Trapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Lawyer

Eleanor clutched the paper cup tightly in her hand , her fingertips turning white. In the interrogation room, this paper cup became her only support.

Across the metal table, Detective Sullivan's gaze pressed down on her like a heavy stone, searching for loopholes in her story.

"So, you mean Kensington forced you?" he asked in a flat tone, without a trace of sympathy.

Sullivan 's fingers tapped on the keyboard like tiny hammers, striking Eleanor's taut nerves. She forced herself to meet his gaze, to meet his eyes.

"Yes," Eleanor said, her voice trembling but firm. She cleared her throat. "Last night. In his penthouse." She recited the details she had rehearsed countless times, the lines sounding so real.

Sullivan stopped typing. His gaze shifted downwards, taking in her worn jeans and faded thin coat. It was a scrutiny. An unspoken question hung between them: Why would a man like Damian Kensington be interested in a woman like you?

A sense of humiliation burned fiercely in Eleanor's stomach. She bit her lower lip hard, the intense pain temporarily making her forget the shame in her heart.

Suddenly, a new sound broke the silence in the corridor-the sound of leather shoes on the linoleum floor. Behind the blinds of the small window by the door, shadows flickered.

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat.

The heavy door was pushed open abruptly, and a blast of cold air rushed in.

Damian Kensington stood in the doorway like a ghost of wealth and power. He wore a custom-made charcoal gray suit. His legal team, three equally well-dressed men, flanked him, making the small room feel like a cage.

Damian's deep, cold, steely eyes swept over the detective and finally settled on Eleanor. Those eyes pinned her to the cheap plastic chair. Eleanor instinctively shrank back, a useless urge to disappear welling up within her.

One of the lawyers, with silver hair and a cold expression, stepped forward and slammed a thick file heavily on the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot, startling Eleanor. Her carefully maintained composure crumbled instantly.

Damian exuded a languid elegance in every gesture. He slowly entered the room and sat down in the chair next to Eleanor . Damian crossed his long legs. A faint, mocking smile flickered across his lips.

Detective Sullivan, who had just been acting like an authoritative figure, suddenly stood up.

"Mr. Kensington," he said, his tone shifting instantly from condescending to obsequious, "we were just taking notes on Ms. Hayes' testimony."

The blatant shift in power relations and the direct veneration of wealth struck Eleanor like a heavy blow to the stomach. Despair, cold and utter, spread through her heart.

Damian finally spoke. He didn't even glance at Sullivan; his gaze remained fixed on Eleanor.

" Give it to me," Damian ordered his lawyer.

The silver-haired lawyer pulled out a small USB drive and plugged it into the police station's computer. The monitor lit up. Eleanor's heart pounded, and her palms were soaked with cold sweat.

The screen shows a bedroom. Damian's bedroom. The image is blurry, a black and white picture taken by a high-definition night vision camera.

Eleanor couldn't look away. The video played, a silent yet heartbreaking clip from last night. In it, she clumsily and desperately reached out to him. Her hand climbed onto his shoulder, her body pressed tightly against his. It wasn't a struggle, but a one-sided seduction.

The cruel and merciless truth slapped Eleanor hard in the face.

Detective Sullivan chuckled softly, a knowing look on his face. The laughter filled Eleanor with unbearable shame. A sharp pain gripped her stomach, as if a knot had been torn open.

Damian moved closer, his breath enveloping Eleanor . "What a terrible performance," he whispered, laying bare her despair. "You could at least have acted a little more convincingly."

Damian's lead attorney pushed a document across the table, then handed him a pen. "This is a statement withdrawing your complaint. Please sign it. We've also attached a memorandum outlining New York State's penalties for perjury. The penalties are... very severe."

"My brother..." Eleanor began, her words choking in her throat, uttering a final, desperate plea.

"I have absolutely no interest in the tragic stories of the lower classes," Damian interrupted her, his voice icy and chilling.

Sullivan snatched the pen and slammed it onto the paper. "You heard me. Sign it, or you'll be the one leaving here in handcuffs."

Eleanor's hand trembled as she reached for the pen. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging, but she forced them back. She couldn't let them fall in front of him. The pen nib scratched across the paper, a soft, grating sound-a declaration of her utter defeat.

Eleanor finished signing her name, it felt as if all the strength had been drained from her body. She slumped into the hard chair, gasping for breath, but unable to catch her breath.

Damian straightened the cuffs of his crisp shirt, appearing indifferent. He glanced at the signed document as if it were a piece of trash.

He stood up, turned and walked towards the door.

Something deep inside Eleanor broke down.

She stood up abruptly, the chair overturning behind her with a screeching sound.

"Why?" she cried out in a hoarse voice. "Why are you hurting everyone? Isn't it enough that you're protecting Trent Knight?"

Damian stopped at the doorway, his back to her. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see his profile in the glaring fluorescent light. He glanced back, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. He didn't bother to answer.

