Bound By The Billionaire's Golden Leash

The heavy velvet drapes smelled of dust and old secrets.

Eveline Delacruz pressed her spine against the cold oak of the library door, her lungs burning as if she had just sprinted a mile. She hadn't ran, though. You didn't run in the Horn manor. You glided. You smiled. You pretended you weren't suffocating.

Downstairs, the muffled strains of a string quartet filtered through the floorboards. Mozart. It was always Mozart when Alistair Horn wanted to pretend his family wasn't built on blood money and ruthless acquisitions.

Her phone vibrated against her thigh, a violent buzz in the silence. Eveline fumbled with the clutch, her fingers slick with sweat.

Hessie: Where are you? Janiya is looking for Fulton. Don't embarrass me tonight. We need this month's allowance.

Eveline stared at the screen until the words blurred. Her mother didn't ask if she was okay. She never did. The allowance. The trust fund. The golden leash that had been wrapped around Eveline's throat since her stepfather died and left his nephew, Fulton Horn, as the executor of their lives.

The brass doorknob turned.

It was a slow, deliberate sound. Metal grinding against metal.

Panic, sharp and cold, spiked in her chest. Eveline scrambled backward, her heels sinking into the plush Persian rug, and ducked behind the thick burgundy curtains just as the door creaked open.

Heavy footsteps entered. They didn't hesitate. They owned the floor.

The air in the room shifted instantly. The scent of old paper and wax was obliterated by a sharper, darker smell. Cedarwood. Expensive scotch. And the faint, lingering trace of cold tobacco.

Fulton.

Eveline held her breath until her chest ached. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying to a God that had abandoned this house years ago. Just get a drink. Just get a drink and leave.

The clink of crystal against crystal echoed like a gunshot. Ice hitting the glass. Liquid pouring.

Silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

"Come out, Eveline."

His voice was low, a deep baritone that vibrated in her bones. He didn't shout. He never shouted. He didn't have to.

She didn't move. Maybe he was bluffing.

"I can hear your heart beating from here," he added, his tone bored. "Don't make me drag you out."

Eveline's trembling hand gripped the velvet fabric. She pushed it aside.

The library was dim, lit only by the moonlight spilling through the French windows. Fulton Horn stood by the antique liquor cabinet, his back to her. He was a shadow cut from the darkness, broad-shouldered and imposing in his tuxedo.

He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, not bothering to turn around.

"Who gave you permission to wear backless tonight?"

The question was casual, but the threat underneath was razor-sharp.

Eveline took a step forward, her legs feeling like they were made of water. "I'm done, Fulton."

He paused. The ice in his glass settled with a soft clink.

Then, a low, dark chuckle escaped him. It was a sound devoid of humor. He turned slowly, his grey eyes locking onto hers. In the shadows, they looked black. Predatory.

"Done?" He took a sip of his drink, watching her over the rim. "Done with what, exactly?"

"This." She gestured vaguely between them, her voice shaking. "Us. You. I won't be your mistress while you parade Janiya Tanner around as your fiancée."

Fulton set the glass down on the mahogany desk. The sound was too loud. He began to walk toward her.

"Janiya is a business arrangement," he said, closing the distance. "You know that."

"I don't care!" Eveline backed away until her hips hit the edge of the heavy desk. There was nowhere left to go. "I won't be a shadow in her life. I won't be a cheap copy of Arlena."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

Fulton stopped inches from her. He loomed over her, stealing her air, stealing her light. His hand shot out, gripping her jaw. His fingers were calloused, rough against her soft skin.

"Do not," he whispered, his thumb pressing hard against her cheekbone, "say her name."

"Why? Because I look like her?" Eveline's eyes filled with hot tears. "Because I'm just a placeholder until you find a way to bring her back into the fold?"

Fulton didn't answer. He didn't deny it. That was the cruelest part.

Instead, he moved his hand from her jaw to her throat, his thumb resting over her pulse point. He could feel it fluttering like a trapped bird. His grip was a manacle, the pressure just shy of crushing, promising a bruise that would bloom by morning.

