His Sacrifice, Her Cold Indifference

e my age. I fought him at every turn, but his cold control

eturned, claiming a terminal ill

ed and left bleeding in a hote

nut, and framed me, he believ

as to lock me away in his mansion,

and my freedom for the woman he tr

, I gave him an ultimatum: let me go, or watch

e his own car into its path,

pte

age, a Wall Street titan they called the 'Reaper.' I

when I was cruising down Fifth Avenue in my vintage Shelby Cobra, wind whipping through my hair, the city lights a blur. I w

Wall Street. He was discipline in a suit, a man who probably ironed his socks. I was chaos in couture. The very idea made my stomach

wo hours late, wearing a scarlet dress slit to my hip, and promptly started a champagne-fueled dance-off on a table with a gag

e'd said, his voice a low rumble. It was easily a million dollars. He thought he co

red more than anything, I was sure – and drove it straight into the reflecting pool in front of his Manhattan of

s much better with a matching pool." He chuckled. A genuine, unsettling chuckle. "Next time, let me know. I'll get us

if you can, Reaper." I chartered a private jet to the Caribbean, convinced he

s wr

s intercom. "Chelsie, darling, it's Drake. Did you really think I'd let you escape that

re a crisp white linen shirt that made him look less like a Wall Street titan and more like a predatory beach god. "Get in,"

onto the road. Drake swerved violently. I screamed as the car fishtailed. He instinctively threw his arm across my chest, pushing me back a

d breathe. I looked over. Drake was slumped against the steering wheel, his face pale, blood b

efiance. He stirred, groaning softly. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused at first, th

ge, unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest, chasing away the cold edge of fear. It

sling, his head bandaged, simply looked at me. "She's shaken, Fred," he said, his vo

as a terrifying, exhilarating realization. He might be cold, controlling, and infuriating, but in that moment, he had giv

is eyes. I looked down at my hands. "Maybe," I whispered, then met his gaze, a new resolve hardening my v

ng his eyes. "Deal," he said, and for the first time, I felt

ed. He indulged my every whim, but now, I found myself indulging his. In the bedroom, he was utterly dominant, demanding, and I, the wild one, found myself gladly submitting to his every touch, every command.

my forehead. I found myself missing him even before he was gone. I decided to surprise him

"Please, Chelsie, I need your help. Drake is with

y, asking who this was, but the message was gone. Deleted. It di

uous, business news, nothing personal. But then, a flicker. An old article from five years ago. "Wall Street Titan Drake Knox's Heartbre

." A cold dread settled in my stomach. No. It couldn

ring against my ribs. I knew Drake was staying at the Peninsula. When I arrived

thin, almost fragile, with large, luminous eyes. Julia Sosa. There was an intimacy in their posture, a shared vulnerability that struck me like a physical

almost touching hers. He looked at her as he had looked at me in the hospital, with that same profound concern.

e way his gaze lingered on her face, spoke volumes. This wasn't just a sick friend. This was his past, his unresolved pain, staring him

tightened on Drake's, and she leaned her head against his shoulder. His arm went around her, a comforting, possessive gesture. The kni

round me, a silent, devastating col