Escaping My Vicious Billionaire Husband

The heavy metal doors of the federal prison groaned open.

The screeching sound of rusty hinges echoed in the damp morning air. Colette stepped out of the dark concrete tunnel. The sudden glare of the sun stabbed at her eyes. She hadn't seen unfiltered sunlight in two years.

Dwayne Boggs, the prison guard, shoved her hard between the shoulder blades.

"Move it," he grunted.

Colette stumbled forward. Her worn sneakers scraped against the rough concrete, and she barely caught her balance before her knees hit the ground.

She stood up straight and sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled like wet dirt and exhaust fumes, but it was the smell of freedom. The tight, permanent knot in her shoulders finally dropped a fraction of an inch.

She lifted her head, scanning the empty road for the bus stop.

Instead, a massive, black armored SUV sat idling by the curb. It looked like a military tank wrapped in glossy paint. It completely blocked her path.

The heavy passenger door swung open.

A man stepped out. He was built like a brick wall, his face devoid of any human emotion. Colette recognized him instantly. It was K. Bishop, the head of security for Ferris Vance.

Bishop marched toward her. His massive frame blocked out the sun, casting a cold shadow over her.

Colette's stomach dropped to her shoes. Her survival instincts screamed at her to run. She took a quick step back, trying to pivot and sprint past him.

Bishop didn't even flinch. He reached out with a thick hand encased in black leather.

His fingers clamped around her thin bicep like a steel vice.

"Let go of me!" Colette screamed, her voice cracking with terror. She thrashed against his grip and whipped her head around toward the prison gates. "Help! Dwayne, help me!"

Bishop reached into his tailored jacket and casually tossed a thick, unmarked white envelope onto the ground near the gate. Dwayne Boggs stood right inside the gates. He looked directly at her. Then, his eyes flicked down to the envelope. With a blank expression, he picked it up, turned his back, and hit the red button on the wall. The metal doors began to slide shut, sealing away her only hope.

Bishop yanked her forward. She was completely defenseless against his raw strength. He dragged her to the SUV, pulled open the rear door, and shoved her inside.

The door slammed shut behind her.

The bright morning light vanished, replaced by the dark tint of the armored windows. The air inside the cabin was suffocatingly cold, thick with the expensive, heavy scent of cedarwood cologne.

Colette pushed herself up from the leather floorboards. Her breath hitched in her throat.

Her eyes locked onto a pair of irises as cold and unforgiving as arctic ice.

Ferris Vance sat perfectly still in the shadows of the plush leather seat. His long, tailored legs were crossed. His long fingers lazily spun a silver lighter over his knuckles.

Colette's pupils dilated. A violent tremor ripped through her entire body.

Ferris let out a low, dark chuckle. The sound scraped against her eardrums. He looked at her like she was a stray dog bleeding on his expensive upholstery.

"Ferris, please," Colette choked out. Her hands shook so hard she had to press them against her thighs. "I didn't do it. I swear to God, I had nothing to do with what happened to Ellie. I'm innocent."

The amusement vanished from Ferris's face. Pure, unadulterated murder flashed in his eyes.

Click.

The silver lighter snapped shut in his palm. The sharp metallic sound echoed like a gunshot in the quiet car.

He lunged forward. His massive chest pinned her back against the door, trapping her in the corner of the cabin.

He leaned in until his lips were an inch from her ear.

"If another lie comes out of your mouth," he whispered, his voice vibrating with rage, "I will make you beg to go back to that cell."

Fear wrapped icy fingers around Colette's throat. She clamped her mouth shut. Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Ferris held her gaze for one more agonizing second before giving a sharp nod to the front seat.

The driver slammed his foot on the gas. The SUV tore away from the prison curb, throwing Colette hard against the door panel.

She stared out the tinted glass. The trees blurred past. This wasn't the highway toward the city.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper.

Ferris leaned back into his seat and smoothed the lapel of his suit.

"City Hall," he stated.

Colette's blood ran cold. She knew exactly what that meant. Panic exploded in her chest. She grabbed the chrome door handle and yanked it with all her might, ready to throw herself onto the asphalt.

Click.

The child locks engaged. The sound severed her last lifeline.

