Rejected Heiress And The Ruthless CEO

The fifty-year-old, smoky Lagavulin burned like liquid fire as it slid down Krista Cain's throat.

She sat in the darkest corner of The Obsidian Room, an exclusive, high-end jazz lounge, her fingers gripping the heavy crystal tumbler so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bone white. The heavy bass from the speakers vibrated violently against her ribs, but it couldn't drown out the frantic, shallow gasps tearing through her lungs.

Every time she blinked, the nightmare from three hours ago flashed behind her eyelids.

She saw the mahogany table in the Cain family estate. She heard the heavy, sickening thud of the DNA report hitting the wood.

"Fatimah is the true bloodline." Warren Cain's voice had been as cold as a morgue slab, while Beatrice Cain, her adoptive mother, had simply stood beside him, her perfectly manicured hands resting on her silk dress, her silence a brutal, suffocating wall of complicity. "You are nothing but a mistake."

The words had physically struck her. She had stumbled backward, her heel catching the edge of the Persian rug. The antique Ming vase had shattered against the marble floor with a deafening crash, leaving her standing in the wreckage of her twenty-year identity.

She had run. She had fled to the garden, the freezing rain soaking her designer dress, desperate to find Dannie Rowland. Her fiancé. Her last anchor.

Instead, she found him standing behind the floor-to-ceiling windows of the conservatory, a glass of bourbon in his hand, laughing with his friends.

"Marry a fake?" Dannie's sneer had pierced right through the thick glass and the pouring rain. "I don't collect the Cain family's second-hand trash."

Her dignity had snapped. The physical pain in her chest was so sharp it stole her breath. She had shoved the glass doors open, the storm blowing in with her. Dannie's laugh had died instantly. His eyes widened in caught panic.

Krista didn't speak. She marched up to him, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face. The crack of her palm against his cheek echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

Her fingers trembled as she ripped the massive pink diamond engagement ring off her finger. She hurled it directly at his chest.

"We are done."

She had turned and walked back into the storm, leaving the ring in the dirt.

Now, the bartender slid a fresh pour of the expensive whiskey across the polished marble bar, snapping her back to the deafening reality of the club. Krista reached for the glass. A single drop of water-maybe rain, maybe a tear-fell from her eyelash and splashed against the back of her trembling hand.

Her vision blurred heavily from the alcohol. The room spun in a sickening circle.

"Hey, gorgeous. You look lonely."

The heavy scent of spilled spirits and an aggressively strong, overpowering cologne hit her face before the man did. A heavy, sweaty hand clamped down hard on her bare shoulder. Her stomach churned violently. Bile rose in her throat.

"Don't touch me," Krista choked out. She shoved his hand away with all her remaining strength and stumbled out of the bar stool.

She needed air. She needed to run.

She spun toward the exit, but her stiletto caught on the edge of a thick velvet rug. Gravity vanished. She pitched forward, bracing for the bone-crushing impact against the polished mahogany floorboards.

It never came.

She crashed into a wall of solid muscle. A sharp, clean scent of cedar and expensive musk flooded her senses, instantly cutting through the stench of the bar.

A low grunt vibrated against her ear. Two arms, thick and hard like steel cables, clamped around her waist, catching her effortlessly.

Krista blinked her heavy eyes, tilting her head back. Through the flashing neon strobe lights, she saw a razor-sharp jawline.

The man looked down. The moment his pitch-black eyes locked onto her face, his pupils dilated so fast it was almost violent.

The drunk guy stumbled forward, reaching for Krista. "Hey, she's with-"

The man holding Krista didn't even turn his head. He simply lifted his gaze. The sheer, terrifying aura of a predator radiated from him. The drunk froze, the color draining from his face, and he scrambled backward into the crowd.

Krista's brain completely shut down. The alcohol hijacked her nervous system. Her hands reached up, her fingers twisting into the expensive fabric of his bespoke suit lapels.

She stood on her tiptoes, pressing her feverish cheek against the cool, pulsing skin of his neck. She rubbed against him like a stray cat seeking warmth.

The man went entirely rigid. His Adam's apple bobbed hard against her forehead. His breathing, previously calm, turned ragged and scorching hot against her hair.

He didn't push her away. Instead, he bent his knees, scooped her up into his arms, and carried her straight toward the VIP exit.

The cold night air hit her face as he carried her out to the alley. A black, bulletproof Maybach sat idling at the curb. He slid her into the backseat and climbed in after her.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the world completely.

Blinding sunlight stabbed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, striking Krista directly in the eyes.

She groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as a sledgehammer of a headache pounded against her skull. Her mouth tasted like dry cotton. She forced her heavy eyelids open, wincing at the brightness.

She sat up, instinctively reaching to rub her temples. The silk blanket slipped off her shoulders, and the icy blast of the air conditioning hit her bare skin.

Krista froze.

She looked down. She was completely naked. Her breath hitched in her throat as her eyes locked onto the dark, angry purple bruises scattered across her collarbone and the swell of her breasts.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. A violent wave of panic crashed over her.

Flashes of the night before ripped through her mind. The smell of cedar. The scorching heat of skin against skin. The sound of a silk tie ripping.

She gasped for air, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she grabbed the edges of the blanket and yanked it up to her chin, wrapping herself into a tight cocoon. She darted her eyes around the room.

Minimalist luxury. Cold gray tones. An abstract painting on the wall that belonged in a museum, not a hotel. This was a private penthouse.

Click.

The sound of the bathroom door unlocking echoed like a gunshot in the silent room.

