Trapped By The Cold Billionaire Heir

the hallway rushed over her bare arms, raising instant goosebumps on her s

massive leather chair. His s

up a thick stack of papers and slammed it onto the glass coffe

t the edge of the table and looked down. The Ainsworth Financial logo sat at the top of

The air in the room suddenl

he funding was completely gone. The family trust would be liquida

opened her mouth and yelled that Wall Street short-selling was illegal.

er skin, cold and trembling. He told her it wasn't a buyout. Cornel

ay from him. Her shoulder blades hit the

. He begged her to go to the dinner at

ll buildings looked like bars on a cage. Her stomach twisted into a t

itting next to the warning letter. She squeezed it in her fist. Her fingernails

t her face. She walked straight into her massive walk-in closet. She grabbed armf

pulled out a faded, black leather jacket and a pair of torn fishnet tights. S

r pencil. She pressed the tip against her eyelid so hard

ross her mouth. She stared at the mirror. The girl looking b

detailing exactly what pearls she should wear tonight. Wren presse

y into her blonde hair, using her fingers to tear throug

out a thick leather choker covered in metal studs. She fastened i

security guard announced the

ked out of the apartment. Her heavy combat bo

driver turned his head. He sucked in a sharp breath

. She pressed the button to roll down the window. The cold New York win

Le Bernardin. The doorman stepped forwar

r combat boots onto the red carpet. She

dded choker. He stuttered, as

th. The doorman's face went completely pale. The restauran

her canvas bag. It hit a tall porcelain vase on a pedestal. The

y stared at her torn fishnets. Wren turned her head

door at the back of the restaurant. His hand

ather jacket. She pulled her lips back into a cold, mocking smil

t from the crystal chandelier spilled out int