Woke Up Married To The Ruthless Heir

Caroline's skull throbbed in time with a heartbeat that felt entirely too loud.

She let out a dry, cracked groan. The sound scraped against her throat.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the harsh, blinding sunlight stabbing through the gap in the floor-to-ceiling blackout curtains.

Then, she felt it.

A heavy, suffocating heat draped across her bare waist. It was an arm. A massive, muscular arm.

Caroline's body went rigid. The breath trapped in her lungs turned to ice.

Panic flooded her veins, sharp and electric. She held her breath, her chest burning, and slowly lifted the edge of the high-end down comforter.

She peeked inside.

She was completely naked.

A sharp gasp tore from her throat. She slapped both hands over her mouth, pressing hard enough to bruise her lips.

Moving like a rusted machine, she turned her head an inch at a time.

Her gaze landed on the face of a stranger. He was breathtakingly handsome, with a sharp jawline and thick, dark lashes resting against his cheekbones.

Fragmented memories from last night at that downtown Manhattan bar crashed into her brain. The flashing lights. The burning shots of tequila.

She remembered missing a step on the stairs. She remembered a pair of strong hands catching her waist. After that, nothing. Just a terrifying, black void.

She had to get out of here. Now.

Caroline pinched the heavy wrist resting on her stomach with her trembling fingertips. She tried to lift it, moving with agonizing slowness.

The man shifted. His dark eyebrows pulled together in a slight frown.

His arm tightened instinctively, dragging her bare back flush against his rock-hard chest.

Caroline squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't dare to breathe. She lay frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird, until the man's breathing deepened into a steady rhythm again.

This was her chance.

She slid down the mattress like a snake, her bare skin catching on the silk sheets.

Her bare feet hit the freezing marble floor. A violent shiver ripped through her spine.

She dropped to her knees, her hands frantically digging through the pile of discarded clothes near the nightstand.

She found her bra. She found her dress.

Her fingers traced the side of the fabric. The zipper was completely ripped off its track.

"Shit," she hissed under her breath, a hot flush of anger and humiliation burning her cheeks.

She scrambled to her feet and lunged toward the bathroom door, snatching a massive white hotel bathrobe off the hook. She shoved her arms into the sleeves and pulled the lapels tight across her chest, tying the belt in a vicious knot.

She grabbed her broken heels in one hand and the ruined dress in the other.

She walked on her tiptoes, inching toward the heavy mahogany suite door.

Her fingertips brushed the cold brass of the doorknob.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?"

The voice was low, raspy from sleep, and came from directly behind her.

Caroline froze. A cold sweat broke out across the back of her neck. Her stomach dropped to the floor.

She sucked in a sharp breath, plastered a fake, apologetic smile on her face, and slowly turned around.

He was sitting up. The silk sheets pooled at his waist, exposing a broad chest covered in faint, red scratch marks.

Her scratch marks.

He stared at her. He blinked, a slight frown of sleep-induced confusion briefly clouding his perfect features as he took in her bathrobe and the hand on the doorknob. For a split second, he looked like a normal man just startled from rest. But as the reality of her attempt to flee clicked in his mind, that fleeting vulnerability completely vanished. The muscles in his jaw ticked. His eyes, a piercing, icy blue, hardened instantly, stripping away any lingering morning haze. He was wide awake. And he was furious.

"I... I'm so sorry," Caroline stammered, her voice shaking. "I had too much to drink. This was just a mistake. Two consenting adults, right? A drunken accident."

The man let out a dark, humorless laugh.

He threw the covers off and stood up. He didn't bother to cover himself.

The visual shock hit Caroline like a physical blow. She screamed, dropping her shoes, and slapped both hands over her eyes.

"Don't look at me!" she shrieked.

She heard the heavy, deliberate thud of his bare feet against the thick carpet. He was walking toward her. The air in the room seemed to shrink, suffocating her.

His hands clamped around her wrists. He yanked her hands away from her face with brutal force.

"Look at me," he commanded.

He backed her up until her spine slammed against the solid wood of the door. He planted one large hand on the wood right next to her head, trapping her completely.

He leaned in. She could smell mint and the musky scent of sex on his skin.

"You took my innocence," he whispered, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. "A simple 'mistake' isn't going to cut it."

Caroline stared at him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He had to be out of his mind. This gorgeous man was a clinical psychopath.

