The ring feels like a shackle.
I sit stiffly in the middle of Ethan’s penthouse, glaring at the massive diamond he just slipped onto my finger. The damn thing sparkles under the chandelier light, mocking me. “This is ridiculous,” I mutter, twisting it around my finger like I can rip it off by sheer will. “You’ll wear it at all times,” Ethan says, standing over me. “No exceptions.” His voice is calm, firm, as if he’s telling me I’ll breathe air or drink water. As if this is a law of nature I can’t argue with. I scoff, shifting in my seat. “Afraid someone will think your fiancée doesn’t love you?” Ethan steps closer, his presence swallowing the space between us. He doesn’t touch me, but it feels like he does. His energy is suffocating, like a magnetic field trapping me in place. “Afraid you’ll forget this is just business?” His voice drops an octave, smooth as silk but sharp as a blade. His breath warms my skin, and for a terrifying second, my pulse skips. I hate how my body reacts to him, how my senses betray me when my mind is screaming to resist. I tilt my chin up. “Don’t flatter yourself.” I shove past him, needing air, space, anything to stop the walls from closing in. Ethan doesn’t stop me. Doesn’t call after me. He knows I can’t run. The moment I step out onto the private elevator, my phone buzzes violently. I glance down at the screen. Breaking News: Billionaire Ethan Sinclair Engaged to Mystery Woman! My stomach twists. I scroll through the notifications, each headline worse than the last. The Sinclair Engagement: Business or Love? Isabella Hart: Gold Digger or Cinderella? My throat tightens. I barely had time to process this nightmare myself, and now the world has a front-row seat? The elevator doors slide open, and I step out into chaos. Flash. Blinding lights explode in front of me. Shouts. Dozens of voices overlap, each one more aggressive than the last. A sea of reporters and cameras swarm the building’s entrance like vultures sensing fresh meat. Microphones are thrust toward my face before I can react. “Isabella! How does it feel to be engaged to New York’s most eligible billionaire?” “Were you Ethan’s mistress before this?” “What’s the real reason Ethan chose you?” Their words hit me like bullets. My breath catches. My feet freeze. I knew Ethan was high-profile, but this? This is insanity. I spin, desperate to escape, but strong fingers grip my elbow. Ethan. Before I can process what’s happening, he pulls me into a sleek black car waiting at the curb. The doors slam shut, silencing the chaos outside. My chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths. I clutch the ring on my finger like I can crush it. “What the hell was that?” My voice comes out sharp, my frustration cracking through. Ethan leans back against the seat, completely unbothered. His tailored suit is crisp, not a single hair out of place, as if he just walked out of a board meeting instead of a media ambush. “You expected anything less?” he says, amusement lacing his tone. I glare at him. “A little warning would’ve been nice!” His gaze flickers to me, unreadable. “You’re my fiancée now,” he says smoothly. “You’re public property.” The words slap me harder than I expect. “I’m not your property,” I snap. Ethan smirks. “That’s not what the contract says.” I grit my teeth, my nails digging into my palm. I hate him. I hate that he’s right. I rip my hand away from him and glare at the ring. “This thing is a target.” “It’s a statement.” “It’s a leash.” His smirk deepens. “Same thing.” I open my mouth to fire back when my phone buzzes again. Another news update. Only this time, it’s not about the engagement. It’s about someone from Ethan’s past. A woman. I frown, clicking the notification. My breath stills as the image loads. She’s stunning, with long auburn hair, piercing green eyes, high cheekbones that make her look like she stepped out of a magazine cover. But it’s not her beauty that chills me. It’s the headline beneath it. Exclusive: Ethan Sinclair’s Ex-Fiancée Speaks Out : A Warning for Isabella Hart. My hands turn ice cold. I click the article, my breath shallow. A single sentence glares back at me like a death sentence. “Run while you still can.” A chill snakes down my spine. My fingers tighten around the phone. Ethan notices. “What?” I don’t respond. I can’t. I scroll through the article, my heartbeat hammering. “Ethan Sinclair is not the man he pretends to be.” “I loved him once. I thought I knew him.” “Isabella, if you’re reading this get out while you still can.” My stomach twists into knots. “Who is she?” I whisper, barely able to push the words out. Ethan’s expression hardens. His jaw tenses. “No one important.” My head snaps up. “Really? Because she seems important enough to warn me.” A dark look crosses his face, his usual arrogance replaced by something colder. More dangerous. “Stay out of it, Isabella,” he says flatly. “It doesn’t concern you.” I let out a sharp laugh. “You drag me into a fake marriage, parade me in front of the media, and now I’m supposed to ignore the fact that your ex-fiancée is