Scars Of Betrayal: The Billionaire's Sweet Revenge

Carli sat in the back of the moving Uber. The Manhattan rain hit the windows hard. Her phone screen lit up in the dark. It was an anonymous text message.

It contained a single location pin. An upscale apartment garage on the Upper East Side.

Her stomach dropped. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. Her fingers gripped the edges of her phone so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Driver," Carli said. Her voice shook. "Change of destination. Take me to this address."

The Uber pulled up to the dark, damp entrance of the underground garage. Carli handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill. She pushed the door open and stepped out.

The cold wind blew the rain against her trench coat. The fabric clung to her legs. She walked down the concrete ramp. The sound of her high heels echoed off the thick gray walls. The air smelled like motor oil and wet asphalt.

She followed the blue dot on her phone screen. She walked deeper into the silent garage.

Then, she saw it.

Vaughn's black Porsche. It was parked in the far corner. The car was rocking back and forth.

Carli stopped walking. Her breathing turned shallow. She moved closer, her footsteps silent on the wet concrete. The car windows were fogged up. Through the glass, she heard the high-pitched, breathy moans of a woman.

Bile rose in the back of Carli's throat. She swallowed hard, fighting the urge to throw up. Seven years. Seven years of her life, gone.

She pulled out her phone. Her hands were trembling. She forced them to stop. She opened the camera app and hit record. She filmed the license plate. Then, she stepped right up to the passenger window and filmed the two naked bodies tangled in the front seat.

Carli grabbed the heavy brass buckle of her platinum handbag. She swung it back and smashed it into the glass.

A loud thud echoed through the garage.

The moaning stopped instantly. A woman screamed. The two bodies scrambled apart in terror.

Vaughn rolled down the window. He was frantically pulling up his pants. His face went completely pale when he saw Carli standing in the rain.

Isla, the woman in the passenger seat, grabbed a shirt to cover her chest. She let out a fake, weak sob.

Carli pressed stop on her video. She stared at the man she was supposed to marry. Her eyes were completely dry. Her chest felt hollow.

"Carli," Vaughn stammered. He reached out to grab her coat. "Carli, wait. This is a misunderstanding."

Carli stepped back. The thought of his skin touching hers made her skin crawl. She looked down at her left hand. She grabbed the two-carat diamond engagement ring and pulled it off her finger.

She threw it straight at his face. The heavy metal hit his cheekbone.

"Don't get my things dirty," Carli said.

She turned around and walked away.

"Carli! Come back here!" Vaughn yelled, his voice echoing off the walls.

She didn't look back. She walked out of the garage and flagged down a yellow cab.

"Where to?" the driver asked.

Carli opened her bag. She dug past her wallet and pulled out a black-and-gold card. It was an invitation to Elysium. Her late aunt had left it for her.

"Meatpacking District," Carli said.

The cab sped through the neon-lit streets. Carli stared out the window. Her chest was tight. She needed to forget. She needed to feel something other than this crushing humiliation.

She arrived at a heavy wooden door in a dark alley. The security guard looked at her. Carli flipped the card over, showing the special serial number. The guard's posture straightened. He opened the door for her.

The heavy bass of the music hit her chest instantly. The air was thick with the smell of expensive perfume and sweat.

Carli walked straight to the marble bar.

"Dry martini," she told the bartender.

He handed her the glass. She drank it in one gulp. The sharp, cold burn of the premium gin slid down her throat. It was a welcome fire in the cold hollowness of her chest, a potent spirit that began to blur the edges of her vision.

A tall man appeared beside her.

He wore a black Venetian mask that covered the top half of his face. He was massive. His shoulders blocked out the red neon lights from the dance floor. He smelled like cold cedar and tobacco.

"Slow down," a low, gravelly voice said.

The sound of his voice vibrated right through her ribs. He slid a glass of whiskey toward her. His dark eyes locked onto hers through the holes in his mask.

The alcohol rushed to Carli's brain. She turned to face him. She looked at his sharp jawline and his expensive silk tie.

She reached out and grabbed the tie. She pulled him down until his face was inches from hers.

"Take me out of here," she whispered against his ear.

Morning sunlight stabbed through the gap in the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Carli groaned. She rubbed her pounding temples. Her head felt like it was splitting open. She opened her eyes and looked at the unfamiliar ceiling.

The silk sheets felt cold against her bare legs. Her muscles ached. A sharp pain shot through her lower back. The memories of last night crashed into her brain.

She turned her head.

A man was sleeping next to her. He was lying on his stomach, his face buried in the dark gray pillow. His broad, muscular back was exposed. Three long, red scratch marks trailed down his shoulder blades. She had put them there.

The black Venetian mask sat on the nightstand.

Carli sat up. Panic tightened her chest. She didn't know his name. She didn't know his face. She only knew the smell of cedar and the heavy weight of his body.

She threw off the covers and stepped onto the thick carpet. She grabbed her clothes from the floor. She dressed quickly, her hands shaking slightly as she buttoned her blouse.

She needed to leave. She needed to cut this off before it became real.

Carli opened her wallet. She pulled out five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills. She walked over to the nightstand and slammed the money down under the mask.

She grabbed a hotel notepad and a red lipstick from her bag.

She wrote quickly. A fair price for a forgettable night.

She stuck the note to the money. She grabbed her bag, walked to the heavy mahogany door, and pulled it open. She stepped out and let the door click shut behind her.

The second the lock clicked, the man on the bed opened his eyes.

Fletcher Gutierrez sat up. The sheets fell to his waist. His dark eyes were wide awake. There was no trace of sleep in them.

He reached out with a thick, muscular arm and picked up the note. He looked at the red lipstick and the five hundred dollars.

A low, dark laugh rumbled in his chest. His eyes turned dangerous.

