Bound To My Ex: The Billionaire's Trap

The metal key scraped against the lock of the Upper West Side apartment.

Alaina Strong pushed the heavy door open. The blast of artificial heat from the radiator hit her face, a sharp contrast to the biting New York wind outside.

She stepped inside and shrugged off her camel cashmere coat. The fabric still carried the faint, sterile scent of hospital antiseptic. She hung it on the wooden rack behind the door.

A soft meow broke the silence. Milo, her roommate Claire's orange tabby cat, rubbed his thick fur against Alaina's ankles.

Alaina bent down. She scratched the soft spot under Milo's chin.

She kicked off her boots, slid her feet into her indoor slippers, and walked down the short hallway toward the dimly lit living room.

Claire was sitting cross-legged on the beige sofa. Her eyes were glued to the glowing screen of her iPad.

Hearing the footsteps, Claire snapped her head up. Her eyes were wide, practically vibrating with excitement.

She thrust the iPad forward, shoving the screen directly into Alaina's line of sight.

The digital cover of the latest Forbes magazine filled the display.

Alaina's eyes locked onto the center of the screen without any warning. A tall man in a meticulously tailored dark suit dominated the cover.

It was Jarred Mcknight.

His face was sharp, cold, and radiated an oppressive authority that seemed to bleed through the pixels.

Alaina's pupils contracted instantly.

An invisible hand reached into her chest and crushed her heart. Her lungs stopped working. For a full second, she forgot how to breathe.

"Look at him!" Claire shrieked, oblivious to the sudden drop in the room's temperature. "The new CEO of The Mcknight Corporation. He is literal walking Wall Street testosterone."

Claire didn't stop. She launched the heavy gossip she had just read from the New York Post's Page Six.

"Rumor has it he is about to secure a massive business marriage with the heiress of the Allison family," Claire said, her voice dripping with fascination.

The word marriage pierced Alaina's eardrums like a rusted needle.

A violent, sour spasm ripped through her stomach. Acid rose in the back of her throat.

To stop her hands from shaking, Alaina bit down hard on the tip of her tongue. The sharp sting of copper grounded her back to reality.

She forced the corners of her mouth up, stretching her lips into a stiff, polite smile.

"I don't really follow finance guys," Alaina said. Her voice came out slightly hoarse.

She spun around on her heel, desperate to escape the living room. She walked quickly toward the open kitchen.

She grabbed a clear glass from the cabinet and walked over to the water dispenser on the fridge. She pressed the lever for ice water.

Her fingers were trembling. She couldn't control the fine shaking in her joints. The cold water overflowed the rim of the glass.

Ice-cold drops slammed against the back of her hand, sending a violent shiver up her arm.

Alaina panicked. She yanked a paper towel from the roll and frantically wiped the spilled water off the marble countertop.

"Are you okay?" Claire yelled from the living room. "You look incredibly pale. Did the hospital drain the life out of you today?"

Alaina took a deep, shaky breath. She kept her back turned to Claire.

"Just a little low blood sugar," Alaina called back, raising her voice to sound normal.

She grabbed the glass of water. She walked fast down the hallway, pushed open the door to her bedroom, and stepped inside.

She shut the door firmly behind her, cutting off Claire's voice and the image on that screen.

Alaina dragged herself out of bed. She had spent the entire night staring at the ceiling, her mind a chaotic mess of memories she had tried to bury.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the faucet. She splashed freezing water onto her face, hoping the shock would wash away the dark circles under her eyes.

She changed into her practical navy scrubs, grabbed her metro card, and walked out of the apartment.

The New York subway was packed. She stood shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers until she reached the Manhattan Central Hospital.

She walked quickly through the crowded outpatient lobby and headed straight for the staff locker room.

She opened her metal locker, pulled out her crisp white coat, and slipped her arms through the sleeves.

She draped her stethoscope around her neck and pinned her badge to her lapel. It read: Dr. Strong, Maxillofacial Surgery.

She walked out of the locker room and headed toward the nurses' station to check the morning charts.

Leah Fischer, a first-year intern, ran up to her, clutching a metal clipboard to her chest.

"Dr. Strong," Leah said, speaking too fast. "The ER just admitted a patient with significant mandibular trauma from a fall. She's a VIP, so they're handling it with extra care."

Alaina nodded. She took the clipboard from Leah's hands and walked briskly toward the emergency wing.

She walked down the long corridor. The heavy smell of bleach and rubbing alcohol filled her nose. She stopped outside the door of ER Room 3.

Her hand wrapped around the cold metal handle. Before she could push down, a deep, magnetic male voice drifted through the gap in the door.

The sound of that voice-a sound carved into her very bones-made her entire body freeze.