telling me to run?” Ethan’s fingers curl into a fist against his thigh. “That woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” I don’t believe him. Not for a second. But before I can press further, the car slows. I glance out the window. We’re not at the penthouse. We’re at a luxury jewelry store. I frown. “What are we doing here?” Ethan doesn’t answer. He simply opens the door, stepping out like this is normal. I hesitate, my pulse still erratic. Run while you still can. I swallow hard, then follow him inside. A sleek, well-dressed jeweler rushes forward the moment we step in. “Mr. Sinclair, Miss Hart, welcome.” Ethan nods, then turns to me. “We’re getting you a wedding band.” I blink. “What?” He gestures at the ring on my finger. “The engagement ring is just the beginning.” The jeweler presents a case of diamonds, but my mind is still stuck on the article. On her. I don’t hear the jeweler’s sales pitch. I don’t care about the rings. I care about the woman who was here before me. The woman who was his. And the warning that won’t stop replaying in my head. Run while you still can. I glance at Ethan, his perfect mask of control still firmly in place. What if she’s right?The engagement party is a nightmare in designer clothing. Glittering chandeliers hang like jeweled traps from the ceiling, their golden light reflecting off the champagne flutes clinking in celebration. The air is thick with expensive perfume, murmured conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter. I stand at Ethan’s side, my champagne untouched, my fingers curled tightly around the delicate stem of the glass. My grip is the only thing keeping me steady. I force myself to smile, to act the part of the devoted fiancée. Because in this room—where wealth and power weave together like an unbreakable net, one misstep could ruin everything. Beside me, Ethan thrives in the attention. He shakes hands, trades smirks, and commands the room with the ease of a man born to rule. His hand rests low on my waist, possessive, like a brand. I feel his gaze flicker toward me every now and then. Testing me. Pushing me. I don’t react. Not yet. But he’s playing a game, and I have no
I storm into Ethan’s office, my heels clicking against the marble floor. The room is sleek, modern, just like him. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch behind a black glass desk, offering a perfect view of the city skyline. A world he owns. A world I’m trapped in. But right now, I don’t care about the wealth or power surrounding him. I care about the lie. The one he’s keeping from me. “What the hell are you planning?” Ethan glances up, completely unfazed. His charcoal suit is crisp, his tie slightly loosened like he’s already settled in for the night. Like he expected me. His expression doesn’t shift. No surprise, no guilt, just a cool, collected mask. He leans back, fingers steepled together. Calm. Confident. Dangerous. “You were eavesdropping?” His voice is smooth, like I’m the one crossing a line. I slam my hands on the glass desk, hard enough to make the papers tremble. Hard enough to show I’m not afraid. “Don’t turn this on me.” His lips twitch in a ghos
I don’t wait for the elevator. I run. Heart hammering, breath short, heels slamming against the marble floors as I tear through the lobby. The stunned doorman calls after me, but I don’t stop. I don’t look back. The note burns in my grip. Your husband-to-be isn’t who he says he is. Those words won’t leave my head. They rattle through my skull, louder than my own thoughts. Someone broke into my apartment. Someone was there. Watching. Waiting. And they left me this, a warning I don’t understand. I reach Ethan’s private penthouse, fists clenching. My chest heaves as I slam my fist against the door. “Ethan!” Silence. I pound harder. “Open the damn door!” Nothing. A cold shiver races through me. Then— Click. The door swings open. Ethan stands there. No jacket. Sleeves rolled up. Hair slightly tousled like he’s been running his hands through it. Calm. Controlled. Like he didn’t just destroy my life. His gaze sweeps over me, settling on the cru
The folder lingers between us like a ticking bomb. I stare at it. It's thin. Deceptively light. Nonetheless, it feels heavier than anything I've ever held. It makes my fingers shake as I try to grab it. The weight of my heart weighing heavily on my ears.' I shouldn't open it. I am aware of the instincts of animals that alert them to running before a storm. This is their way! But I do it anyway. If I flip that folder open, the air changes in the room. Tighter. Heavier. Ethan doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Pay attention as my world unravels among a collection of meticulously curated documents.'... A photo is included on the first page. Lucas. My breath catches. Pale. Weak. Hooked up to twelve machines in a clean medical facility. His eyes are shut, his body is frighteningly still. I blink. My throat tightens. The next page—his medical bills. Unpaid. Stamped with red warnings. FINAL NOTICE. As I flip through them, my stomach knotters.