He picked up the room phone and pressed a button.

"Security," a voice answered.

"Track the woman who just left the penthouse," Fletcher ordered. His voice was cold and sharp. "Make sure she gets out of the building safely."

Carli took the elevator straight to the underground garage. She got into a waiting cab and gave the driver her address in Chelsea.

She leaned her head against the window. She forced herself to push the masked man out of her mind. It was a mistake. A one-time escape.

She unlocked the door to her small apartment. The air inside was stale and cold. She dropped her bag on the floor and walked straight into the bathroom.

She turned the shower on as hot as it would go. She stepped under the water. She scrubbed her skin until it turned red. She wanted to wash off Vaughn. She wanted to wash off the cedar scent of the stranger.

She stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body.

Her phone was buzzing on the bed. The screen flashed with her mother's name. Keri.

Carli's jaw tightened. She picked up the phone and pressed answer.

"You need to come back to the house today," Keri's sharp voice barked through the speaker. There was no greeting.

"I'm busy," Carli said flatly.

"You will bring your sister Lilah to the Gutierrez family gala tonight," Keri commanded. "You will introduce her to the right people."

Carli let out a bitter laugh. "I'm not babysitting your daughter so she can gold-dig."

She went to press end.

"If you do this," Keri said quickly, "we can talk about Edna's trust fund."

Carli froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen. Aunt Edna. The only person in the family who had ever loved her. The woman who died in a suspicious avalanche in Switzerland.

Carli walked over to her desk. She pulled open the bottom drawer. She took out a copy of the trust documents.

"Fine," Carli said. Her voice was ice cold. "I'll bring her. But you sign the papers transferring full control of Edna's trust to me today. Or Lilah stays home."

"You ungrateful little bitch-" Keri started screaming.

"Sign it, or she doesn't go," Carli interrupted. "I'll be there at three."

She hung up the phone. She walked over to the full-length mirror. Her face was pale, but her eyes were hard. She opened her closet. She reached past her everyday clothes and pulled out a heavy garment bag. Inside was the emerald velvet gown Edna had designed for her.

Carli sat down at her laptop. She opened her email and started typing a message to her lawyer in Los Angeles. It was time to take her money back.

Carli sat at her desk, staring at the computer screen.

Ding.

An email from her lawyer in Los Angeles popped up. Attached was the final draft of the trust transfer agreement. Carli clicked download and sent it to her printer. The machine hummed, spitting out the thick stack of legal papers.

She slid the documents into a brown manila envelope.

Her phone rang. It was a FaceTime call from her best friend, Phoebe.

Carli took a deep breath. She forced her facial muscles to relax and answered the call.

Phoebe's face filled the screen. She was wearing a green clay face mask. Her eyes narrowed instantly.

"You have red veins in your eyes," Phoebe said. "What happened last night?"

Carli didn't try to lie. "I went to the garage. I caught Vaughn and Isla in his car."

Phoebe ripped the face mask off her skin. "That motherfucker!" she screamed. She unleashed a string of brutal curses that echoed through Carli's quiet apartment.

Carli let out a long breath. Her shoulders dropped. Hearing Phoebe yell made the knot in her chest loosen just a little.

"Where is the ring?" Phoebe demanded.

"I threw it at his face," Carli said.

"Good," Phoebe said fiercely. "Did it leave a mark?"

"I hope so," Carli said. She didn't mention the club. She didn't mention the masked man. "Keri called me this morning. She wants me to take Lilah to the Gutierrez gala tonight."

Phoebe scoffed. "She wants Lilah to hook up with Julian Gutierrez. It's so obvious."

"I know," Carli said. She held up the manila envelope to the camera. "But I'm using it. I told Keri I'd do it if she signs over Edna's trust fund today."

Phoebe nodded slowly. "Smart. But read every single word before she signs. Keri is a snake."

At the mention of Edna, Carli's chest tightened again. She opened her desk drawer and pulled out an old wooden cigar box. She opened the lid. Inside lay a few of Edna's design sketches, a worn copy of a French novel they used to read together during Edna's years in Paris, and a faded strawberry-shaped hairpin.

"I still don't believe the avalanche was an accident," Carli whispered. She ran her thumb over the plastic strawberry.

"I'll call my uncle in Geneva," Phoebe said softly. "He has some connections in the city. It's a long shot, and he might not be willing to dig into closed files, but I can ask him to pull some strings and see what he can find. Don't get your hopes up, but we will try to find out what happened to her, Carli."

"Thank you," Carli said.

They hung up. Carli felt a surge of adrenaline in her blood. She walked into her closet and pulled out a sharp, black tailored suit. She put it on. The stiff fabric made her feel like she was wearing armor.

She shoved the envelope into her leather tote bag, grabbed her car keys, and walked out of her apartment.

She walked down the narrow hallway and pressed the elevator button.

The metal doors slid open.

Carli stopped breathing.

Vaughn was standing inside the elevator. He looked terrible. His hair was messy, and he was holding a massive bouquet of red roses.

Carli's stomach churned. The smell of the roses mixed with the memory of the garage. She felt physically sick.

Vaughn saw her suit. His eyes widened slightly, then he put on a sad, desperate face. He stepped out of the elevator and reached for her hand.

Carli jerked her arm back. She pressed her back against the wall to get away from him.

"Carli, please," Vaughn begged. His voice was raspy. "Just give me five minutes. Let me explain."

Carli stared at the red roses. "I'm allergic to pollen, Vaughn. You dated me for seven years and you still don't know that."

Vaughn's face froze. He slowly lowered the flowers. "It was a mistake," he rushed out. "Isla means nothing. I was drunk. I was stressed about the merger-"

Carli looked at her watch. "I don't care. Move out of my way. I have somewhere to be."