"You are what I say you are," he murmured. "And you belong where I say you belong."

"I'll leave," she choked out. "I'll take my mother and we'll leave New York."

"With what money?"

The words were a bucket of ice water.

Fulton leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "Hessie has six figures in gambling debts this quarter alone. The medical bills for her 'migraines' are astronomical. You leave, and I cut the trust. Tomorrow, your mother is on the street."

Eveline's stomach twisted. He knew. He always knew. He held the strings, and she was just the marionette.

"You're a monster," she whispered.

"I'm your trustee," he corrected. His hand slid down to her waist, pulling her flush against his hard body. "I'm your owner."

He kissed her then.

It wasn't romantic. It was a claim. A branding. His mouth crushed hers, demanding submission. He tasted of whiskey and dominance. His teeth grazed her lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. The metallic tang filled her mouth.

Eveline's hands balled into fists against his chest, pushing weakly, but her body betrayed her. It melted into him, conditioned by two years of this toxic dance.

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

"Mr. Horn?" The butler's voice was muffled but clear. "Miss Tanner is asking for you."

Eveline gasped, tearing her mouth away. Panic flared in her eyes. "Let me go," she hissed. "If she finds us..."

Fulton didn't flinch. He didn't even look at the door. He kept his arm locked around her waist, staring down at her swollen, red lips.

"Let her wait," he said loud enough for the butler to hear.

"Sir?"

"Tell her I'm busy."

Fulton released Eveline abruptly. The loss of his heat left her shivering. He straightened his tie, smoothing the invisible wrinkles on his jacket. In a second, the beast was gone, replaced by the impeccable Wall Street tycoon.

He reached into his pocket and tossed a plastic key card onto the desk. It slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of her.

"Penthouse. Tonight."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.

Eveline stared at the white card.

A wave of nausea rolled over her, violent and sudden. It started in the pit of her stomach and clawed its way up her throat. She clamped a hand over her mouth, dropping her clutch, and sprinted for the adjoining bathroom.

She collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving dryly, her body rejecting more than just the fear.

Cold water splashed against Eveline's face, shocking her skin but doing little to settle the turmoil in her gut.

She gripped the edges of the marble sink, her knuckles white. The woman in the mirror looked like a ghost. Pale skin, wide, terrified eyes, and lips that were too red, too swollen.

Pull it together, Eveline.

She dabbed her mouth with a paper towel, reapplying a layer of nude lipstick to hide the evidence of Fulton's teeth. She couldn't stay in here forever. Absence was just as suspicious as presence in the Horn manor.

Taking a shaky breath, she smoothed the silk of her dress. The sterile quiet of the bathroom felt like a bunker, a temporary reprieve from the war zone of the party. She knew what waited for her on the other side of the door. The walk back through the hushed, wood-paneled corridor would feel like a mile, every step taking her from the private shame of the library to the public performance required in the ballroom. She steeled herself, her reflection offering no comfort, and pushed open the bathroom door.

The ballroom was an assault on the senses. The crystal chandeliers were too bright, the laughter too shrill, the scent of expensive perfume and roasted meat too cloying. Eveline kept her head down, trying to weave through the crowd toward the periphery.

She just needed to survive the next hour. Then she could claim a headache and leave.

But the crowd parted like the Red Sea.

A hush fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Eveline looked up, and her heart stopped.

Fulton stood at the top of the grand staircase. Janiya Tanner was on his arm.

Janiya was perfection manufactured in a lab. Blonde hair cascading in carefully curated waves, a smile that showed exactly the right amount of teeth, and a diamond on her finger that caught the light and threw it back with blinding arrogance. But up close, Eveline saw the faintest tremor in her manicured hand, the slight, unnatural dilation of her pupils that even the ballroom's light couldn't shrink. Her perfection was a veneer, stretched taut over something brittle.

Fulton's face was a mask of indifference. He looked bored. He looked like a king surveying his subjects. His eyes scanned the room and, for a fraction of a second, landed on Eveline.

There was nothing in that look. No heat. No recognition. It was as if the scene in the library had happened in another lifetime.

