All Chapters of Trapped with a Ruthless Billionaire : Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

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

LeilaThe 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

The gentle blue glow from Gwen’s diagnostic interface reflected across Adrian Blackwell’s face, casting shifting light against his features like a flickering alert. Yet, this wasn’t a tale of caution; it was a call to arms.Seated alone in his private office, located in the penthouse's highest corner—an architectural fortress of dark glass and steel—he was surrounded by a minimalist, intentional, and strategically quiet environment. This setting reflected his own mindset: orderly, contained, and armored. The temperature was set two degrees cooler than comfort demanded, a habit developed through years of training himself to forgo softness.On the screen before him, a complex digital model of the Blackwell Trust's security infrastructure took form. It appeared like a fusion of bone and steel—interconnected systems driven by aged code, drafted long before AI became standard. Back when loyalty meant something. Back when Camille was a confidante. Back when he thought legacy could be safegu

They paused in a village so still that questions felt unnecessary.Situated just beyond the French border, the village appeared as if it had been plucked from the past—stone cottages snug against misty hills, narrow paths winding like lost recollections. It was the kind of place where the outside world would only arrive for good reason. Leila understood—this wasn’t merely a stop. It was a moment of stillness.The van was parked in the dimness of an old barn on the village’s outskirts, condensation fogging its windows. Silence clung to them like dust, settling heavily in the air.Leila sat on an overturned crate next to Adrian, her legs aching from the journey, but her mind sharp. Clutched in her hands was the photo again—creased and worn from her fingers tracing its contours.Camille. Ethan Graves. And Adrian’s father.Captured in black and white, framed in a moment of laughter that felt more like a deception the longer she gazed at it.“She never mentioned him,” Leila said quietly.

AdrianVienna felt colder than he imagined.This wasn’t the sharp cold that numbs fingers and ears—this was something different. A deeper, quiet chill that seeped into the bones. It was a cold that didn’t announce itself with snow or gusts of wind, but with an eerie stillness. A lingering frost hung in the air like a breath held too long.It fit the moment perfectly.Connor had organized everything perfectly—their arrival, the van discreetly parked outside the surveillance zone, the untraceable credentials, the encrypted communications. It was all clean, precise and efficient—like everything Connor did.They were positioned on a narrow road outside the estate, with trees closing in and stars barely visible through a cloudy sky. The manor loomed in silhouette—covered in ivy, with tall iron gates, a relic from an earlier time. Its isolation felt too intentional. No guards. No visible technology. No sign of movement.“She’s alone,” Connor murmured from the back of the van, scanning the t