One of his lawyers stepped between them. "I suggest you keep your distance, Ms. Hayes."

Damian pushed open the door and walked out. The light in the corridor outlined his broad shoulders; he was an invincible figure.

The door slammed shut. It severed all of Eleanor 's hopes, leaving her all alone.

Tears finally welled up and streamed hot down Eleanor 's cheeks.

"Get out!" Sullivan snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. "This isn't a theater."

Eleanor covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle her sobs. She awkwardly groped for the tattered canvas bag on the ground.

Her world had collapsed. She pushed open the heavy door and stumbled into the long, indifferent corridor.

The police station corridor was noisy . Eleanor felt like a ghost drifting through the crowd. Her eyes searched frantically for that tall figure.

Right there. At the end of the corridor, Damian stood beside a buzzing vending machine. He was on the phone , his back to her , and the lawyers who had been surrounding him were nowhere to be seen . The passing police officers and detectives kept their distance, a tacit acceptance of his intimidating presence.

A reckless and desperate impulse surged through her. She acted blindly.

Eleanor pushed aside a uniformed police officer and walked straight up to Damian, blocking his way.

Damian's eyes were cold and impatient, a flicker of annoyance crossing them. He hung up the phone without a word. He looked down at Eleanor , his expression like that of a man carefully examining the sole of a shoe and discovering something indecent.

"I know you're Trent Knight's lawyer, the one who represented him in my brother's case," she blurted out.

Eleanor gave a low, cold laugh , narrowing her eyes. "What good do you think those words will do to me?"

The arrogance in his tone left her feeling choked up. She tasted blood and realized she had bitten the inside of her lip. She had to try. For Leo.

"Please," Eleanor whispered, "last night... I... that was my first time. Please, let my brother go. He's innocent."

For a fleeting moment, a strange glint seemed to flash in Damian 's eyes. But it vanished in an instant, replaced by an even colder mask.

Damian took a step forward, forcing Eleanor to step back until her shoulder slammed against the cold, whitewashed concrete wall. His shoe was only inches away from hers.

He leaned closer to Eleanor and whispered venomously, " I knew you were Leo Hayes' sister before you even stepped into my room. Do you really think you're that smart ? "

The world seemed to tilt. Eleanor felt a chill run down her spine. This was a meticulously planned destruction. Eyes wide open, she walked step by step into the trap. Shock must have been on her face, for Damian's cruel smile had grown even brighter.

Damian raised a hand and gripped Eleanor 's chin, forcing her to look up. "Let me make this clear," he stared at her, "your pathetic seduction, your 'first time'... it's worthless. It can't even get me to change a single comma on a legal document. You are nothing."

A hot tear slid down Eleanor 's cheek and landed on the back of his hand.

Damian recoiled as if burned, a flash of disgust crossing his face. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a dark silk handkerchief, and carefully wiped away the traces of her tears that had stained his skin.

That action utterly shattered Eleanor . Her legs gave way, and she slid down the wall, collapsing to her knees on the floor. All her pride, all her dignity, vanished. Trembling, she reached out and grabbed the hem of his trousers.

"Name your price," Eleanor pleaded, her voice choked with emotion. "Anything. I'll do anything. Just get my brother out of Rikers Island prison. They'll kill him in there."

Damian looked down at her hand on his trousers with disgust . He jerked his leg back, and her fingers slid off the fabric.

Damian released the handkerchief from her hand. It fluttered down and landed on the floor in front of her-a final and most severe insult.

"Stay away from Trent Knight," Damian said calmly but menacingly. "If you get any closer to him or touch this case again, I guarantee you won't be able to find a job cleaning toilets in this city."

Damian turned and left without looking back.

Eleanor watched him disappear behind the revolving glass doors of the police station.

Eleanor gritted her teeth, her muscles aching. She leaned against the wall, her trembling hands pressing hard against the ground. She forced herself to stand, trying to regain her balance, but her steps remained unsteady.

She roughly wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her hand, her movements filled with anger. The vulnerability in her eyes was slowly replaced by hardness.

Stepping out of the police station and onto its steps, the chilly morning wind slapped her across the face like a cruel blow. She pulled out her phone; it was a missed call from Leo. She couldn't bear to see him.

She opened her browser, her fingers flying across the screen. Lenox Hill Private Hospital. Emergency room admission.

A link to a gossip column popped up. Trent Knight, heir to the Knight Hotel Group, is recovering from a vicious attack at his private wing in Lenox Hills.

Eleanor has already locked onto her target.

Eleanor took a deep breath of New York air, her breathing rapid and heavy. She shoved her phone back into her bag, and a reckless plan began to take shape in her mind.

Eleanor pulled her coat tighter, stepped down the stairs, and blended into the bustling Manhattan crowd of the early morning. She needed to catch the subway. If Trent's lawyer wouldn't listen to her, she would go directly to Trent, the man who framed her brother.