The corner of his mouth curled into a predatory smirk.

"You are going to take responsibility," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You are going to marry me."

Caroline stared at him for three agonizing seconds before a dry, hysterical laugh ripped from her throat.

She thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted hangover prank.

But the man's expression didn't change. His icy blue eyes narrowed dangerously. He just stood there, his massive frame caging her in, watching her laugh.

Caroline's laughter died in her throat. A chill crawled up her spine.

He was serious.

"Absolutely not," she snapped, her survival instincts kicking in.

She gripped her torn dress tighter, shoved her hands against his solid chest, and tried to push him away. It was like pushing against a brick wall.

He easily shifted his weight, blocking her path to the doorknob again. He looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

"Marry me," he said smoothly, "and I will give you endless wealth. Top-tier social status. Absolute protection. You will never have to worry about a single thing for the rest of your life."

Caroline rolled her eyes so hard they ached.

He was either a delusional schizophrenic or a really high-end con artist.

"Thanks for the generous offer," she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "But I have to go to my shift at the diner so I can pay my rent. Move."

He took a step closer. The aggressive scent of cedar and mint completely enveloped her, making her lungs tight.

He reached out. His long, calloused fingers lightly traced the line of her jaw.

A violent, uncontrollable shudder wrecked through Caroline's body at his touch.

She slapped his hand away. The smack echoed in the quiet room.

"I am not going to be bought by a lunatic whose name I don't even know!" she yelled.

Before he could react, she ducked. She slipped right under his outstretched arm, grabbed the brass handle, and yanked the heavy door open.

She expected him to grab her hair. She expected him to tackle her.

But he didn't.

He just stood there in the center of the room. A cold, calculating smirk played on his lips as he watched her run.

Caroline sprinted down the hallway. Her bare feet slapped against the plush carpet.

She reached the elevator bank and slammed her palm against the down button repeatedly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She kept throwing terrified glances over her shoulder, expecting the madman to come charging out of the suite.

The metal doors slid open. She threw herself inside and frantically jammed her finger into the 'Close Door' button.

The doors shut.

She collapsed against the cold metal wall of the elevator car. Her chest heaved. A wave of immense relief washed over her as the digital numbers ticked down.

When the doors opened at the lobby, she sprinted out. A burly security guard immediately stepped forward, raising his hands. "Ma'am, do you need assistance? You can't run through here-" But Caroline dodged him like a terrified animal, her bare feet skidding on the polished floor. She ignored the shocked gasps of the concierge, the bellhop, and the frantic shouts of the security team as she ran through the opulent marble lobby wearing nothing but a hotel bathrobe.

The bright morning sun of New York City blinded her for a second. She ran to the curb and aggressively waved her arm at a passing yellow cab.

The cab screeched to a halt. She dove into the backseat.

"Brooklyn," she gasped out, rattling off the address of her rundown apartment building. "Please, just drive."

The cab merged into the heavy traffic. Caroline melted into the cracked leather seat.

She dug into her canvas tote bag with shaking hands, pulling out her phone to call the police. The screen was black. Dead battery.

She pressed the heels of her hands into her temples, pushing hard until it hurt. She tried to piece together last night. Her roommate had ditched her at the bar. She had been drinking alone.

A sudden flash of memory hit her-the handsome stranger sliding a shot of tequila across the sticky bar counter toward her.

She groaned, dropping her head between her knees.

The cab jerked to a stop outside a brick building with peeling paint. The stark contrast to the luxury hotel made her stomach churn.

She dug a few crumpled bills from the bottom of her bag, shoved them through the partition, and pushed the door open.

She walked into the damp, dark stairwell. The broken heel of her shoe clacked loudly against the concrete steps as she climbed to the third floor.

Her hands were shaking so violently she dropped her keys twice before finally getting the deadbolt to turn.

She pushed the door open. The sight of her cramped, messy, but familiar living room made her knees buckle with relief.

She tossed her bag onto the scratched coffee table and let her body fall heavily onto the cheap fabric sofa. Every muscle in her body ached with exhaustion.

She closed her eyes. The nightmare was over. She had escaped the crazy rich guy. She was safe.

A sharp cramp in Caroline's stomach woke her up.

She groaned, peeling her face off the rough fabric of the sofa. Her entire body felt like it had been hit by a truck.

