Name: Bought by The Billionaire's Lies
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Chapter 1 Ensnared in the Billionaire's Trickery

I hated Monday mornings.

Especially ones like this, where rain lashed down in sheets and my worn heels squelched through puddles on the broken sidewalk outside Cross Enterprises. My umbrella had flipped inside out three blocks back, and now my hair clung to my face in wet tangles. I was the definition of everything Dominic Cross despised-messy, disorganized, late.

And utterly invisible.

I huddled behind the security desk, trying to catch my breath before facing the elevator ride up to the thirty-second floor. The lobby gleamed under the cold, sterile lights-all white marble, sharp black steel, and gold accents that whispered "you don't belong here" with every step.

"Ella," Marsha, the front desk receptionist, called, giving me a sympathetic glance. "You better hurry. There's a meeting starting in five."

"Thanks," I had trouble getting out, my voice barely above a whisper.

I withdrew my head and moved towards the elevators, slipping between them just as they were about to close. I stood against the wall, attempting not to notice how the wet blouse clung to my body.

The other staff members barely looked my way. Button-down suits, impeccable hair, shoes that didn't get the top of their socks wet. They were a world away from me, a world I only briefly visited within work hours.

And then-

Something shifted in the air.

The kind of tension that made your neck hairs prickle, had you stand a little taller even though you couldn't think of a reason why. An energy in the air, charged and volatile.

Dominic Cross stepped into the elevator.

My heart jumped. Voices close to me stopped as if an invisible hand had pressed pause.

He walked with the kind of languid, killing beauty that existed only for obscene wealth and untouchable privilege. Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a charcoal-colored suit that probably cost more than my entire college degree. Black hair slicked back, a smudge of stubble on his hard jaw. Eyes the color of polished steel-cold, unreadable, and deadly.

He didn't look at anyone.

He didn't have to.

We were insects to him, scurrying in the shadows of his realm.

I dropped my eyes, embarrassed.

The elevator climbed in silence, floor by floor whizzing by. I breathed as little as possible, attempted not to be more than I had to be. My knuckles whitened as I clamped the strap of my bag with my fingers.

As we reached the thirty-second floor, the doors opened. The crowd surged forward.

I had taken a step forward when I felt it.

A glance. Weighty. Blazing.

I gazed up automatically-and my heart battered against my ribcage.

Dominic Cross was looking at me.

Our gazes collided in one suspended moment. His expression didn't change, but something in his gaze ignited-like dry tinder catching fire.

Then he vanished, vanishing down the corridor without a sound.

I was hypnotized, the chaos of employees pushing against me a dulled roar in my ears. It was probably nothing. An error. A malfunction in my rain-blurred vision.

Nevertheless, as I snuck into my cubicle and tried to catch up on the reports I'd neglected on the weekend, my hands shook.

I couldn't get that expression out of my head.

The remainder of the day passed in a haze. My supervisor, Karen, piled invoices on my desk and muttered something about being "urgent," but I barely caught what she was saying. I worked, filing, typing, answering emails, but my thoughts kept drifting back to that impossible second.

Dominic Cross had looked at me.

Me.

It was ridiculous. Arrogant to even think so. He probably hadn't even seen me at all-just some drowned-out woman amidst a sea of faces. He was probably thinking about million-dollar deals or which supermodel he'd sleep with tonight.

And yet the daydream clung to me like a second layer of skin, refusing to be shaken off.

By the time five finally rolled around, I almost-sprinted out the door.

The rain had turned to a misty drizzle, making the city one soft focus of lights and movement. I folded my ruined umbrella under my arm and sprinted down the building steps.

"Miss Monroe."

My foot ceased its motion.

The voice was harsh. Commanding.

Gradually, I turned around.

Dominic Cross waited, shielding himself behind a black umbrella, his eyes fixed on mine.

Each atom of my body tensed.

"Mr. Cross," I struggled, my voice breaking a bit.

He stepped into the light, out of the shadows. The streetlamp lit the sharp angles of his face, the cruel curve of his lips.

"You forgot something," he said, holding out a thin, black folder.

I gasped. It was my portfolio-the one I'd worked on for the past month. Notes, ideas, sketches for a project I knew I'd never receive credit for.

I fumbled for it, my fingers brushing against his.

It was a shock of electricity. A jolt that ran straight through me, leaving my skin aflame.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He didn't let me go immediately. His fingers lingered on mine, the tip of his thumb outlining my knuckles in a touch so gentle I could've imagined it.

But I didn't.

Because I could sense it.

Dominic's eyes raked over me-slow, deliberate, taking in my wet top, my trembling hands.

"You're shaking," he said, voice low.

"I'm fine," I lied.

He tilted his head to one side, looking at me like I was a puzzle he intended to figure out.

"Have dinner with me."

The words hit me like a blow.

I gaped at him, eyes wide, mouth hanging open.

"I-I'm sorry?"

His lip curled. Not a smile, exactly. More like something sinister. Something ravenous.

"Dinner. Tonight."

Panic fluttered in my chest. This had to be a joke. A prank. There was no universe in which Dominic Cross-*Dominic Cross*-invited a nobody like me to dinner.

"I.I don't think-"

"Ella."

The way he said my name-like a command, like a promise-made my knees turn to jelly.

"It's just dinner," he said. "Nothing more."

Liar.

Every instinct screamed at me to say no. To run.

Instead, I nodded.

"O-Okay."

Something flickered in his eyes. Satisfaction. Possession.

"Good girl," he whispered.

My gut twisted in pain.

He said nothing, turned, and gestured to a black sedan at the curb. A driver emerged and opened the door.

My legs acted before my brain registered.

As I slid across the car seat, the leather cold against my damp skin, a tiny voice whispered in the back of my mind:

*This is a mistake.*

But it was too late.

I was falling.

And Dominic Cross was waiting at the bottom.

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Bought by The Billionaire's Lies

About

Contents

Chapter 1 Ensnared in the Billionaire's Trickery

Other books by The Butterfly Mind

Ex Wife, Now Enemy