The transition from the filthy, chaotic subway station to the tranquil, luxurious lobby of the Lenox Hill private wing felt jarring. The air was thick with the smells of money and disinfectant, a cold, unpleasant mingling that made Eleanor nauseous. Her worn-out sneakers clashed incongruously on the gleaming marble floor, making a harsh, jarring sound.

Eleanor kept her head down, avoiding the sharp, professional gazes of the reception nurses. Following the news reports, she located the elevator reserved for VIP suites and slipped inside just as the doors were about to close. Her heart pounded, fear and adrenaline churning in a rapid, frantic rhythm.

The rooftop was quiet, carpeted, with abstract paintings on the walls-paintings that probably cost more than her brother's entire defense fee. Eleanor found the room number-PH-3-and paused. The heavy wooden door was slightly ajar.

She peeked through the crack in the door and saw him. Trent Knight was leaning against a pile of soft pillows, a game controller in his hand, the flickering light from the large screen illuminating his face. An IV bag hung beside the bed, but the clear liquid slowly dripping into his arm looked more like saline solution than some potent medication. He wasn't a victim. He was on vacation.

A burning rage raged within Eleanor. She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms.

She took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

Trent looked up from the game, his expression shifting from annoyance to surprise, then to a greedy, predatory gaze. His eyes lingered on her, on her face and body, as if she were an unexpected dish on a menu.

"Yo, yo," Trent said slowly, tossing the game controller onto the bed. "Look what the cat brought. Leo's sister."

Eleanor, fighting back trembling hands, walked to the foot of the bed. "I want you to tell the police the truth," she said, her voice much calmer than she realized. "Tell them you struck first. Say Leo was only acting in self-defense."

Trent threw his head back and laughed, his arrogant laughter echoing throughout the room. "You're even dumber than him. Why would I do that?"

He dangled his legs off the edge of the bed, casually pulled the IV needle from the back of his hand without even flinching. He stood up, wearing only a pair of silk pajama bottoms, and strode towards her.

Eleanor instinctively took a step back, her courage crumbling instantly. Trent was much taller than she remembered, his presence filling the entire space with a suffocating sense of threat. She retreated until her back pressed against the cold, hard wall.

He reached out and twirled a strand of her hair around his finger, then brought it to his nose and sniffed dramatically. "You smell better than your brother," he whispered.

Eleanor felt nauseous and slapped his hand away. "Leo is innocent," Eleanor insisted, raising her voice. "Don't do this."

Trent's nonchalant demeanor vanished instantly, his face darkening and his eyes hardening. "I can do whatever I want," he roared. "I can make one phone call and your brother will have to be transferred to a different cellmate at Rikers Island. Do you think he can last a week?"

The threat struck at the deepest fear within Eleanor. Her defenses crumbled instantly. The anger in her eyes was replaced by desperate pleading, and fear enveloped her.

Seeing Eleanor's terrified expression, Trent's lewd smile returned. He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head, trapping her. The cloying scent of cologne emanating from him was suffocating.

"But," he said in a low, mysterious voice, "I'm a reasonable person. You want me to drop the charges? Fine. You just have to... be nice to me. Spend a week with me. Let me have some fun."

The suggestion was so despicable and so vile that it made her feel nauseous.

He leaned closer, his face almost touching hers, his hot, astringent breath spraying onto her skin.

She turned her head, closed her eyes tightly, and raised her hands to press against his bare chest. He was strong, with powerful, well-defined muscles. Panic gripped her throat.

Bang!

Eleanor's eyes snapped open. Trent froze, his lips just inches from hers. They both turned sharply toward the doorway.

The door was kicked open.

Damian Kensington stood in the doorway, radiating murderous rage.

His gaze swept across the scene before him-Trent pinned a terrified Eleanor against the wall. A pure rage brewed deep within his dark eyes.

He moved with astonishing speed, darting across the room. He grabbed Trent's clothes and yanked him back. He threw him to the ground . Trent crashed to the floor with a painful scream.

Trent sat bolt upright, his face filled with shock and fear. "Damian? What's going on?" he stammered, then his voice lowered, becoming pleading. "Cousin... I just..."

cousin.

The word struck Eleanor like lightning, leaving her mind blank. Cousins? They were relatives. Her gaze darted between Damian's angry face and Trent's horrified one, and the terrible truth began to surface. This was a family affair.

Damian didn't look at Trent again; his attention was completely focused on her. He strode forward, suddenly reaching out and gripping her wrist tightly. He held on so tightly she felt like her bones were about to break.

He stared intently at her. "You shouldn't have come here," he said through gritted teeth.

"You're all cut from the same cloth," she choked out, trying to break free from his grip. "You monsters!"

He completely ignored her struggles, turned around and roughly dragged her toward the door.

Eleanor stumbled after him, barely able to keep up. The nurses and staff in the hallway stared wide-eyed at the commotion, but no one stepped forward to help. They simply watched as Damian Kensington dragged her away.