved her way through the sweaty bodies. She ignored the hands that brushed against her waist.

She reached the bar and snatched the shot glass right out of Maya's hand.

She slammed the glass down on the marble surface. The loud clink was swallowed by the electronic music.

"Hey!" Maya slurred, swiping her hand through the air to grab the drink back. "I was drinking that."

Clarissa grabbed Maya's shoulders. She dug her fingers into the fabric of her friend's dress. "We are leaving. Now. You need to go home."

"No," Maya whined, trying to pull away.

Before Clarissa could pull her off the barstool, a man stepped into their space.

He wore a custom suit, but the fabric was too shiny. His eyes moved over Clarissa's body, slow and greasy. It made her skin crawl. Dwayne Boggs.

He held a lowball glass and leaned his hip against the bar, blocking their only exit.

"Can I buy you ladies a drink?" Dwayne asked. His breath smelled like stale cigars and vodka.

"No, thank you," Clarissa said. Her voice was flat. Cold.

She wrapped her arm around Maya's waist, pulling her friend up. She tried to step around him.

Dwayne shifted his weight. He took a wide step to the left, blocking her path again. His greasy smile vanished.

"I wasn't asking," Dwayne said. His voice dropped, turning hard and threatening.

Clarissa took a half-step back. Her heart started to beat faster against her ribs. She pushed Maya behind her back.

She slid her free hand into her purse, her fingers frantically searching for the cold metal of her phone.

Dwayne saw her arm move.

He lunged forward. His large hand clamped down on Clarissa's wrist.

The grip was brutal. Bone crushed against bone.

Clarissa gasped. A sharp pain shot up her arm. "Let go of me!"

She yanked her arm back, planting her heels into the sticky floor. But he was too heavy. Too strong. Her wrist burned under his fingers.

Maya stumbled forward, trying to push Dwayne's chest. "Leave her alone!"

A massive man in a black shirt stepped out from behind Dwayne. The bodyguard shoved Maya hard.

Maya let out a cry as she hit the floor, her back slamming against the base of the bar.

"Let me go!" Clarissa screamed. She turned her head toward the crowd. "Security! Help!"

Nobody moved. The clubgoers just watched. They looked at Dwayne's suit, his bodyguard, and looked away. No one was going to risk their neck for two women against a man with money.

High above the chaos, the air was completely still.

On the second floor, behind a wall of one-way, bulletproof glass, Giovanny Bartlett sat in a velvet armchair.

He held a crystal glass of whiskey. He didn't blink.

His cold, dark eyes cut right through the glass, locked perfectly on the commotion at the edge of the bar downstairs.

He watched another man's hand wrap around his wife's wrist.

Giovanny's jaw clenched. The muscle feathered in his cheek.

He lowered his hand. He placed the crystal glass onto the glass table. It made a heavy, dull thud.

Giovanny raised his right hand just an inch. He gave a single, sharp tactical hand signal to the chief security officer standing in the shadows behind him.

The officer immediately pressed two fingers to his earpiece. He whispered a command.

Within seconds, the officer and four massive men in black suits filed out of the VIP room.

Downstairs, the bass continued to pound.

Dwayne grinned. He yanked Clarissa's arm, trying to drag her toward a dark leather booth in the corner.

Suddenly, the crowd split open.

Four men in black suits moved like ghosts through the bodies. They formed a tight, impenetrable wall around Dwayne.

Dwayne's bodyguard reached into his jacket.

One of the black-suited men grabbed the bodyguard's arm, twisted it violently. The bodyguard's face contorted in a silent scream as his arm bent at an unnatural angle.

Dwayne froze. His eyes went wide with panic. The lowball glass slipped from his numb fingers. It shattered violently against the marble floor, sending sharp splinters of crystal flying through the air. He let go of Clarissa's wrist.

"Who the hell are you people?" Dwayne yelled, his voice cracking.

Clarissa stumbled back. She cradled her wrist against her chest. The skin was already turning a dark, angry red. Her lungs burned as she tried to catch her breath.

The crowd parted completely. They created a wide, empty path leading straight to the bottom of the spiral staircase.

Giovanny walked down the stairs.

His expensive leather shoes clicked against the marble steps. Each step was slow. Deliberate. It felt like he was stepping directly on Clarissa's chest.