A hand rests on my wrist. Hard. Unforgiving. Ethan's tuck is like a curse, pressing against the skin. Just as I feel the pain, he pulls me towards him, his arm gripping my waist, and holding me to his side like a sprinter. I should. But I don't. I breathe in deeply, forming a polite smile.? I belong here. My duty is to feel at home in this place.'". The festivity is a lavish affair. Crystal chandeliers shine brightly on the polished marble floors..... The elite of New York possess liquid gold in the form of champagne.. Every moment is composed, synchronized, and effortless. I feel none of it. Because he's here. Elias. My stomach lurches. Wearing a black suit that feels like your second skin, he stands near the bar. There's no doubting his presence, it'll be like he was designed to have any room if. at all. The man had one hand around a bottle of whiskey and the other in his pocket. Unbothered. Untouchable. Afterward, his gaze falls on my face. A spark of recognition. Sho
I know I lost the moment Ethan's fingers clung to my wrist. Not in a loud, dramatic manner. No. This loss is quieter. More dangerous. The manner in which he moves, his hold firm but not bruised and his posture controlled. He pulls me from the ballroom, weaving through the crowd, past the shimmering chandeliers and ruffled gowns, silently talking to me and laughing in champagne glasses. There is silence between us. I don't fight him. I can't. Knowing the cost involved in creating a scene, I cannot say no. It's not when I acknowledge that I'm already standing on my feet. Why? We are watched by twelve eyes, but no one dares to intervene.’ A. Not with Ethan Sinclair. And certainly not for me. After passing the arched exit, we hear a sound from gala.? With a dim lighting system, the marble floor casts shadowy hued by warm glow from sconces in the grand hallway. Ethan stops when the doors swing in front of us. Then—. He turns. Fast. Smooth. Predatory. I'm pressed against the
The gala is suffocating. The reason might be different, but not from the sparkling chandeliers, sparkling champagne glasses, or a sweet aroma in the air. A. No. It's because of him. Ethan Sinclair. He can barely hold onto my wrist. The thin scar beneath my bracelet is gently brushed over by his thumb, his touch being deceptively mild. But his eyes? His eyes are razor-sharp. Where did you get this?" His voice echoed like a blade. My pulse spikes. I try to pull away. He doesn't let me. “It's nothing,” I say. Lie. He sways more and more. “Please don’t deceive me.”. Despite my heart-pounding shiver, I still managed to laugh with great force. “You have no right to demand the truth from me, Ethan.” He sighed. When you keep your own secrets, it's not possible. His jaw flexes. His speech emits a flickering light, leaving it unreadable. Before I can make sense of it, someone else smuggle in. But wait! Elias. Without any searching, I can be sure he's present. The scent of expe
Despite feeling pain in my fingers, I can't shake off the folder. From the glossy photo inside, I can see my face staring back at me - this is before my nightmare became reality. Looking up, my eyes ablaze with anger. "What's going on?". Without any hesitation, Ethan leans down on the leather seat. “I want to know why.” Hean.... I shake my head. “No. No, this—this doesn't make sense. It was my first time meeting you in person last week. Damien makes a sharp and amusing laughter from the far end of the vehicle. "Do you believe it's me?" could be the question? "I look at him with a giggle. He responds with, "Laughter!". His gaze enlarges as he faces the folder, his expression spreading. "Do you suppose Sinclair misplaced something?!". Sweetheart, the photo is not for entertainment. A coldness that reaches me causes pain in my chest. I tighten my grip on the folder and have an irregular breath. Ethan looks at me with confusion. "It's not like he ever thought anything could happen