Her heart slammed violently against her ribs. She took a sharp breath, pushed down on the handle, and shoved the door open.

Her eyes bypassed the hospital bed entirely. They crashed straight into the broad back of a tall man standing by the window, wearing a black custom overcoat.

Hearing the door open, the man turned around slowly.

Jarred Mcknight's dark, aggressive eyes locked onto hers.

In that single second of eye contact, the eight years of separation folded into nothing.

Alaina felt the oxygen get sucked out of the room. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms that the skin nearly broke.

Jarred's gaze dropped to the badge on her chest. His eyes darkened, becoming unreadable.

A sharp groan broke the dead silence. The woman on the bed, Chelsey Nunez, was clutching her chin, her face twisted in pain.

Jarred pulled his eyes away from Alaina. His face went completely blank.

"Chelsey, this is Dr. Strong," Jarred said.

His tone was pure ice. The professional, distant way he said her name felt like a physical slap across Alaina's face.

Alaina swallowed the bitter lump in her throat. She forced her professional mask into place, locking her emotions behind a wall of clinical detachment.

She reached into the pocket of her white coat, pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves, and snapped them onto her hands.

She walked with steady steps toward the side of the bed.

"Can you tell me exactly how you fell?" Alaina asked Chelsey, keeping her voice even.

"I was riding in Central Park," Chelsey whispered, wincing. "A stray dog ran out. I swerved and hit the pavement."

Jarred lifted his wrist. He glanced at his Patek Philippe watch. A muscle feathered in his jaw, betraying his impatience.

Alaina ignored him. She leaned over the bed, bringing her face closer to Chelsey to examine the swelling along the jawline.

Alaina pressed her gloved fingers gently against the red, swollen edge of Chelsey's jaw.

Chelsey flinched violently. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, and tears instantly welled up in her eyes.

Jarred moved instantly. He took a long stride forward, closing the distance to the hospital bed.

He raised his large hand and hovered it just above Chelsey's shoulder, a stark, physical display of protection.

"Is there not a less aggressive way to examine her?" Jarred demanded. His voice was hard, cutting through the sterile air.

Alaina's fingers froze mid-air.

Seeing him so fiercely protective of another woman ripped open the scab on a wound she thought had healed.

She pulled her hand back. She stripped off the latex gloves and threw them into the biohazard bin.

"It is a necessary palpation to check for bone displacement," Alaina said. Her voice was rigid and cold.

She picked up the clipboard and quickly scribbled down her assessment. "You have a mandibular fracture. It requires immediate surgery."

Chelsey's face drained of color. Panic set in. She looked up at Jarred, her eyes begging for comfort.

Jarred softened his posture. He lowered his voice. "Don't be afraid. I will get you the best medical team available."

That soft Don't be afraid hit Alaina like a sledgehammer to the chest.

Alaina lowered her eyelashes. She stared hard at the black ink on the chart until the letters blurred together.

The beeping of the heart monitor faded into the background. Her mind was violently yanked back to a torrential, rain-soaked night eight years ago.

She saw a younger Jarred standing in the pouring rain. His clothes were soaked through, sticking to his skin. His eyes were bloodshot as he gripped her hands.

She remembered the raw desperation in his voice as he begged her not to give up on them.

She remembered the crushing weight of his family's absolute disapproval, the impossible chasm between their worlds, and the terrible choice she was forced to make. She remembered forcing herself to say the most vicious, heartless things to push Jarred away, to protect him from his own family's wrath.

She remembered the exact moment he finally let go of her hands. She remembered the broken, defeated line of his back as he turned and walked away into the storm.

A loud crash from a metal cart rolling past the ER door snapped Alaina back to the present.

She blinked hard, forcing the burning moisture back down her tear ducts.

When she lifted her head, her face was a flawless mask of medical authority.

She handed the signed clipboard to Leah, who was standing quietly in the corner.

"NPO starting now. No food or water. Prep her for anesthesia," Alaina instructed Chelsey in a flat, monotone voice.

Jarred narrowed his eyes. His sharp gaze caught the slight tremor in Alaina's fingertips as she handed over the board.

A complex emotion flashed in his dark eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched upward into a microscopic, mocking smirk.

Alaina turned her body toward the door. She couldn't stay in this room for another second.

"If you experience any breathing difficulties, press the call button for the nurse," Alaina said to the room.

She walked fast. She pushed open the heavy metal door of the ER and stepped out into the hallway.

The door slowly swung shut behind her, finally cutting off the heavy, suffocating weight of Jarred's stare.

Alaina walked to the corner of the corridor. She leaned her back against the cold, tiled wall and gasped for air.