Trapped In His Cruel Six Year Contract

Essie opened her eyes on the massive velvet bed. The morning light pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows was blinding.

She squinted, her hand instinctively reaching out across the mattress. The high-thread-count sheets on the other side were cold. The man had been gone for hours.

Essie pushed the heavy down comforter off her body. The cold air in the penthouse hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently.

She picked up the silk robe scattered on the thick rug and wrapped it tightly around herself, tying the belt with numb fingers.

Her bare feet stepped onto the freezing marble floor. She walked toward the massive, double walnut doors of the bedroom.

She grabbed the cold brass handle, pressed it down, and pushed the door open.

Essie walked down the hallway and stepped into the expansive living room. The morning sun spilled across the Persian rug, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.

She immediately saw Kieran Cortez standing by the panoramic windows.

His back was to her. He raised his hands, casually adjusting the platinum cufflinks on his custom-tailored suit.

He turned around. His deep, ruthless eyes swept over Essie. There was absolutely zero warmth in his gaze.

Kieran walked over to the massive marble kitchen island. He casually set a cup of black coffee on the counter.

He picked up a freshly delivered print copy of the New York Times and tossed it onto the marble surface right in front of Essie.

The thick newspaper landed with a heavy thud, sliding until its edge touched her fingertips.

Essie looked down. Her eyes locked onto the color photograph taking up half the front page.

It was a picture of Kieran standing next to a stunning blonde socialite. The bold headline screamed: MEDIA MOGUL ENGAGED TO WATTS HEIRESS.

Essie's heart violently contracted. Her lungs forgot how to pull in air.

She forced her head up. She strained every muscle in her face to maintain a neutral expression, pulling her lips into a stiff, unnatural smile.

"Congratulations," Essie said softly. Her voice shook.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Since you are getting married..." Essie started, her voice barely a whisper. "Does that mean... our six-year contract... is it over?"

Kieran's hand, which was reaching for his coffee cup, stopped in mid-air. The dark liquid rippled inside the porcelain.

He slowly lowered the cup. The ceramic hit the marble with a sharp, piercing clink. A dangerous glint flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth tightened into a cruel line.

Kieran took a step forward. His expensive leather shoes clicked against the floor, each sound carrying a suffocating weight as he closed the distance between them.

He backed Essie right up against the edge of the island. He planted both his hands on the marble on either side of her hips, completely trapping her in his shadow.

Kieran lowered his head. His hot breath washed over her ear.

"You don't have the right to call this off," he whispered.

Essie brought her hands up, pressing them flat against his rock-hard chest. She pushed, trying desperately to shove him away.

Kieran's hand shot out. He grabbed her slender wrist, his grip so crushing she felt like her bones were going to snap.

"The neurological repair trial at New York-Presbyterian," Kieran said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "It would be a shame if Charles lost his spot."

All the blood drained from Essie's face. Her pupils dilated in pure, unfiltered terror.

Kieran watched the fear consume her features. A look of dark satisfaction crossed his face. He lowered his head and bit down hard on her bottom lip.

Essie gasped as the sharp pain hit, followed instantly by the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth.

Kieran let go of her wrist. He stepped back and calmly straightened his tie.

"Wait for me here at eight o'clock tonight," he ordered.

He turned around and walked out the front door without looking back. The heavy door clicked shut.

Essie's knees gave out. She collapsed onto the freezing marble floor, her back sliding down the side of the island, staring blankly at the newspaper above her.

Essie survived the endless subway commute. She dragged her feet up the rotting wooden stairs of the Queens apartment building. Every step made the old wood groan.

She took the keys out of the pocket of her expensive wool coat. Her fingers were stiff and blue from the biting cold.

She shoved the key into the rusty lock, turned it twice, and pushed the heavy metal door open. The hinges shrieked in protest.

Essie stepped into the cramped, dimly lit living room and pushed the door shut behind her.

She walked over to the wobbly dining table and set down the brown paper bag containing bagels and hot coffee she had bought from the corner deli.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of wheelchair tires rolling over rough wood planks echoed from the hallway.

Essie turned her head. Her younger brother, Charles, pushed his wheelchair into the doorway of his bedroom.

Charles's eyes were like daggers. They locked instantly onto the incredibly expensive cashmere coat Essie was wearing-a coat Kieran had forced on her months ago.

His gaze slowly moved up, taking in Essie's messy hair and the smudged makeup at the corners of her eyes.

Charles's hands gripped the armrests of his wheelchair. The veins on the backs of his hands bulged against his pale skin.

He gritted his teeth. "Where the hell were you all night?" he forced the words out of his throat.

Essie's eyes darted away. She stared at the scuffed floorboards. "The ER was short-staffed. I had to pull an overnight shift," she lied, her voice barely above a whisper.

Charles snatched an empty plastic pill bottle off the small cabinet next to him and hurled it at the wall.

The bottle smacked against the peeling wallpaper with a loud crack and bounced off. Essie flinched, taking a step back.

Charles's eyes were red. "Bullshit!" he yelled. "The ER doesn't let you show up to work dressed like a damn runway model!"

His voice dripped with pure venom. "You're just a gold digger selling yourself for cash."