“The woman at the center of the storm.”Logan Pierce’s words hung in the air like an omen, sinking into the dimly lit room like a fog, thick and suffocating.I forced my expression to remain neutral, though every nerve in my body was on edge. The way he said it, like he already knew me. Like I was some predetermined piece in a game I hadn’t agreed to play made my skin crawl.“That’s dramatic,” I muttered, keeping my voice flat.Logan’s smirk deepened, the corners of his mouth curving with something that wasn’t quite amusement, wasn’t quite malice. “Isn’t it?”Ethan wasn’t amused. “Sit.”He didn’t direct the order at Logan. He meant me.For a moment, I considered defying him. Just to remind him I wasn’t some pawn he could push around. But the weight of exhaustion settled deep in my bones, and I knew I had to pick my battles. So, I sank onto the leather couch, my arms crossing over my chest.Logan, completely at ease, took his time settling into the chair across from me, stretching out
The SUV sliced through the night like a silent predator, devouring the miles between us and the city. The hum of the tires against the road was the only sound filling the tense silence inside the car. Ethan sat beside me, his jaw tight, his fingers drumming against his knee in a steady calculated and controlled rhythm. His mind was somewhere else, far ahead of us, mapping out the next move, anticipating every possible threat. I stared out the window, watching as the towering skyscrapers and flickering neon lights of New York faded into darkness, replaced by vast stretches of highway and dense, looming trees. The further we drove, the more it felt like we were leaving civilization itself. A cold knot twisted in my stomach. Finally, I exhaled, breaking the silence. “Where exactly is ‘home’?” Ethan’s gaze flicked to me, but his expression remained unreadable. “Somewhere safe.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Safe? There’s no such thing anymore.” He didn’t argue. He didn’t need to
The room felt like it had been drained of oxygen. I stared at the phone in my hand, my fingers curled so tightly around it that my knuckles turned white. The screen flickered, casting a pale glow on my face, but all I could focus on was the image. The bold, jagged letters scrawled across my apartment door like a bloody warning. Nowhere is safe. A shiver crept down my spine. The words weren’t just a threat. They were a promise. I sucked in a shaky breath, but the air felt thick, heavy, as if the walls were closing in. Ethan moved first. His hand shot out, snatching the phone from my grasp. His grip was tight, controlled, but the muscle in his jaw ticked. A sign that the control was hanging by a thread. His gaze flicked over the image, scanning every detail, and then, with a sharp inhale, he turned to me. “Pack a bag.” I blinked, my mind still trying to catch up. “What?” “You’re not staying here. You’re not going back to your apartment.” His voice was clipped, edged with
“Let go of me, Ethan.” I kept my voice steady, but my body betrayed me. My hands trembled. My pulse hammered against my ribs, each beat screaming at me to run. Ethan’s grip on my wrist didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either. His fingers, warm and solid, were the only thing anchoring me in place. He stood rigid, his jaw ticking, his body wound so tight it looked like he might snap. “I can’t.” A shiver rippled down my spine. Elias let out a low whistle. “Oh, this is getting good. What’s next, Sinclair? You gonna lock her up in your penthouse?” Ethan didn’t even spare him a glance. His gaze was locked on mine, intense and unyielding. “If that’s what it takes to keep her safe.” A sharp, bitter laugh escaped me. “You don’t get to decide that.” His grip flexed. Just a twitch of his fingers but I felt it everywhere. “I do when Damien Cross is hunting you.” Elias exhaled dramatically. “And there it is. The Sinclair control complex.” He smirked, shifting against the des
The room felt like it was closing in. The walls seemed narrower, the air thick with something I couldn’t name. The grainy video on the screen played in an endless loop, the scene burned into my mind. Ethan. A silencer. A body collapsing to the floor. Blood spreading like ink across white tiles. My breath came fast, uneven. It was like my brain refused to process what I’d just seen. “Tell me that wasn’t you.” My voice barely sounded like mine. It was strained and fragile on the verge of breaking. Ethan didn’t move. He didn’t speak. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… God, his eyes. I had seen them dark before, filled with anger, with lust, with unspoken emotions I never had the courage to name. But this? This was different. His gaze was a void. Hollow. As if the man I thought I knew was locked somewhere inside, just out of reach. Something inside me cracked. I stepped back, shaking my head. “Say something.” Ethan finally exhaled, slow and control
