The Billionaire Hunting His Ghost Wife

"You will go to that suite, Kaliyah, or you can kiss your grandmother's trust fund goodbye."

The memory of Preston's voice played on a loop in her head. Kaliyah Acevedo stepped out of the elevator. The thick carpet of the Elysium Hotel's top floor absorbed the sound of her footsteps. She took a deep breath. The air in her lungs felt like crushed glass. Her fingers gripped the cheap leather of her clutch so hard her knuckles turned a stark, bone white.

She walked down the long, silent corridor. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Three years of a paper marriage to a man she had never met. Now, her father was forcing this meeting. She stopped in front of the presidential suite. She raised her fist to knock.

The heavy carved wooden door was already cracked open.

Kaliyah pushed it. The hinges made no sound. The entryway was dark. The only light came from the dim sconces on the walls. The air inside hit her face. It was unnaturally hot. A thick, suffocating heat that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

"Bryton?" she called out. Her voice was barely a whisper.

The only answer was a heavy, ragged breath from the shadows.

She stepped carefully past the foyer. She walked around a large decorative screen. A man's suit jacket lay crumpled on the floor. A silk tie was discarded a few feet away.

A large, burning hot hand shot out from the darkness.

Long fingers wrapped around her wrist like an iron vice. The heat of his skin seared through her thin blouse. Before she could even gasp, a brutal force yanked her forward. She crashed into a wall of solid muscle.

The heavy scent of aged whiskey and raw male sweat flooded her senses. It choked the air out of her lungs.

She pushed her hands against his chest. His muscles were rigid and slick with sweat. He was a furnace.

Bryton Lott slammed her back against the cold wall. The impact knocked the breath out of her. His eyes were bloodshot. The pupils were blown wide, swallowing the iris. He could not focus on her face. He just stared blindly at her silhouette.

He let out a low, guttural curse. The sound was thick with absolute agony and blind hunger.

"I am your..." Kaliyah opened her mouth to speak.

His large hand snapped up. His fingers clamped around her jaw, forcing her mouth shut. The grip was punishing.

His mouth crashed down on hers. It was not a kiss. It was a violent collision. His teeth scraped against her bottom lip. The taste of copper bloomed in her mouth. She hit his shoulders with her free hand. She punched the hard muscle of his back.

He did not even flinch. He grabbed both of her wrists in one massive hand and pinned them above her head against the wallpaper.

His free hand grabbed the collar of her silk blouse. He pulled. The fabric tore. Buttons popped off and hit the hardwood floor like tiny bullets.

The cold air of the room hit her bare skin. Kaliyah shivered violently. The involuntary movement only made the man more feral.

His breathing was entirely out of control. His skin was burning up. Kaliyah realized it instantly. He was heavily drugged.

She twisted her hips. She dropped her weight, trying to use a close-quarters combat sweep to take his legs out. It was a move that had dropped men twice her size during her operative training.

Bryton simply shifted his massive frame. He pinned her legs with his knee. The drug pumping through his veins gave him terrifying strength. Her violent thrashing seemed only to stoke the chemical fire in his blood, making his movements more powerful and entirely uncontrollable.

He bent down and scooped her up. He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

Kaliyah slammed her fists into his back. He ignored it. He took long, heavy strides across the room and kicked the bathroom door open.

He tossed her onto the wide marble vanity.

The stone was freezing. The shock of the cold marble against her bare back made her gasp. Bryton pressed his burning body against hers, trapping her on the counter. The extreme temperature difference made her stomach knot.

His arm hit the shower handle behind her. Freezing water blasted out of the overhead fixture. It soaked them both in seconds.

The icy water plastered her hair to her face. It did nothing to cool the fire in his blood. The water only made his grip tighter. His eyes darkened with pure, unhinged possession.

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through her body.

Kaliyah bit down hard on her own lip. Her teeth broke the skin. Warm blood mixed with the freezing water running down her chin. Tears spilled from her eyes, instantly washed away by the shower.

Bryton froze for a fraction of a second. His body tensed as if registering her lack of experience. But the chemical wave in his brain drowned out any rational thought. The storm took over completely.

Time lost its meaning under the freezing downpour.

When it finally ended, the drug's peak crashed. Bryton's massive body went entirely slack. He collapsed onto the wet floor beside the large bathtub, falling into a dead, unnatural sleep.

