Bound To My Ex: The Billionaire's Trap

The metal key scraped against the lock of the Upper West Side apartment.

Alaina Strong pushed the heavy door open. The blast of artificial heat from the radiator hit her face, a sharp contrast to the biting New York wind outside.

She stepped inside and shrugged off her camel cashmere coat. The fabric still carried the faint, sterile scent of hospital antiseptic. She hung it on the wooden rack behind the door.

A soft meow broke the silence. Milo, her roommate Claire's orange tabby cat, rubbed his thick fur against Alaina's ankles.

Alaina bent down. She scratched the soft spot under Milo's chin.

She kicked off her boots, slid her feet into her indoor slippers, and walked down the short hallway toward the dimly lit living room.

Claire was sitting cross-legged on the beige sofa. Her eyes were glued to the glowing screen of her iPad.

Hearing the footsteps, Claire snapped her head up. Her eyes were wide, practically vibrating with excitement.

She thrust the iPad forward, shoving the screen directly into Alaina's line of sight.

The digital cover of the latest Forbes magazine filled the display.

Alaina's eyes locked onto the center of the screen without any warning. A tall man in a meticulously tailored dark suit dominated the cover.

It was Jarred Mcknight.

His face was sharp, cold, and radiated an oppressive authority that seemed to bleed through the pixels.

Alaina's pupils contracted instantly.

An invisible hand reached into her chest and crushed her heart. Her lungs stopped working. For a full second, she forgot how to breathe.

"Look at him!" Claire shrieked, oblivious to the sudden drop in the room's temperature. "The new CEO of The Mcknight Corporation. He is literal walking Wall Street testosterone."

Claire didn't stop. She launched the heavy gossip she had just read from the New York Post's Page Six.

"Rumor has it he is about to secure a massive business marriage with the heiress of the Allison family," Claire said, her voice dripping with fascination.

The word marriage pierced Alaina's eardrums like a rusted needle.

A violent, sour spasm ripped through her stomach. Acid rose in the back of her throat.

To stop her hands from shaking, Alaina bit down hard on the tip of her tongue. The sharp sting of copper grounded her back to reality.

She forced the corners of her mouth up, stretching her lips into a stiff, polite smile.

"I don't really follow finance guys," Alaina said. Her voice came out slightly hoarse.

She spun around on her heel, desperate to escape the living room. She walked quickly toward the open kitchen.

She grabbed a clear glass from the cabinet and walked over to the water dispenser on the fridge. She pressed the lever for ice water.

Her fingers were trembling. She couldn't control the fine shaking in her joints. The cold water overflowed the rim of the glass.

Ice-cold drops slammed against the back of her hand, sending a violent shiver up her arm.

Alaina panicked. She yanked a paper towel from the roll and frantically wiped the spilled water off the marble countertop.

"Are you okay?" Claire yelled from the living room. "You look incredibly pale. Did the hospital drain the life out of you today?"

Alaina took a deep, shaky breath. She kept her back turned to Claire.

"Just a little low blood sugar," Alaina called back, raising her voice to sound normal.

She grabbed the glass of water. She walked fast down the hallway, pushed open the door to her bedroom, and stepped inside.

She shut the door firmly behind her, cutting off Claire's voice and the image on that screen.