She dragged herself into the tiny, cramped bathroom. She turned on the faucet and splashed freezing water onto her face, scrubbing her skin until it was raw, trying to wash away the lingering scent of cedar and mint.

When she looked up at the cracked mirror, she froze.

Right on her collarbone, glaring against her pale skin, was a dark purple bruise. A hickey.

Heat exploded in her cheeks. Her stomach twisted with fresh humiliation.

She grabbed her cheap concealer and aggressively dabbed it over the mark, pressing so hard her skin burned. She just wanted to erase it.

She threw on a pair of baggy jeans and an oversized gray hoodie, grabbed her keys and wallet, and headed downstairs.

She pushed open the glass door of the independent corner coffee shop. The familiar, comforting smell of roasted beans and burnt sugar made the tight knot in her shoulders loosen slightly.

She stood in line, mindlessly looking out the large front window at the street.

Her hand reached into her hoodie pocket, her fingers brushing against empty air. A sudden, sickening realization hit her. Last night, she had shoved the coffee shop's distinctive punch card and a recent receipt into her dress pocket-the same dress she had abandoned on his hotel floor. He had her name from the card. He knew exactly where she spent her mornings.

Then, her blood ran cold.

A massive, pitch-black Maybach was parked illegally right in front of the coffee shop, completely blocking the crosswalk.

The rear door swung open.

He stepped out. He was wearing a perfectly tailored, charcoal-gray bespoke suit. He looked like a god stepping onto the dirty Brooklyn pavement.

Caroline gasped, sucking in a sharp breath of air. She immediately dropped into a crouch, trying to make herself as small as possible behind the glass pastry display case.

The bell above the door chimed cheerfully.

He walked in. The sheer, overwhelming power of his presence made the noisy coffee shop fall dead silent for a full second.

His sharp, predatory eyes scanned the room like a radar. They locked onto the small, trembling figure huddled behind the croissants with terrifying precision.

He walked straight toward her. He ignored the stares of the other customers.

He stopped right in front of the display case. The polished tip of his expensive leather shoe was inches from Caroline's knee.

"Do you find this game of hide-and-seek amusing?" his deep, mocking voice floated down to her.

Caroline had nowhere to run. Her lungs burned as she forced herself to stand up. She dusted off her jeans with shaking hands and glared at him.

"How did you find me?" she hissed through gritted teeth, keeping her voice low.

He didn't answer. Instead, a man in a sharp suit-his assistant-stepped up beside him and handed him a thick, heavy black folder.

He slammed the folder down onto the empty table next to them. The sound made Caroline jump.

Printed in bold, black letters across the top page were the words: Lawsuit for Damages.

Caroline frowned. She reached out with trembling fingers and flipped open the cover. Her eyes widened as she read the first paragraph. It made absolutely no sense.

He planted both hands on the table, leaning in close.

"The security cameras in the VIP corridor captured everything last night," he stated, his tone deadpan and completely serious.

Caroline stared at him, her mouth hanging open.

"They recorded you entering my private suite uninvited," he continued smoothly. "Given my position, my security team has already compiled a dossier that frames this as a calculated act of corporate espionage and extortion. And this morning, your actions constituted fleeing the scene of a severe crime."

Caroline let out a loud, incredulous bark of laughter. "Are you insane? That is the most ridiculous, shameless lie I have ever heard in my life!"

He snapped his fingers.

The assistant immediately hauled in a massive stack of legal files and high-resolution surveillance photographs, dropping them onto the table.

He flipped open the top file. It was stamped with the official seals of three different top-tier law firms in Manhattan. The legal jargon was dense, but the threat was clear.

"I have the evidence to bury you," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "If you do not marry me today, my legal team will ensure this lawsuit is on the front page of every newspaper in New York by tomorrow morning."

He leaned closer, his breath brushing her ear. "I will bankrupt you. The legal fees alone will destroy the middle-class life your parents spent thirty years building in the suburbs. They will lose their house within a week."

The anger in Caroline's chest evaporated, instantly replaced by a suffocating, icy terror.

She looked into his cold, ruthless eyes. He wasn't bluffing. He had the money to destroy her family just for fun.

She looked out the window at the million-dollar car. She had messed with a man who existed in a stratosphere of power she couldn't even comprehend.

Her psychological defenses shattered.

Her eyes filled with hot, angry tears. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth so hard.

"Fine," she choked out, her voice breaking. "I'll marry you."