Synopsis: Trapped with a Ruthless Billionaire Leila Carter never expected to find herself trapped in a fake engagement with the most ruthless man she’s ever met—Adrian Blackwell, a billionaire known for his cold efficiency and ruthless control over everything in his life. But when a shared enemy threatens both of them, Adrian offers her an irresistible deal: pretend to be his fiancée and in return, he’ll ensure her safety. Adrian has built an empire by playing the long game, and this arrangement is just another calculated move. Leila is a means to an end, a pawn in a game of power and deception. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. But the more time they spend together, the more she pushes back, challenges him, tempts him in ways he never saw coming. As their dangerous charade drags them deeper into a web of lies, betrayal, and simmering tension, their biggest threat isn’t just their enemies—it’s the undeniable pull between them. Because pretending to love someone is easy. Not falling for them? That’s the real challenge.
View MoreLeilaThe penthouse had transformed from a home into a strategy room. Once representative of modern elegance and tranquility, the walls now felt charged with an unspoken tension, creating an unsettling atmosphere. Every edge seemed too sharp, every inhale too shallow. Leila's heels echoed on the polished floor like gunfire, her chest constricted by an unnamed tempest brewing inside her. This wasn’t simple anxiety; it was a simmering rage—cold and calculated, rooted deeply in her core, pressing against her consciousness as she scrutinized the encrypted files Gwen had just sent over: the audio, the metadata, the spectral breakdown. “It’s fake,” Gwen asserted over the secure call, her tone unwavering despite the static from the international connection. Fatigue clouded her eyes, while her voice betrayed a sense of conflict. “Or rather, it’s real pieces rearranged—spliced together like a monstrous confession.” Leila’s brow knitted together. “What makes you think that?” “I ran mu
AdrianMinutes after the press conference ended, its repercussions were already causing shockwaves across the fault lines they had been trying to mend for a while. Calls and messages flooded in through personal channels, encrypted threads, and secure communication apps. Some were congratulatory notes from loyal partners and long-standing allies, while others were cautious inquiries from stakeholders assessing whether the turmoil was truly subsiding or if they were merely sheltered in the calm before another storm.Yet, what captured Adrian’s focus wasn’t the influx of communication.It was the silence.A noticeable absence of immediate reaction 1111from the more politically adept board members. The deliberate stillness from institutional investors known for backing whichever side promised higher returns. The friends who had not reached out—those always quick to respond after a public announcement.In Adrian’s realm, silence signified strategy—not neutrality. And strategy often conceal
CamilleIt was almost amusingly simple.Camille Thornton settled back in her plush velvet armchair, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, a half-full glass of red wine shimmering in the dim light beside her. The glow from her tablet flickered across the crystal surface as she browsed through one sensational headline after another, each one more provocative than the last. Her timing had been exquisite—strategic, even surgical. Just one anonymous email, one attachment, and a handful of media contacts she had nurtured for years had ignited the fire.The document she leaked was deceptively straightforward: a scanned contract with Adrian Blackwell' signature on one side and Leila Carter' on the other. It was embossed and legitimized, complete with official letterhead.“Engagement Agreement Between Parties – Exclusively For the Purpose of Public Image Management and Investor Assurance.”The wording was calculated, cold, devoid of any romance. It stripped their love story down to its cor
AdrianThe silence that filled the lounge after Adrian spoke was not just heavy; it felt suffocating. The kind of silence that wrapped itself around the room like smoke and making each breath a challenge.Graham Sterling’s complexion lightened, just a fraction, enough to reveal the truth hidden beneath his polished facade.Adrian maintained his composure without raising his voice or shifting his stance. His stillness alone was a statement, a force in itself. Every inch of him radiated control—a chilling control that made the dimly lit lounge seem colder. Shadows warped around him, and the overhead light cast sharp shadows on his cheekbones. Yet, his eyes seemed even darker than the room itself, deeper than the accusations that hung around them.Leila remained frozen nearby, her face unreadable. Her gaze fixed on him, but he didn't meet her eyes. Not yet.This moment was not about her.At least, not right now.It was directed towards those who thought they could use her as a weapon aga
