Saved By A Billionaire

After a long afternoon of grocery shopping, Charlotte finally arrived home, arms laden with bags filled with essentials and a few indulgences. Her mind was already drifting toward a hot cup of tea and a quiet evening when she heard it-an odd sound coming from inside the house.

Her heart gave a small, startled jolt. She paused, listening intently. It was faint at first, like a soft moaning followed by a whisper of words. Pushing aside the unease and the sadness that already enveloped her, Charlotte tried not to think about the very possible reality. As she approached the door, the sounds grew clearer. There was an unmistakable rhythm to them now, like hushed whispers mingling with soft footsteps. She forced herself to breathe slowly, refusing to let her imagination run wild.

Step by deliberate step, Charlotte moved closer. When she reached the door, her hand hesitated on the handle. Who could it be? She couldn't ignore the possibility, yet she couldn't bring herself to back away either.

With a steadying breath, she opened the door slowly, and the blood drained from her face as she stared at what was before her. Her husband was with a red-haired woman on their matrimonial bed, the woman's clothes were off as he leaned close, kissing her roughly and cupping her breast with his hand. The woman begged him to insert himself into her as she moaned in pleasure.

He bent her roughly and slid into her, pumping hard. The woman's moans grew louder, making the pit of Charlotte's stomach churn in irritation. She couldn't believe her eyes, nor could she believe this was happening. She knew her husband didn't love her, but she hadn't expected him to do something as brazen as this. It was obvious he didn't care if she was standing by the door, watching him with another woman.

They continued their lustful act as Charlotte's heart hammered painfully against her rib cage. The air was thick with heat and sweat, and they both looked happy. Her face felt hot too, and she closed her eyes, taking several long, slow deep breaths.

Even though she didn't love him, she couldn't stand there and watch him getting intimate with another woman. The sight churned something deep within her, an unexpected mix of anger and disgust as she decided to go in and stop them, to put an end to the sordid display.

Just as she took a step forward, Charlotte felt a sudden, sharp yank on her hair. Pain shot through her scalp, and she stumbled backward as she was pulled by the hair down the passageway and into an enclosed room. She winced, struggling to keep her balance and composure.

Turning to see who had done this to her, she was met with a stinging slap across her face. Her head snapped to the side, and for a moment, she was too shocked to react. When she managed to look up, her eyes met the sharp, unforgiving gaze of her mother-in-law.

The older woman's eyes were cold, and her expression was one of pure disdain. "What do you think you're doing, Charlotte?" she hissed, her voice dripping with venom as she peered into Charlotte's eyes with disgust.

Charlotte blinked, trying to process the sudden shift from anger to fear. "I... I was just-"

"You were just what?" she interrupted, stepping closer, her presence overwhelming. "Going to make a scene? Embarrass my son while he enjoys himself?"

Charlotte swallowed hard, her cheek stinging from the slap. "I can't just stand by and watch him-"

"Watch him what? Be with someone he actually cares about?" she snapped. "Maybe you didn't know what you were getting into when your parents sold you to us with this marriage facade. This is not about love; it's about duty and appearances. If you can't handle that, then perhaps you should reconsider your place here."

Her words cut deep, each one a dagger to Charlotte's already fragile sense of self. She wanted to scream, to fight back, but she knew it would be futile. In this family, her voice meant nothing. She was just a pawn in their game, a decorative piece in their twisted idea of perfection.

The fact that she was forced into a marriage with a man she barely knew or loved made everything worse. It was all for her family, as her mother had put it. Her mother had always seen her as a way to get rich from the day she began to understand things. And her father was even worse.

Charlotte's mind flashed back to the moment she walked down the aisle with tears in her eyes. She had seen her mother smiling at her and her father looking happy. The only person who hadn't supported everything was her sister, but there was nothing she could do about it. Charlotte felt bad that her sister's fate might end up like hers.

The first day Charlotte set foot in the mansion, the rules were laid down with a resounding slap from her husband, supported by her mother-in-law. They both treated her like a slave, saying her desperate parents had begged them to accept her.

Her mother would never look her in the eye, and her father only told her to do as they said and that whatever happened to her was no longer his business.

Tears rolled down Charlotte's cheeks as she lowered her gaze, her hand clenched against the hem of her brown long-sleeve shirt.

"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper, though the words tasted bitter on her tongue.

"Sorry isn't good enough," her mother-in-law said, her tone softening just a fraction, but her eyes still cold. "You will go back to your room and stay there until I decide what to do with you."

With that, she released Charlotte's hair, pushing her towards the door. Charlotte stumbled out, her heart pounding, her face throbbing. As she made her way back to her room, she couldn't help but feel the weight of her situation pressing down on her. This wasn't a marriage; it was a prison. And she was trapped.

Charlotte sat on the bed, tears streaming down her face as the entire scenario replayed in her mind. Everything she had been through since walking into the Beckett mansion weighed heavily on her, all the suffering she had endured with no hope of escape.