Eveline felt a phantom pain in her chest. Two years, she thought. Two years of my life, and I'm still just the dirty little secret.

"Look who it is."

The voice was sickly sweet. Eveline froze as Janiya steered Fulton directly toward her. The crowd formed a circle around them, eager for blood.

"Eveline," Janiya cooed, stopping two feet away. "You look... tired. Is the air in here a bit too rich for you?"

A few people chuckled. Eveline forced a smile. It felt like her face might crack.

"Congratulations on the engagement, Miss Tanner," Eveline said, her voice steady despite the trembling in her knees. She tried to step back.

Janiya didn't let her go. "Thank you. It's a shame your mother couldn't be here. I heard she's having trouble with her... finances. Again." Janiya tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. "Fulton is a saint for putting up with you two. Most men would have evicted the parasites by now."

Eveline's gaze flicked to Fulton.

He stood with one hand in his pocket, watching the exchange with cold detachment. He didn't step in. He didn't defend her. He let his fiancée carve Eveline open in front of New York's elite.

The nausea returned, stronger this time.

A waiter passed by with a silver tray. Raw oysters.

The smell hit Eveline like a physical blow. The brine, the metallic tang of the sea, the raw flesh.

Her stomach convulsed.

She didn't even have time to cover her mouth.

Eveline doubled over, a wet, retching sound tearing through the polite conversation. Bile splashed onto the polished parquet floor, just inches from Janiya's custom Louboutins.

The silence that followed was absolute.

"Oh my god!" Janiya shrieked, jumping back. "Disgusting!"

"Is she drunk?" someone whispered.

"Maybe she's on something," another voice muttered.

Eveline gasped for air, tears streaming down her face. The humiliation burned hotter than the acid in her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, unable to look up.

Fulton's mask cracked.

His pupils constricted. His hand twitched at his side, as if he were about to reach out. But he stopped himself. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously.

He turned his head slightly. "Vance."

His personal assistant materialized from the shadows, a man in a black suit who looked more like a hitman than a secretary.

"Get her out of here," Fulton said. His voice was ice. "Take her to the hospital."

"No," Eveline croaked, backing away. "I'm fine. I just... I ate something bad."

"The hospital," Fulton repeated, his eyes boring into hers. There was a warning there. Do not disobey me.

Vance gripped Eveline's elbow. His fingers were like steel clamps. "This way, Miss Delacruz."

"Fulton, please," she whispered, looking at him one last time.

He had already turned back to Janiya, placing a hand on the small of her back, murmuring something to calm her down.

Eveline's heart shattered.

Vance dragged her toward the exit. The whispers followed her like a swarm of bees.

"Is she pregnant?"

The question floated in the air, loud and clear.

Eveline stumbled as Vance shoved her through the double doors and into the cool night air. A black sedan was waiting, engine running.

"Get in," Vance said, opening the rear door.

"I don't want to go to the hospital," Eveline pleaded, gripping the door frame. "Vance, please. Take me home."

Vance looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Horn gave an order. We need to know what's wrong with you."

He pushed her inside and slammed the door. The lock engaged with a heavy thud.

Eveline sank into the leather seat, wrapping her arms around her stomach. The secret she hadn't even dared to admit to herself was suddenly very, very real.

The sedan purred down the long, winding driveway of the estate, gravel crunching under the tires. Rain had started to fall, fat drops smearing the lights of the manor into blurry streaks of gold.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the shadows of the hedges.

The driver slammed on the brakes. Eveline was thrown forward, the seatbelt digging into her chest.

"What the hell?" Vance muttered from the passenger seat.

Hessie Miles was standing in the middle of the road, her expensive gown soaked, banging her fist against the hood of the car.

Vance rolled down the window. "Mrs. Miles, get out of the way. Mr. Horn-"

Hessie ignored him. She yanked open the back door and threw herself inside, bringing the smell of rain and desperation with her.

"You stupid girl!" Hessie hissed, grabbing Eveline's arm. Her nails dug into the flesh. "What did you do in there? They're saying you vomited on Janiya's shoes!"

