Bound By The Alpha’s Mark His Whore

The Scars She Hid From The World

REGINA MCBRIDE

The heavy iron gates of the Wilderness Correction Camp groaned as they released me after three years of state-sponsored hell. I stood on the dirt road, clutching a plastic bag that held my entire life, waiting for the family that claimed they sent me there for "rehab." My brother, Brady, picked me up in a luxury SUV only to throw me out onto a deserted highway in the middle of a brewing storm. He told me I was a "public relations nightmare" and that the rain might finally wash the "stink" of the camp off me. He drove away, leaving me to limp miles through the mud on a snapped ankle. When I finally dragged myself to our family estate, my mother didn't offer a hug; she gasped in horror because my muddy clothes were ruining her Italian marble. They didn't give me my old room back. Instead, they banished me to a moldy gardener’s shack and hired a "babysitter" to make sure I didn't embarrass them further. My sister, Kaleigh, stood there in white cashmere, pretending to cry while clinging to her fiancé, Ambrose—the man who had once been mine. They all treated me like a volatile junkie, refusing to acknowledge that Kaleigh was the one who planted the drugs in my bag three years ago. They wanted to believe I was broken so they wouldn't have to feel guilty about the "wellness retreat" that was actually a torture chamber. I sat in the dark of that shed, feeling the cooling gel on the cigarette burns that covered my arms, and realized they had made a fatal mistake. They thought they had erased me, but I had returned with a roadmap of scars and a hidden satellite phone. At dinner, I didn't beg for their love. I simply rolled up my sleeves and showed them the price of their silence. As the wine spilled and the lies crumbled, I sent a single text to the only person I trusted: "I'm in. Let them simmer." The hunt was finally on.

Modern Revenge Scheming

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Lila Hart's POV

Do not flinch. Do not fold. Do not fall apart.

That had been my inner chant for the last ten minutes, ever since I stepped into the boardroom of Vale Industries, a room so sterile and cold it could have been a crime scene. Maybe it was. Maybe this was where dreams came to die.

I clutched the strap of my vintage leather bag as I sat at the long marble table. Across from me, Jaxon Vale leaned back in his seat like a man who owned time. Which, technically, he did. My time. My company. My fate.

"Lila Hart," he said, with a voice so smooth it nearly cloaked the venom beneath it. "I expected you to cancel."

"I almost did," I said, forcing my spine to remain upright. "But then I remembered cowards do not build empires."

His lips quirked, just slightly. "Neither do martyrs."

He slid a folder across the table. I stared at it like it was radioactive. Because in many ways, it was. A single signature would change everything.

My fashion label, HARTLINE, had grown from nothing but sketches and grit. But over the last six months, the cracks had deepened, investors pulled out, collections delayed, and whispers of bankruptcy lingered like smoke. Vale Industries had swept in like a lifeboat.

Except now, it felt more like a leash.

"You will maintain creative control," Jaxon said, tapping the document. "Your name stays. Your team stays. But operations, funding, and distribution go through my board."

"So I become a puppet."

"You become a partner. With power. And twelve months to save your vision. Or walk away."

I swallowed. I wanted to say no. Walk out with my pride intact and my company in flames.

But I had built HARTLINE with blood. I would not bury it out of pride.

I signed.

Jaxon did not smile. He only nodded. "Good. You will report directly to me. Starting now."

The elevator ride down from that high-rise felt more like free fall. I tried to remind myself this was temporary. A means to an end.

But when I opened my phone, a message from Eva, my best friend and business manager, flashed on screen:

You signed?? Without telling me?? Lila what have you done.

I could not answer. Because I did not know.

That night, I sat in my studio apartment, surrounded by swatches of silk and satin, wondering when survival had begun to taste like surrender. My fingers moved on instinct, sketching silhouettes in my worn notebook.

And then a knock shattered the quiet.

I opened the door to find Jaxon Vale.

"What are you doing here?"

He held up a sleek black flash drive. "You missed something in the contract. A clause. One that cannot wait until morning."

Suspicion crawled down my spine. "You came here. Personally. To deliver a flash drive?"

"I do not delegate certain matters. May I?"

Against my better judgment, I let him in.

He moved through my studio like he already knew every corner. Like he had been here before in another life.

I plugged the flash drive into my laptop. A single folder blinked on screen. Project Phoenix.

"What is this?"

"My father's legacy. And now, yours."

Inside were confidential blueprints, tech schematics, and something else, a file labeled HARTLINE-DEEP.