Kaliyah lay on the cold marble. Every muscle in her body screamed in pain. Her chest heaved. She pushed herself up. Her arms shook so badly she almost slipped on the wet stone.

She looked down at the man on the floor. His face was striking, all sharp jawlines and straight nose. But to her, he was a monster.

A cold, heavy block of humiliation settled in her stomach. She grabbed her torn, soaked clothes from the floor. She pulled them on with numb fingers.

She turned toward the bathroom door.

Footsteps echoed in the outer hallway. Heavy, fast, and accompanied by the sound of men talking.

The electronic beep of the suite's front door unlocking cut through the silence.

Kaliyah stopped dead. She held her breath. Her lungs burned. She stepped backward, melting into the deep shadows beside the bathroom door.

Cassian Thorne walked into the suite. Two large men in black suits followed him.

Cassian looked around the empty living room. He turned to the men.

"Wait in the hall. Do not let anyone on this floor."

The men nodded and stepped out. The heavy door clicked shut.

Cassian walked into the bedroom. He pulled a phone from his pocket and dialed a number.

Kaliyah peeked around the doorframe. Water dripped from her hair onto the floor.

"The suite is empty," Cassian said into the phone. "But someone definitely spiked Mr. Lott's drink. I need the security feeds from the lobby to the roof. Now."

A low groan came from the bathroom floor.

Bryton shifted. His hand twitched against the wet tiles.

Cassian hung up the phone immediately. He rushed toward the bathroom.

The moment Cassian turned his back and stepped through the bathroom doorway, Kaliyah moved. She slid out of the shadows. Her bare feet made zero sound on the floor. She darted across the room and slipped behind the heavy velvet curtains of the massive four-poster bed.

"Mr. Lott," Cassian's voice came from the bathroom. "Are you alright?"

A string of hoarse, violent curses filled the air. Bryton's voice was rough, like sandpaper rubbing against stone.

"Get out," Bryton snarled. "Get the hell out. I need to clean off this filth."

"Sir, we need to find out who..."

"I said get out!"

Footsteps retreated. Cassian walked out of the bedroom. The main door of the suite opened and closed.

Kaliyah let out a slow, silent breath. Her chest ached.

The sound of the shower turning on high echoed from the bathroom. Bryton was washing her off him.

Kaliyah stepped out from behind the curtains. She walked over to the nightstand to grab her clutch. As she moved, her eyes caught the crumpled men's suit jacket discarded near the screen. The freezing night air outside demanded protection. She snatched the heavy, oversized blazer from the floor and pulled it over her torn blouse, the fabric swallowing her small frame.

A phone lay face up on the polished wood. The screen lit up. The vibration buzzed against the table.

The caller ID displayed a name: Preston Acevedo.

The bathroom door cracked open. Steam rolled out. Bryton's cold, harsh voice cut through the room. He stood leaning heavily against the doorframe, water dripping from his jaw. He held a phone in his trembling hand, the device set to speakerphone as he fought through the lingering haze of the drug.

"Preston," Bryton said. The disgust in his tone was physical. It felt like a slap.

Kaliyah froze. She stared at the phone.

"Do not call me again," Bryton spat. "You are a pathetic social climber. Selling your own daughter to keep your sinking ship afloat makes me sick."

Kaliyah's stomach dropped.

"And that useless, invisible wife you forced on me?" Bryton laughed. It was a cruel, hollow sound. "She is not even fit to shine my shoes. Tell her to keep hiding. If I see her face, I will hand her the divorce papers myself."

Kaliyah's fingernails dug into the palms of her hands. The skin broke. A tiny drop of blood welled up.

The fear and humiliation in her chest vanished. A hot, blinding anger took its place. The blood rushed to her ears.

She opened her clutch. She pulled out her wallet with shaking fingers. She took out a crumpled, worn one-hundred-dollar bill.

She picked up the heavy Montblanc pen resting next to the phone. She pressed the nib against the paper.

She wrote fast. The ink bled slightly into the fabric of the bill.

"Terrible technique. Here is a tip."

She slammed the pen down. She lifted Bryton's heavy platinum watch and shoved the bill underneath it. The green edge of the money stuck out, impossible to miss.

The water in the bathroom shut off.

Heavy footsteps moved toward the door.

Kaliyah looked at the main entrance. Cassian and the guards were right outside. She turned her head toward the glass doors leading to the private terrace.