Eveline shrank into the corner. Her stomach was still doing somersaults. "Mom, I'm sick..."

"Sick?" Hessie grabbed Eveline's clutch from the seat and dumped the contents onto her lap. Lipstick, tissues, phone.

She snatched up the phone. "Unlock it."

"Mom, no-"

Hessie slapped her hand away and forced the phone in front of Eveline's face for the FaceID. It unlocked. Hessie's fingers flew across the screen, opening the health tracking app Eveline used.

"Last period..." Hessie read, her eyes widening. "Ten days late."

The air in the car went still.

Hessie looked at her daughter, her face twisting from anger to horror, and then, slowly, into calculation.

"You're pregnant." It wasn't a question.

"I don't know," Eveline whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. "I don't know."

"Who is it?" Hessie demanded, shaking her. "Is it that bartender? Some boy from college?"

Eveline bit her lip so hard she tasted copper. She couldn't say his name. If Hessie knew it was Fulton, she would try to blackmail him. And Fulton would destroy them both.

"It doesn't matter," Eveline sobbed.

"Of course it matters!" Hessie shrieked. "If the trust finds out you have a bastard child, we lose everything! The morality clause, Eveline! We'll be destitute!"

Vance watched them through the rearview mirror. His face was impassive, but Eveline knew he was listening to every word.

Hessie seemed to realize Vance was there. She composed herself, smoothing her wet hair. A fake, brittle smile plastered onto her face.

"Vance, darling," she said, her voice dripping with artificial charm. "There's no need for the hospital. Eveline just had too much champagne. I'll take her back to the guest house and sober her up."

Vance hesitated. He touched his earpiece. Eveline saw him nod slightly.

"Very well," Vance said. "But Mr. Horn expects a report in the morning."

"Of course, of course."

The car made a U-turn, heading away from the main gate and toward the smaller, darker guest house on the edge of the property.

As soon as they were inside Eveline's bedroom, Hessie locked the door.

"Get rid of it," Hessie said, pacing the floor. "Tomorrow. We find a clinic in Jersey. No one knows."

Eveline's hand went instinctively to her flat stomach. A strange, fierce protectiveness surged in her chest. A part of Fulton. A part of her.

"No," she said softly.

Hessie stopped pacing. She stared at Eveline as if she had grown a second head. "What did you say?"

"I said no."

Hessie narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Keep it. But you need a husband. Fast."

She grabbed her iPad from the nightstand and tapped furiously. She shoved the screen at Eveline.

"Bryson Montgomery."

Eveline blinked, looking at the photo of the smiling, blonde-haired man holding a fencing foil. "Bryson? He's... he's Fulton's friend."

"He's rich," Hessie corrected. "He's an Olympic champion. And he's stupid enough to believe in love at first sight. I saw how he looked at you last summer."

"Mom, you can't be serious."

"I've already arranged for you to sit next to him at the charity gala next week," Hessie said, her eyes gleaming with greed. "You marry him. We tell everyone the baby was premature. Fulton will have to give you a dowry to save face."

Eveline felt sick again. "Fulton will never allow it."

"Fulton doesn't care about you!" Hessie snapped. "He's marrying Janiya! You are nothing to him but a burden!"

Eveline's phone buzzed in her hand.

She looked down. A text from Fulton.

Fulton: Vance says you refused the hospital.

She didn't reply. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling.

Another text came through a second later.

Fulton: Breakfast. Main house. 8:00 AM sharp. Be late, and I cancel Hessie's credit cards.

Hessie read the message over her shoulder and let out a small shriek. "See! He's furious! You have to go. You have to be perfect. And for God's sake, don't let him know about the baby until you have a ring on your finger from Bryson."

Eveline curled up on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest. Outside, thunder rumbled, shaking the windowpanes.

She was trapped. Between a mother who wanted to sell her and a man who wanted to own her.

But as she looked out into the dark, stormy night, a dangerous thought took root.

If she married Bryson... if she really did it... she would be a Montgomery. Fulton wouldn't be her trustee anymore. He wouldn't be her legal guardian.

She would be free.