He reached the bottom. He walked straight to Clarissa.

He was so tall he blocked out the laser lights above them. His shadow swallowed her completely.

Giovanny didn't even glance at Dwayne.

He stared down at Clarissa. His eyes were absolute ice. The air around them dropped ten degrees.

His thin lips parted.

Giovanny stared at her. His eyes dropped to her chest, then slowly moved down her arm to her red, swollen wrist.

A dark, violent flash crossed his eyes. It was there and gone in a second.

Clarissa opened her mouth. Her throat was dry. "Giovanny, I can explain-"

He raised a single finger.

The gesture was so small, but it cut off her words like a knife to the throat. She snapped her mouth shut.

Giovanny slowly turned his head. He finally looked at Dwayne, who was now being forced to his knees by two guards.

Dwayne's face was red with anger. "Do you know who my father is? He owns half the real estate in Manhattan! I'll have your badges for this!"

Giovanny let out a low, dry laugh. It held zero humor.

He reached into the inside pocket of his tailored suit jacket. He pulled out a custom, encrypted black phone.

He dialed a single number. He didn't wait for a greeting.

"Activate Protocol Omega on all Boggs assets," Giovanny said. His voice was smooth, deadly calm. "Liquidate their credit lines. Yes, all of them. I want them bled dry before midnight. Now."

He hung up. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

Less than ten seconds later, Dwayne's phone started vibrating violently in his pocket.

Giovanny nodded at his guard. The guard loosened his grip just enough for Dwayne to reach into his pants.

Dwayne pulled out his phone and pressed it to his ear.

"Dad?" Dwayne said.

Even over the heavy club music, Clarissa could hear the hysterical screaming coming from the speaker. The voice on the other end was sobbing, screaming that Wall Street had just pulled every single line of credit the family owned. They were ruined.

All the blood drained from Dwayne's face. He looked like a corpse.

His hand went limp. The phone slipped from his fingers and shattered on the marble floor.

Dwayne looked up at Giovanny. True, primal terror filled his eyes. He finally realized who was standing in front of him.

Dwayne's knees gave out completely. He tried to crawl forward on the sticky floor to grab Giovanny's shoes. "Please. Please, I didn't know-"

Giovanny stepped back. His face twisted in pure disgust.

The guard stepped forward and kicked Dwayne hard in the chest, sending him sprawling backward onto the floor.

"Take the trash out the back door," Giovanny ordered. His voice didn't rise above a conversational tone.

The guards grabbed Dwayne by his collar and dragged him away.

Giovanny turned his attention back to Clarissa. The air between them turned to stone.

Maya groaned from the floor. She pushed herself up onto her elbows, blinking up at Giovanny in a drunken daze. She let out a loud hiccup.

Giovanny looked at Maya. His upper lip curled in revulsion.

"You put yourself in danger for this worthless social interaction," Giovanny said. His words were clipped, hitting Clarissa like bullets.

Clarissa's hands shook. "She is my best friend. I couldn't just leave her here like this."

Giovanny took a step closer. His chest almost brushed hers.

"Clause four of our prenuptial agreement," Giovanny whispered, his voice dark and low. "You have an absolute obligation to maintain the public image of this family."

He looked her up and down. "And tonight, you are fighting at a bar like a cheap escort. You are in breach of contract."

Clarissa bit her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. Tears burned the back of her eyes. The humiliation settled heavy in her stomach. She refused to let the tears fall.

Giovanny raised his left arm. He pulled back his cuff to reveal a Patek Philippe watch.

"It is ten forty-five," Giovanny said.

He dropped his arm. He looked straight into her eyes.

"As a consequence of your actions, your curfew is now eleven o'clock. Every night. Starting tonight."

Clarissa's eyes widened. Her lungs stopped working. "That is insane! I can't even get her home by eleven!"

Giovanny ignored her. He turned his back to her and started walking toward the VIP exit.

Clarissa took two steps after him. Her mind raced. She thought he was going to take them to his car.

Giovanny stopped. He turned his head slightly, looking at her over his shoulder.

"My car does not carry drunks," he said. His voice was completely hollow.

He turned fully to face her. "You will figure out how to handle your friend's mess. And you will be back at the penthouse before eleven o'clock."

He didn't wait for a reply. He pushed through the heavy exit doors, his guards flanking him. He disappeared into the cold New York night.