She remembered the first time she tried to escape. Caught by her mother-in-law, she was dragged back to her room and left there to starve. The worst part was the isolation-she had no one to talk to, no one to share her pain with. She was utterly alone.

The creaking sound of the door pricked her nerves, jolting her up from the bed as she watched Nicholas walk in. His muscular body reminded her of the pain she felt on their wedding night when he had pinned her to the wall and forcefully violated her.

She cringed as he walked closer. "My mother told me you were sneaking up on me when I was having my moment with the woman I love," he hissed.

Nicholas took her hand and pulled her close, his warm breath fanning her face as he used his other hand to press her against his rock-hard body. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared at him in fear.

"You just don't know your place, Charlotte," he said with a smug smile. "Let me remind you, you're nothing but a poor soul that your parents sold to get rich. Your father begged me to accept you, so get it stuck in your head and never try to interrupt my pleasure again."

Tears rolled down her cheeks at his words as fear enveloped her. The force he applied to her ankle made it sore.

He tightened his grip, and she winced. "Understand?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing.

She nodded, unable to speak, her body trembling with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Good," he said, finally releasing her. She stumbled back, catching herself on the edge of the bed.

He straightened his tie, his expression returning to one of cold indifference. "Remember, Charlotte, you're here to serve this family. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Why do I have to serve your family?" The words protruded from her mouth before she could stop them.

Nicholas blinked in shock. "What did you say?" Before she could respond, a resounding slap struck her face, and she immediately lowered her gaze to the ground.

He pinned her to the wall, his hand pressing against her arms as she struggled. "You dare question me?" he growled, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and furious. "You will serve this family because you have no choice. Your family is nothing without us."

His grip tightened, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. She whimpered, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body trembling with fear and anger.

"You think you can defy me, Charlotte?" he sneered. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

He released one of her arms, only to grab her chin roughly, forcing her to look into his cold, menacing eyes. "You will do as you're told, or you will suffer the consequences. Do you understand?"

She nodded weakly, her voice caught in her throat. The defiance that had momentarily surfaced was now buried under a wave of terror.

He released her, stepping back with a look of disgust. "Remember your place," he spat, then pushed her away from the wall and forcefully onto the bed. His fingers went down her pantyline, and she tried to push him away, but he was too strong. He came back with force, his hands roving over her body. She looked around for a way to escape but found none.

"You're my wife, Charlotte. That means I have the right to touch you how I want," he whispered, his body still pressed against hers.

She squirmed, trying to twist away from his grasp, but it was futile. His weight pinned her down, and his breath was hot and oppressive against her skin. Desperation surged within her as she tried to block out his words, his touch, everything.

"Stop," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please, Nicholas, stop."

He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the room. "Begging won't help you, Charlotte. You're mine, and you'll do as I say."

A fresh wave of tears spilled down her cheeks, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and rage. This wasn't love; it was possession. She was nothing more than an object to him, a thing to be controlled and used.

"Why do you do this?" she managed to choke out, her voice trembling. "Why do you enjoy hurting me?"

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of something human-regret, perhaps, or doubt. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the cold, unfeeling mask he wore so well.

"Because I can," he said simply, as if that justified everything.

In that moment, something within her hardened. The fear was still there, but it was joined by a growing resolve. Summoning strength she didn't know she had, Charlotte pushed Nicholas away. He came back at her, but this time she managed to kick him hard and started to run. Barefoot on the cold marble floor of the mansion's spiral stairs, she sprinted down.

"What do you think you're doing, Charlotte?" Nicholas groaned, chasing after her. Despite his pursuit, she didn't stop-she kept running.

At that moment, all Charlotte cared about was escaping the Beckett mansion, breaking free from their vicious torture. She burst through the mansion's exit door and continued running with all her strength.

Before she knew it, she was out on the street, with Nicholas close behind. "Do you think you can escape, Charlotte? I own you!" he shouted as he chased after her.

The late-night streets were dark and deserted, with barely anyone around to hear her cries for help. Her feet started to ache from the relentless sprint. Suddenly, a bright light shone ahead, and she saw a speeding car heading straight toward her.

In that split second, Charlotte felt the impact of the car against her body, and then everything went black as she collapsed to the ground.

As Charlotte slowly opened her eyes, the bright hospital lights pierced through her skull, making her wince. She tried to lift her head, but a sharp pain shot through her temples, forcing her to lie back down. Confusion clouded her thoughts. Where was she? How had she ended up here? Her mind was a jumbled mess, fragments of memories flashing before her eyes like a broken film reel.

Turning her head to the side, Charlotte noticed a man sitting on a chair beside her bed, his head resting on the mattress. His dark hair was mussed, and his piercing blue eyes were closed, as if he was exhausted. Who was he? Why was he here with her?

Panic set in as memories began to resurface. She remembered running, her legs pumping furiously as she tried to escape. But escape from whom? Nicholas Beckett, her supposed husband. The desperation, the fear-it all came rushing back. She had finally found the courage to run from him and his mistress, Mariah, who had joined forces to make her life a living hell.