“Put the gun down, Ethan.” Elias’s voice was smooth and calculated like a snake slithering through the darkness, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He stood in the doorway with the ease of a man who owned the world, his fingers lightly brushing against the frame. His other hand was tucked in his pocket, casual, almost lazy, but I knew better. Nothing about Elias Carter was ever lazy. Every move was deliberate. Every word, a weapon. Ethan, however, was a fortress. His stance was unwavering, shoulders squared, his gun aimed with lethal precision. He wasn’t just holding a weapon. He was a weapon. “You’re trespassing.” His voice was razor-sharp. Elias smirked. Smirked. Like none of this mattered, like he hadn’t just shattered the world I’d built with his sudden presence. “And you’re holding something that belongs to me.” The words sliced through the air, thick with meaning. My breath caught. Me. Ethan’s hold on the gun tightened. “She doesn’t belong to you.”
I shook my head, my chest rising and falling too fast. “No.” Ethan didn’t move. Didn’t blink. “Yes.” My pulse pounded against my ribs like a trapped animal. I took a step back, needing distance, but Ethan was relentless, closing in, his presence thick like a storm cloud about to break. “Elias is gone,” I whispered. “He has to be gone.” Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying me like he was waiting for me to figure out the truth on my own. “Do you really believe that?” I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But Ethan’s voice carried the weight of something inevitable, something unshakable. I clenched my fists at my sides. “He used me. Lied to me. Left me.” I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “Why the hell would he want me back?” Ethan’s eyes flickered with something unreadable before he spoke. “Because you’re the only thing he ever lost.” The words slammed into me. For a moment, the room faded, replaced by the ghosts of memories I had fought to bury. Elias’s hands
I stumbled back, shaking my head, my breath coming too fast. My heartbeat slammed against my ribs, a wild, frantic rhythm that made my chest ache. “You’re lying.” Ethan didn’t move, didn’t blink. “Am I?” His voice was maddeningly calm, like he was talking about the weather and not completely tearing my world apart. I wanted to believe that. Needed to believe that. But the video kept replaying in my mind, every detail slicing through me like a serrated knife Elias smirking, rolling that damn cigarette between his fingers like I had been nothing more than a business deal, an asset. A job. My stomach lurched. “How long have you known?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. Ethan exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw like he was debating how much to say. “Long enough.” I let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “And you just let me keep believing he cared?” He arched a brow. “Would you have believed me if I told you earlier?” I opened my mouth, ready to snap ba
The walls of Ethan’s hidden room closed in around me, suffocating, too full of secrets I wasn’t ready to face. My pulse pounded in my ears as his words echoed inside my skull. “You were a job.” It wasn’t possible. It wasn’t real. I took a step back, gripping the edge of the desk to steady myself. The folder with my name on it sat between us like a loaded gun. My life, reduced to paper. Dates. Records. A complete history. Ethan watched me with maddening patience, as if waiting for me to process the truth or waiting for me to break. I wouldn’t. I lifted my chin. “You’re lying.” He sighed, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “I don’t lie, Isabella.” Something in his voice made my stomach churn. He sounded tired, almost resigned, but there was an underlying certainty that terrified me. I turned my back to him, gripping the folder so tightly my knuckles ached. I flipped through the pages again, my eyes scanning too fast, desperate for something. Anything to prove him wrong