Clarissa stood frozen.

She looked down at her own watch. Fifteen minutes.

A heavy, suffocating wave of despair crashed over her. Her stomach twisted into knots.

She turned and bent down. She grabbed Maya's arm and hauled her heavy, limp body up.

Clarissa dragged her friend toward the front doors of the club, her heart hammering against her ribs. She was entering a race she already knew she was going to lose.

Clarissa dragged Maya out of the club doors.

A blast of freezing night air hit her face. She shivered violently, her thin dress offering no protection against the Manhattan wind.

She dragged Maya to the curb. She raised her free arm, waving frantically at the street.

"Taxi! Please!" she yelled.

A yellow cab slowed down. The driver looked at Maya, who was currently bent over, gagging dryly toward the gutter. The driver immediately hit the gas and sped away.

Two more empty cabs did the exact same thing.

Clarissa's chest tightened. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Hot tears of frustration pricked her eyes.

Finally, a beat-up Ford taxi screeched to a halt in front of them.

Clarissa practically shoved Maya into the backseat. She dove in after her, slamming the door shut.

"Brooklyn. Please, hurry," Clarissa gasped out the address.

The taxi jerked forward, merging into the heavy traffic.

Clarissa looked down at her wrist. The second hand swept past the twelve.

It was exactly eleven o'clock.

Her stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck.

The taxi hit the Brooklyn Bridge and stopped dead. A sea of red taillights stretched out for miles in front of them.

Clarissa leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. She watched the minutes tick by. Eleven-ten. Eleven-twenty. Eleven-thirty.

With every minute that passed, the knot of terror in her stomach pulled tighter.

At eleven forty-five, the taxi finally pulled up to Maya's apartment building.

Clarissa threw a hundred-dollar bill at the driver. She hauled Maya out of the car, dragged her into the dingy elevator, and practically carried her into her bedroom.

She dropped Maya onto the bed. She didn't even stop to take a breath or grab a glass of water.

Clarissa spun around and sprinted out of the apartment. She ran down the street until she flagged down another cab heading back to Manhattan.

The traffic on the way back was lighter, but it didn't matter. Her heart was beating so fast it felt like a bird trapped in her ribcage.

At twelve fifteen, the cab pulled up to the curb on the Upper East Side.

Clarissa stared up at the massive, ultra-luxury skyscraper. It looked like a fortress.

She pushed the car door open and walked toward the heavy brass and bulletproof glass doors.

The night doorman opened the door for her. He gave a polite bow, but Clarissa saw the look in his eyes. It was pity. Pure, unadulterated pity.

She swallowed hard. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

She walked across the massive, empty marble lobby. She reached the private elevator reserved only for the penthouse.

She pressed her thumb against the biometric scanner. The scanner beeped green. The doors slid open silently.

She stepped inside and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator shot upward at a sickening speed. The sudden loss of gravity made her stomach churn. The terror peaked, freezing the blood in her veins.

With a soft ding, the elevator stopped. The doors slowly opened directly into the penthouse foyer.

The apartment was pitch black.

The only light came from the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting cold, silver shadows of the Manhattan skyline across the cashmere rugs.

Clarissa held her breath. She slipped her high heels off her feet.

She stepped onto the soft rug in her bare feet. She prayed to God that Giovanny was already asleep.

She took three silent steps into the living room.

Suddenly, a dim, yellow reading lamp clicked on in the far corner of the room.

Clarissa gasped, sucking in a sharp breath. Her entire body locked up.

At the edge of the light, Giovanny sat in a custom Italian leather armchair.

He had taken off his suit jacket. His tie was pulled loose, hanging around his neck. The top three buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone. He looked relaxed. Deadly.

He held a glass of bourbon. He swirled the liquid. The ice cubes clinked against the crystal. The sound was deafening in the quiet room.

He didn't look at her. He just stared at the amber liquid.

His voice cut through the silence. Low. Cruel.

"Twelve seventeen," Giovanny said. "You are seventy-seven minutes late."

Clarissa swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. She opened her mouth, desperately searching for the right words to save herself.

Giovanny slowly lifted his head.

His eyes locked onto hers. In the dim light, his gaze was colder than the ice in his glass. He looked at her exactly the way a wolf looks at a lamb.