But how had she ended up here? Charlotte reached out a trembling hand and touched the stranger's arm. He stirred, his eyes fluttering open, and their gazes met. Those piercing blue eyes captured hers, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe.

"Who are you?" she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

"My name is Cyrus Kai, but please call me Cyrus," he replied, his soothing voice calming her frazzled nerves.

Charlotte tried to sit up again, but Cyrus gently pressed her back onto the pillow. "You should rest," he said, his eyes filled with concern.

But rest was the last thing on her mind. She needed answers. "What happened?" she asked, her mind racing with questions.

Cyrus's expression turned somber. "You ran into my car. You weren't watching the road."

Memories came flooding back-the sound of screeching tires, the impact, and then nothing. She remembered running away from Nicholas, and then everything went black.

Cyrus's eyes narrowed slightly, his brow furrowed in concern. "Is there anyone I can call for you? Family, friends...?"

Charlotte shook her head, feeling a pang of loneliness. "No, there's no one."

Cyrus nodded thoughtfully, his gaze drifting away for a moment. Then, he turned back to her, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Well, in that case...would you like to stay with me for a little while? Until you're feeling better, I mean."

She hesitated, unsure of what to say. But something about Cyrus's kind eyes and gentle smile put her at ease. "Okay," she said finally. "Thank you."

Cyrus's smile widened, and he nodded. "Great. I'll make the arrangements. We can leave as soon as the doctor says it's okay."

Charlotte nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over her. Maybe, just maybe, she had found a safe haven with this stranger, Cyrus.

"Thank you," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper.

Cyrus's eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Don't mention it. I'll take care of you."

As he stood up to leave, Charlotte felt a pang of fear. What if she was making a mistake? What if Cyrus wasn't who he seemed to be? But it was too late now. She had agreed to stay with him, and she could only hope that she had made the right decision.

Finally discharged from the hospital, Charlotte gazed out the window at the vibrant city of Los Angeles as they pulled out of the parking lot. She had grown to love this city, with its eclectic mix of art, culture, and chaos. Born and raised here, she had always felt a deep connection to its energy. Her dreams of owning her own art gallery one day seemed within reach, despite the setbacks she had faced.

But for now, she focused on the present moment. She turned her attention to Cyrus, who was sitting beside her in the back seat of his luxurious car. His driver, Tommy, navigated through the crowded streets with ease.

When they arrived at Cyrus's house, Charlotte gasped in awe. The mansion loomed before them, its grandeur and beauty taking her breath away. Statues stood guard in the compound, and the perfectly manicured lawns stretched out like a green carpet.

"Welcome to my home," Cyrus said, smiling as he helped her out of the car.

Charlotte felt like she had stepped into a fairy tale, the kind where the princess lived happily ever after in a castle. But she wasn't a princess, and this wasn't a fairy tale. She was a woman on the run, seeking refuge with a stranger.

Cyrus showed her to her room, and she thanked him, his kind gesture a stark contrast to the danger she had faced just hours before. He told her dinner would be ready by 8, and she nodded, her mind already racing with plans to leave the city, to escape the Becketts and her parents. She would miss her little sister Chloé; she was all she had right now, her only family, her only friend.

As Charlotte lay down on the bed, she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. She had to be careful, had to plan her next move carefully. She couldn't let her guard down, not even for a moment. But as she thought, her eyelids grew heavy, and slowly she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from the day's events.

But her rest was short-lived. She woke up to the sound of a voice echoing in her room. "Cuba is ready," was what she heard. Confused and disoriented, she blinked in the dim light. And then she heard a soft giggle, and Cyrus's voice, clearer this time. "Dinner is ready, Charlotte."

Charlotte got up quickly, her heart racing, and followed him to the dining room. The smell of food wafted through the air, making her stomach growl with hunger. She was famished, but she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. Who was this man, really? And what did he want from her?

As they walked toward the entrance, she couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. Would she find solace in this grand castle, or would she discover secrets and dangers lurking within its walls?

As they sat down at the dining table, Cyrus tried to make small talk, asking her name, about her day, her interests, her life. But Charlotte remained guarded, cautious. She couldn't let him in, couldn't risk him discovering the truth. So she gave him brief, superficial replies, revealing nothing about herself.

"I'm Charlotte," she said.

"Just Charlotte?" he asked, with expectations but she didn't said anything, instead she nodded in response.

Cyrus didn't seem to mind, or maybe he was just being polite. He continued to chat, trying to draw her out, but Charlotte remained tight-lipped. She couldn't trust him, not yet. Maybe not ever.

But then, just as she thought they were going to get through dinner without any awkwardness, Cyrus asked the question. The one she had been dreading.

"Who were you running from that day I hit you?" he asked, his eyes piercing, his voice gentle.

Everything seemed to stop at that moment. Time froze. Her heart stopped beating. Charlotte felt like she was drowning, suffocating under the weight of her secrets.

She couldn't answer. She couldn't speak. She couldn't breathe.

All she could do was stare at him, her eyes wide with fear, her mind racing with panic.