Charles screamed at her, his chest heaving. "You have zero self-respect! You make me sick!"

Essie's chest heaved. Her heart felt like it was being crushed by an invisible fist. The pain radiating through her ribs made it impossible to breathe.

She choked back the tears burning her eyes. She walked forward, picking up the hot paper cup of coffee, and held it out to him. "Charles, please, just calm down-"

Charles swung his arm violently. His hand smacked hard against the paper cup.

The lid popped off. Scalding hot coffee splashed directly onto the back of Essie's hand.

The skin turned a furious, angry red instantly.

The cup hit the floor, brown liquid rapidly spreading across the warped wood.

Essie sucked in a sharp breath of cold air. She grabbed her burned hand, cradling it against her chest. The tears finally pooled in her eyes.

Charles stared at the mess on the floor. His chest rose and fell rapidly. "I would rather die than use the dirty money you make spreading your legs!" he roared.

He grabbed the wheels of his chair and spun it around violently. The rubber tires rolled right through the puddle of spilled coffee.

Charles shoved his way back into his bedroom and slammed the door shut. The impact shook a layer of dust loose from the doorframe.

Essie stood completely alone in the middle of the wrecked living room. Her entire body shook uncontrollably.

She slowly crouched down. She grabbed a handful of cheap paper towels and began wiping the coffee off the floor. Her movements were robotic, completely numb.

When the floor was dry, she dragged herself to the tiny kitchen sink. She turned on the faucet and held her bright red, throbbing hand under the freezing water.

She lifted her head and stared at her pale, exhausted face in the cracked mirror above the sink.

Essie took a deep, shuddering breath. She turned off the water, walked to her room, and pulled out her blue scrubs to get ready for the hospital.

Essie walked quickly down the crowded corridor of the private Manhattan hospital. Her blue scrubs felt a size too big on her thin frame.

She had her stethoscope draped around her neck. A cheap beige band-aid was hastily slapped over the angry red burn on the back of her hand.

Essie reached the emergency department nursing station and swiped her badge. The machine let out a sharp beep.

She walked behind the counter and stood in front of her computer monitor. As soon as she logged in, she heard the hushed, excited whispers of her coworkers.

Maureen, another nurse, was excitedly tapping her phone screen. "Did you see the news? Dr. Adelle Watts is engaged!"

Essie's fingers froze over the keyboard. The letters on the patient chart blurred into a meaningless gray smear.

At that exact moment, the automatic glass doors of the ER slid open.

Adelle walked in. She wore a perfectly tailored white lab coat over a designer dress, her high heels clicking sharply against the linoleum. She looked like royalty holding court.

Adelle raised her left hand to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. The massive, flawless diamond on her ring finger caught the harsh fluorescent lights, throwing blinding sparks across the room.

The doctors and nurses immediately swarmed her, offering loud congratulations and showering her with compliments.

Essie was forced to stand up with the rest of them. She kept her head down, her fingers gripping the edge of a plastic clipboard so hard her knuckles turned white.

Adelle smiled and thanked everyone. Her smile was picture-perfect, without a single flaw.

Suddenly, the heavy, rhythmic sound of expensive leather shoes echoed from the far end of the hallway. The noisy nursing station instantly went dead silent.

Kieran walked into the ER. He was wearing a pitch-black bespoke suit. In his hand, he held a massive bouquet of incredibly expensive Ecuadorian white roses.

The nurses let out suppressed gasps, quickly parting to make a wide path for the billionaire.

Kieran's deep, predatory gaze bypassed everyone in the room. Like a heat-seeking missile, his eyes locked instantly onto Essie, who was hiding at the back of the crowd.

Essie felt his icy stare hit her. A layer of cold sweat immediately broke out across her spine.

Adelle's face lit up. She walked forward, naturally wrapping her arms around Kieran's neck, and stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Kieran didn't push her away, but his eyes never left Essie's pale face.

Essie's stomach violently churned. Acid rose in her throat. She bit down hard on her back teeth and forced herself to look away.

"I booked a table downstairs," Kieran said in a low voice to Adelle. "I came to take you to lunch."

Adelle playfully swatted his chest. She turned her head toward the nursing station and spotted Essie.

Still wearing her perfect smile, Adelle walked up to the counter. "Essie, could you hand me the physical file for the VIP patient in Room 3?"

Essie took a deep breath. She pulled the thick folder from the rack and stepped out from behind the counter.

She held the file out toward Adelle with both hands. Her fingers were trembling.

Kieran suddenly reached out his long arm. He snatched the file right before Adelle could touch it.

In the split second the file transferred hands, Kieran's rough thumb deliberately and forcefully scraped across the band-aid covering Essie's burn.

Essie gasped sharply in pain. She yanked her hand back. A clear fluid seeped out from under the bandage, where the blister had torn, sending a blinding sting up her arm.

A faint, cruel smirk touched the corner of Kieran's mouth. He handed the file to Adelle, wrapped his arm around his fiancée's waist, and turned away.

Essie stumbled backward into the nursing station. She hit the cold wall and slid down slightly, gasping for air as if she had just been pulled from underwater.