The SUV pulled into a dark, narrow alley behind the New York City Hall.

Ferris shoved his door open. A blast of cold city wind rushed into the heated cabin. He stepped out, turned around, and grabbed the collar of Colette's thin jacket.

He yanked her out of the car.

Colette stumbled onto the pavement. Ferris's fingers wrapped around her wrist, squeezing the delicate bones until she gasped in pain.

Two rows of men in black suits flanked them. Trapped in the middle, Colette was dragged toward a heavy wooden door that looked like the entrance to a tomb.

They stepped into a windowless, secret office deep inside the building. The air in the room was stale, smelling of dust and old paper.

Lex Finch, a high-end celebrity photographer, stood in the corner. He had expensive lighting umbrellas set up and waiting. He offered Ferris a polite nod.

A sweaty city clerk rushed forward. His hands shook as he slid a pre-drafted marriage certificate across the desk.

Ferris snatched a heavy fountain pen from the clerk. He slammed it down on the paper.

"Sign it," Ferris ordered.

Colette stared at the document. The black ink looked like a death warrant. She shook her head frantically, backing away from the desk.

Ferris closed the distance in one stride. His large hand clamped down on the back of her neck. He forced her head down, pressing her chest against the edge of the desk.

He leaned down, his breath brushing her ear.

"Sign it," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Or I will make sure your father's memory is erased from every record that exists, and whatever pathetic pieces are left of the Wheeler name will be dragged through the mud until there is absolutely nothing left."

Colette's heart stopped. Her father. He was the only family who had stood by her after the scandal-the one person who had never stopped believing in her innocence. Her mother had disappeared into her own world of grief and denial months ago, refusing to even look at her daughter after the accusations surfaced. But her father had fought. He had mortgaged everything, called in every favor, exhausted every legal avenue to prove her innocence. The thought of his sacrifice being erased, his legacy completely destroyed, was more than she could bear.

The threat shattered the last of her resistance. Tears spilled over her lashes as her trembling fingers reached for the heavy pen.

Her hand shook violently. The metal nib scratched against the thick paper, leaving a jagged, messy signature. She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper.

She finished the last letter. A single, hot tear dropped onto the paper, blurring the ink.

Ferris's eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction. He snatched the paper out from under her hand and shoved it at the clerk to stamp.

"Mr. Vance," Lex Finch spoke up softly. "If you could step closer for the official photo."

Ferris turned to Colette. He wrapped his arm around her waist and yanked her against his side. His grip was brutal, crushing her ribs.

Colette stood rigid as a board. Her face was a mask of pure agony.

Ferris's fingers slid to her lower back. He pinched the soft flesh above her hip, digging his nails in hard.

"Smile," he commanded through gritted teeth.

Colette sucked in a sharp breath of pain. She forced the corners of her mouth up, creating a hollow, broken smile for the camera.

The bright flash blinded her. The moment was immortalized.

The second the flash faded, Ferris dropped his arm. He took a quick step back, his face twisting with disgust as if her touch had burned him.

He turned and walked toward the exit. Bishop stepped up behind Colette and shoved her forward to follow.

Lex Finch was already tapping on his laptop, sending the high-res photos to every major gossip outlet in the country.

They walked out the back door.

A dozen paparazzi jumped out from behind dumpsters, their cameras firing like machine guns.

Ferris instantly pulled Colette against his chest. He took off his suit jacket and draped it over her head, shielding her face from the flashes. He played the role of the fiercely protective husband perfectly.

Colette squeezed her eyes shut against the blinding lights. She felt like a hollow doll as Bishop guided her into the back of the SUV.

Ferris didn't get in with her. He gave her one last, dead look before turning and walking toward a sleek Maybach parked ahead.

Bishop climbed into the SUV and sat across from her. The driver hit the gas, merging into the heavy traffic.

Colette leaned her head back against the leather. Her chest heaved. She just needed one minute to breathe.

Bishop reached beside him. Without a word, he tossed a rolled-up, day-old Wall Street Journal onto her lap.

Colette frowned. She picked up the paper and unrolled it.

The bold, black headline on the front page punched the air out of her lungs: WHEELER ENTERPRISES DECLARES BANKRUPTCY AMID SEC PROBE.