She walked fast. She pushed the glass door open. The freezing night wind of New York hit her wet clothes. She shivered, but she did not stop.

She walked to the edge of the terrace. She looked over the stone railing. The drop to the street was dizzying. But the terrace of the adjacent building was only about six feet away.

For a normal person, it was suicide. For a former operative, it was a warm-up.

She took three steps back. She took a deep breath.

The bedroom door handle clicked.

Kaliyah sprinted forward. Her foot hit the stone railing. She pushed off with explosive force. Her body launched into the dark, empty air just as Bryton stepped into the bedroom.

Bryton walked out of the bathroom. A white towel hung low on his hips. He grabbed another towel and rubbed the freezing water from his hair. His muscles still twitched from the chemical aftershocks.

He walked to the nightstand. He reached for his watch.

His fingers stopped in mid-air. The watch was moved.

He saw the edge of the green paper. He pulled the watch away. The crumpled one-hundred-dollar bill sat on the dark wood.

Bryton stared at the black ink.

The words registered in his brain. His pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks. The air in his lungs completely vanished.

A hot, violent flush of pure rage crawled up his neck. The vein at his temple throbbed against his skin.

He snatched the bill off the table. He crushed it in his fist. His knuckles popped.

He threw his arm back and hurled the crumpled ball at the floor. He kicked the heavy brass floor lamp next to the bed. The metal snapped. The lamp crashed into the wall and shattered into pieces.

The main door flew open. Cassian rushed in, his hand reaching inside his jacket.

Cassian stopped. He looked at the broken lamp. He looked at Bryton's heaving chest and the absolute murder in his eyes. Cassian immediately lowered his head. He stared at the carpet.

"Lock down the hotel," Bryton's voice was a low, terrifying growl. "Pull every camera. Check every exit."

"Sir?"

"Find the woman who was in this room!" Bryton roared. The sound vibrated in the windows. "Dig up the entire city if you have to. When you find her, bring her to me."

Two buildings away, Kaliyah's boots hit the concrete of the adjacent terrace. She rolled to absorb the impact. Her shoulder slammed into the ground. Pain shot down her arm.

She ignored it. She scrambled to her feet and ran for the fire escape.

She climbed down the rusted iron stairs. The freezing wind cut through her torn blouse. She reached the bottom and dropped into a dark, narrow alleyway.

She leaned her back against the cold brick wall. She gasped for air. Her chest burned.

She reached into her clutch and pulled out her phone. She dialed Preston's number.

He answered on the first ring. "Kaliyah? Did it happen? Is it done?" His voice was thick with fake concern and raw greed.

A wave of nausea hit her stomach. "Did you spike his drink?" Her voice was dead. Flat.

"What? No! I just arranged the room. I wanted you two to bond. To secure the marriage."

"You drugged him," Kaliyah stated. The cold brick pressed against her spine. "You thought if I got pregnant, the Lott family would bail out your sinking company."

Preston's tone changed. The fake warmth vanished. "You listen to me, you ungrateful brat. You do what I say. If you ruin this, you will never see a dime of your grandmother's trust fund. I will freeze it forever."

The last thread holding her heart to this man snapped. She felt the physical break in her chest. It left behind a hollow, freezing void.

"Keep the money," Kaliyah said. Her voice was ice. "Do not ever contact me again."

"Kaliyah! You little-"

She pulled the phone away from her ear. She hit end. She went into the settings and blocked his number.

She shoved the phone back into her bag. She pulled the oversized men's blazer she had snatched from the hotel room tighter around her chest and walked out of the alley into the harsh streetlights.

She walked two blocks until she found a twenty-four-hour convenience store. The bell chimed as she pushed the door open.

She walked to the candy aisle. She picked up a cheap strawberry lollipop. She paid the cashier, unwrapped it, and shoved it into her mouth.

The intense, artificial sugar hit her tongue. It forced the bile back down her throat. It was a physical anchor. A habit from her operative days when the stress made her want to kill someone.

She walked out and raised her hand. A yellow cab pulled over.

She gave the driver the address to a cheap, run-down apartment building near the university.

She leaned her head against the cold glass of the window. The neon lights of the city blurred as the car sped forward. She looked at her own pale reflection in the glass.

She needed money. She needed it fast. The game had just changed.