Krista scrambled backward, pressing her spine hard against the tufted headboard. She stared at the frosted glass door, her chest heaving.

Thick white steam rolled out into the bedroom as the door swung open. A man walked out.

He wore nothing but a white towel slung dangerously low on his hips. Water droplets clung to his broad shoulders, tracing the deep grooves of his eight-pack abs before disappearing into the terrycloth. He was drying his wet black hair with a smaller towel, his movements slow and lazy, yet radiating an overwhelming, suffocating dominance.

Krista's pulse skyrocketed. Her throat squeezed shut. She couldn't look away from the sheer physical power of his chest.

The man felt her stare. He stopped moving. He lowered the towel, and his eyes-cold, dark, and precise as a sniper's scope-locked onto her.

The temperature in the room plummeted to freezing. Krista's fingers dug so hard into the silk sheets that the fabric threatened to tear.

"Awake?"

His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that vibrated right through the floorboards and into her bones.

Krista swallowed hard, fighting the bile in her throat. "Last... last night was an accident." Her voice shook violently. "We are both adults. It happens."

She darted her eyes toward the floor, desperately searching for her shredded dress.

A dangerous shadow crossed the man's eyes. He tossed the towel onto a velvet armchair and took a step toward the bed.

With every step he took, that intoxicating scent of cedar and body wash wrapped around Krista, suffocating her.

He stopped at the edge of the mattress, towering over her. He looked down at her like a hunter observing a trapped rabbit.

"An accident?" he scoffed.

He suddenly leaned forward, planting both of his large hands on the mattress on either side of her knees, carefully avoiding the thick blanket she had wrapped around herself like a shield. His sheer physical presence blocked out the light from the windows. He caged her in completely.

Krista shrank back, the air crushing her lungs. She pressed herself flat against the headboard, but there was nowhere left to go.

He leaned in closer. His hot breath brushed against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending a violent shiver down her spine.

"You took my innocence," he whispered, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with dark authority. "And you think 'we are adults' is going to dismiss me?"

Krista's eyes went wide. The blood rushed out of her head. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

The man straightened up. He casually brushed a non-existent piece of lint off his bare shoulder, looking entirely justified.

His eyes turned to ice as he delivered the final blow.

"You need to take responsibility, Ms. Cain."

Krista's jaw trembled. Her brain short-circuited entirely, leaving her completely speechless.

Krista sat frozen for five full seconds. The sheer absurdity of his words finally broke through her shock.

She shook her head violently. "Responsibility? Are you out of your mind?"

She didn't care about modesty anymore. She kicked the blanket off her leg, ready to scramble off the opposite side of the mattress and run for the door.

The man moved faster. His large hand slammed down on the edge of the blanket, pinning it to the mattress with a force that made the entire bed shake. He trapped her instantly.

"I never joke." His voice was lethal.

He turned slightly and snatched a custom black smartphone off the nightstand. His long thumb swiped the screen twice before he shoved the phone directly into her face.

It was a security camera feed from the hallway outside. The resolution was crystal clear.

Krista watched in horror as the video played. She was wrapped around the man like an octopus, her legs locked around his waist. Her hands were violently tearing at his expensive dress shirt, and her mouth was frantically biting at his neck.

Heat exploded across Krista's cheeks. Her face burned so hot it hurt. She squeezed her eyes shut and turned her head away, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole.

The man locked the phone and tossed it aside. He tilted his head to the side, drawing her eyes to the exposed skin above his collarbone.

Deep, red scratches and purple bite marks marred his perfect skin.

"The evidence is right here," he said, a cruel, mocking edge to his tone. "You were very... enthusiastic."

Krista was mortified. She forced herself to look at him, to beg for mercy. But as her eyes focused on his face-the sharp, arrogant eyebrows, the straight nose, the absolute ruthless power radiating from him-a memory clicked into place.

She had seen that face on the cover of Forbes magazine.

Her stomach plummeted. The blood in her veins turned to ice.

"You... you are Jasper Stone?" Her voice cracked, coming out as a pathetic squeak.

The youngest financial predator on Wall Street. The absolute ruler of the Stone family. The most ruthless, cold-blooded man in New York.

The panic in her chest morphed into pure, primal terror. She knew exactly how much trouble she was in.

She instantly folded. She brought her hands together in front of her chest, her voice trembling with desperation.

"Mr. Stone, I am so sorry. I blacked out. I swear." She looked down at her hands, a bitter, self-deprecating laugh escaping her lips. "And I have nothing. The Cain family kicked me out last night. I am completely broke. I can't possibly take responsibility for you."

Jasper stared down at her. Seeing her look so broken, like a bird with its wings snapped, sent a sharp, physical ache straight through his chest.

He forced his jaw to clench, burying the emotion. He kept his face an impenetrable mask of corporate cruelty. He let out a cold scoff.

"That is your problem, not mine." His voice carried zero emotion.

He turned his back on her and walked toward the massive walk-in closet.

"I, Jasper Stone, do not make bad investments," his voice echoed out from the closet.

Krista sat on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had no idea what this monster was planning.

Three minutes later, Jasper walked back out. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored, charcoal-black bespoke suit. He looked like the flawless, terrifying CEO the world knew.

He walked to the foot of the bed, slowly adjusting his sapphire cufflinks. His dark eyes locked onto her, devoid of any warmth.

He opened his mouth and delivered the verdict.

"Since you can't pay me with money, you will pay off your debt with marriage."

The room fell dead silent. Krista's mouth fell open, her soul completely leaving her body.