LeilaThe message on her phone screen was like a knife pressed against her skin.Did you really think he loves you? If yes, then why did he allow you to stay there instead of persuading you to leave with him?Leila stared at it, the words burning into her mind, imprinting themselves like a brand. Her breathing became shallow as she tightened her grip on the phone, her knuckles turning white from the strain. The cool surface of the device dug into her palm, yet it wasn’t enough to ground her. Nothing was.She recognized that tone, even though it was associated with an anonymous number.Camille.She could almost sense the smirk in her tone, the casual malice hidden within a harsh reality. Camille had always known how to distort the truth so it could inflict the deepest wounds. And worst of all—Leila felt herself bleeding from it.Because the part of her that had fought fiercely to reclaim her voice now trembled under the weight of that simple claim.Still owns you.Leila exhaled sharply
AdrianAs Adrian stepped inside the Ashford suite, the door clicked quietly behind him, the sound absorbed by the soft ambiance of the room. The air carried the scent of chamomile tea mixed with something distinctly reminiscent of her. He paused at the entrance, allowing the tranquility to envelop him like a gentle shroud over something fragile.Leila remained silent, instinctively retreating a step when he entered, placing a barrier between them despite the emotional distance that had already settled. Her arms were tightly crossed over her chest, sleeves pulled down over her hands, a gesture he interpreted not as anger but as self-defense.She was barefoot, dressed in one of those oversized sweaters she favored when she wanted to disappear into herself. He recalled the first time he saw her wearing it, curled up on his couch with a book on her lap, frowning in frustration over misplaced reading glasses. That memory felt painfully distant.His heart ached.She was there. Safe.Yet sti
AdrianRain ran down the windows in shiny streams as the car navigated the city's main streets. The roads twinkled with the remnants of daylight, now replaced by a rhythmic dance of red taillights and illuminated signs reflected in the puddles below. Adrian remained still in the rear seat, one elbow resting on the door, his fingers lightly brushing the leather armrest. Outside, the city pulsed with bursts of neon, each reflection twisting like a mirage on the glass.But his mind wasn't on the view.It was on Camille.And more specifically—what she had given him.The Ashford Hotel.He replayed the moment she mentioned it, the calm confidence in her gaze as if she were handing him a winning card. But it had come too easily. Too smooth. Which meant Camille believed she had the upper hand.Which also meant she was wrong.“She gave you what you wanted,” Connor said from the other side of the seat, suspicion lacing his words. “But it’s Camille. She never does anything without having her own
AdrianRain slithered down the windows in thin silver streams, painting the world outside in long, wavering streaks of neon and shadow. The city pulsed with restless energy, its lights fractured by the downpour into flickering, distorted fragments. Adrian sat motionless in the back seat of the car, the hum of the engine and the rhythmic patter of water against glass the only sound around him.But his mind was anything but quiet.Camille’s words echoed there like a low drumbeat—steady, taunting, unrelenting.“Leila’s gone. And you don’t know where she is. But I do.”He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. The emotional response was useless. Uncontrolled reactions were a liability, and Camille was counting on that.Across from him, Connor shifted, his body tense with frustration. He didn’t like this situation—hadn’t liked it since the moment Adrian said they were meeting with Camille. And now that they’d left the café, he was practically vibrating with u
AdrianThe city glowed with neon lights through the rain, every streetlight and car headlight smearing across the windshield in shades of red, gold, and stark white. The storm had persisted all night—the heavy raindrops hit the car's roof like clockwork, rhythmic and relentless. It softened the city's outlines, transforming distinct corners and straight edges into a hazy watercolor filled with tension.Adrian occupied the backseat of his black Maserati, one leg crossed over the other as the leather shifted quietly beneath his stillness. He gazed outside as fragments of the city rushed by. The world moved on without him paying any mind to the frenzy outside.He wasn’t in a hurry.Not tonight.Camille believed she had the upper hand. She thought he was scrambling to catch up. She thought he was desperate.She was wrong.His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate beat against his thigh, the only visible sign of the storm brewing beneath his composed facade. He knew her too well—the games, th
The Carter Art Gallery's walls reeked of failure and old paint. Standing in the center of the empty room, Leila Carter clutched the eviction notice so firmly that it crumpled in her fist. The large windows let in sunlight, which left golden striations on the worn wooden floors. This gallery used to be the center of New York's affluent art scene, with its invaluable treasures and the subdued murmur of appreciation. All that remained was a dead, hollow shell. The legacy of her father was reduced to a last-minute deadline.Despite the pressure of reality, she forced herself to breathe. Before the gallery was seized and put up for auction to the highest bidder, she had precisely two weeks. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it unless she miraculously summoned two million dollars. Leila felt sick to her stomach. She had tried everything. She had pleaded for loans from banks. Rejected. She had made contact with investors. Indifferent. She had looked into every possible ...
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