Sold To The Enemy: The Billionaire's Acquisition

The numbness started in Chloe Carlisle's fingertips before creeping up her arms like liquid lead.

Ten minutes earlier, she had taken a single sip of vintage Dom Pérignon handed to her by Chase Sterling, her fiancé of three years. Now, inside the opulent master suite of the St. Regis New York, her vision warped into sickening kaleidoscopic fractures.

Chloe was an asset of the Carlisle media empire-an adopted daughter trained for twenty years to be poised, untouchable, and strategically married off. But beneath the veneer of high-society pedigree, she was entirely expendable.

The Carlisle matriarch, Eleanor, had recently recovered her biological daughter, Kayla, rendering Chloe obsolete. Chase, ambitious and thoroughly ruthless, needed an excuse to break their engagement without looking like an opportunistic social climber.

And he had found one.

The heavy suite door clicked open. Footsteps sank into the thick Persian rug. Chloe forced her trembling body behind the curve of the mahogany wet bar, her knuckles white as she dug her fingernails into her palms, using the sharp spike of pain to tether her slipping consciousness.

"Is the sedative working?" Jenna Schaefer's voice was unmistakable-shrill, venomous, and thick with manic excitement.

"Twenty milliliters of clinical-grade Rohypnol," Chase replied smoothly. "She won't remember her own name in fifteen minutes, let alone be able to scream."

Chloe held her breath, the blood roaring in her ears.

"The paparazzi are already stationed in the basement garage," Jenna purred, her heels clicking across the hardwood floor. "Once the two thugs I hired finish with her in the bedroom, we leak the footage. 'The Untouchable Carlisle Heiress Caught in a Drug-Fueled Gang Encounter.' Your engagement will be severed by dawn, and Eleanor will have no choice but to offer you Kayla."

"Kayla is naive," Chase said, a low chuckle vibrating in his throat. "She has the Carlisle blood, the trust fund, and none of Chloe's sharp edges. She will be far easier to manage as a wife."

Every word was a nail driven into the coffin of Chloe's past life. There were no tears in her eyes-only a crystalline, lethal resolve. In Manhattan's ruthless upper crust, weakness was a death sentence. If she went down tonight, she would be erased.

"I need an alibi," Chase said, checking his watch. "I'm heading downstairs to make an appearance with the board members. Send the men up in ten minutes. Make sure the lighting for the camera is clear."

The heavy oak door swung shut. Chase was gone.

Jenna stepped deeper into the suite, clutching a gold designer clutch and a glass of champagne. "Chloe, darling? Don't hide under the bed like a stray dog. Let's get you ready for your premiere."

Chloe's heart slammed against her ribs at an erratic, terrifying tempo. Her motor skills were deteriorating rapidly, but her analytical mind ran the angles. Front door was a trap. The fire escape on the north corridor was eighty feet away.

Her right hand brushed against a solid weight beneath the bar: a three-pound Baccarat crystal decanter filled with bourbon.

Jenna strutted into the bedroom threshold, spotting Chloe slumped against the base of the bar. A triumphant sneer twisted Jenna's scarlet lips. "Look at you. The great Chloe Carlisle, reduced to roadkill. When Chase and I are finished, you won't even have a trust fund to buy a coat."

Jenna lunged forward, reaching down to grab Chloe by the hair.

The second Jenna's manicured fingers grazed her scalp, Chloe moved.

With a ragged, feral surge of adrenaline, Chloe surged upward. She swung the heavy crystal decanter with both hands, aiming directly at the side of Jenna's skull.

Crack.

The crystal shattered, spilling amber liquor and blood. Jenna's eyes rolled back; she collapsed onto the plush rug with a breathless thud, completely unconscious.

Chloe hit her knees, her vision swimming in gray static. She gasped for air, dragging herself to Jenna's body. Ignoring the pooling blood, she snatched Jenna's VIP master keycard and shoved it into her clutch.

Outside in the hallway, the elevator dinged. Heavy, hurried male voices drifted toward the suite.

The men were early.

Chloe did not hesitate. Forcing her leaden legs to work, she stumbled toward the rear service door of the suite, swiped the stolen card, and threw herself into the freezing concrete stairwell just as the front suite door was kicked open behind her.

She bolted down the damp, endless stairs, the howling Manhattan storm waiting below.