Her hands started to shake. She looked up at Bishop, her eyes wide with panic.

"Where is my father?" her voice trembled. "What happened to him?"

Bishop stared at her with dead eyes.

"He couldn't handle the pressure of the federal investigation," Bishop said flatly. "He jumped off the roof of your company headquarters three weeks ago. Your mother's been missing ever since. Last we heard, she was wandering the streets of Queens, completely broken."

The newspaper slipped from Colette's numb fingers.

A guttural, agonizing scream ripped from her throat, tearing through the silence of the car. She doubled over, clutching her stomach as the world collapsed into darkness.

The SUV sped down the Long Island Expressway.

Colette was curled into a tight ball on the floorboards of the backseat. She was crying so hard she was dry heaving, her body convulsing with every gasp for air.

Bishop frowned in annoyance. He reached over and hit the window switch.

The glass rolled down. Freezing, violent wind roared into the cabin, whipping against Colette's thin clothes and chilling her to the bone.

Thirty minutes later, the massive, wrought-iron gates of the Vance estate slowly parted.

The SUV crunched over the gravel driveway and rolled to a stop in front of a towering marble fountain.

The door opened. Colette tried to push herself up, but her legs were completely numb.

Two massive estate guards reached in. They grabbed her under the armpits and hauled her out of the car like a sack of garbage.

Her left sneaker fell off, hitting the pavement. Her bare foot dragged against the rough stone as they hauled her up the wide granite steps.

Alistair Pemberton, the head butler, pulled open the heavy mahogany double doors.

The guards dragged her into the center of the grand foyer. They let go.

Colette hit the hard marble floor with a sickening thud. The impact scraped the skin off her palms. She curled inward, a weak moan escaping her lips.

Mitch and Brenda Higgins were sitting on the velvet sofas in the living room. When they saw her, they shot to their feet.

Brenda's sharp heels clicked furiously against the marble. She lunged forward and grabbed a fistful of Colette's tangled hair, yanking her head back.

Smack.

The slap echoed through the massive hall. Brenda's palm struck Colette's cheek with explosive force.

Colette's head snapped to the side. Her ears rang violently. A warm drop of blood pooled in the corner of her mouth.

Mitch stood over her, his face purple with rage. "You murderer!" he screamed, pointing a shaking finger at her. "You ruined my daughter's life!"

Colette swallowed the blood in her mouth. "I didn't," she sobbed, her words slurring from the pain. "I wasn't even involved in the party planning..."

The denial pushed Brenda over the edge. She pulled back her pointed leather shoe and kicked Colette squarely in the stomach.

Colette screamed. She curled into a tight ball, clutching her abdomen. Cold sweat instantly soaked through her shirt.

A dozen maids stood in the shadows of the hallway. Not a single one moved to help.

Brenda was panting, completely unhinged. She reached over to a side table, grabbed a heavy crystal vase filled with freezing water and wilted roses, and hurled the freezing contents directly into Colette's face, before lunging forward to violently tear at her collar.

"Stop."

The single, icy word cut through the chaos.

Brenda froze. The dripping vase hovered in her shaking hands.

Ferris walked slowly down the curved grand staircase. His hands were in his pockets. He didn't look angry; he looked bored.

He stepped up to Brenda, took the heavy vase from her trembling hands, and tossed it carelessly onto the rug.

Mitch glared at him. "Why did you bring her here, Ferris? Why did you marry the bitch who destroyed Ellie?"

Ferris let out a dark chuckle. He didn't even glance down at Colette, who was bleeding at his feet.

"It's a media trap," Ferris said, keeping his voice low. "Ellie is out there hiding. She's watching. If she sees me parading this trash around as my beloved new wife, it will trigger an emotional response. It will force her out of hiding."

Mitch and Brenda stared at him. Slowly, the rage in their eyes morphed into a desperate, twisted hope.

Lying on the freezing marble, Colette heard every single word.

The last fragile piece of her soul shattered into dust. She wasn't even a person to him. She was just a piece of bait on a hook.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Hot, humiliating tears ran down her bruised face and dripped onto the cold stone.