The Ghost Of Wall Street : Twisted Vows

They say there are a thousand horrible ways to die in Manhattan. On this rainy Friday night, falling sixty stories from a skyscraper balcony into the raging storm below almost felt merciful compared to facing the man waiting inside. “Vivian, hurry the f*ck up. The system reboots in three minutes!” Markus’s voice crackled through my AirPods. My fingers flew across the sleek keyboard in the dark office. The monitor’s blue glow lit the keys as the progress bar crept forward. Downloading Project Genesis… 30%… 78%… 85%. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, New York had vanished behind sheets of rain as water streamed down the office glass, blurring the skyline beneath the steady rumble of thunder. I paused long enough to draw a breath and scanned the room. My eyes had been locked on the computer screen since I slipped inside. That’s when I saw it. A tailored suit jacket hung over the back of a leather chair a few feet away. Beside it, a crystal glass of scotch sat on a stool next to

Clara's POV. Julian carried me inside from the wet balcony like I weighed nothing at all. His powerful arm wrapped around my waist, pinning me tightly against his broad shoulder. Back inside the ruined office, as he carried me in, water dripped down from the both of us onto the expensive rug on the floor, forming a dark pool of water that mirrored the chaos I had caused tonight. Without a word, Julian threw me onto the leather sofa near the wall. In the center of the room, Markus lay face-down on the floor with three armed guards pinning him in place. His body shook with quiet sobs. “Please, Mr. Cross… I have a daughter. She’s only six.” Markus pleaded. “Shut up, traitor,” Julian said coldly without even looking at him. “I’ll deal with you later.” The guard who had risked everything for me immediately went silent. He pressed his face harder against the cold floor, defeated. Julian turned his full attention back to me. I pushed myself up from the leather sofa where he

Clara's POV. When the car finally pulled up beneath the grand, brightly lit canopy at the tower’s main entrance, my eyes caught the glowing logo on the side of the building. Cross Tower. I stared at it for a moment. Of course he owned the whole damn building. Because apparently owning more money than some countries wasn't enough. As the vehicle came to a complete stop, Julian got out of the car without waiting for me. I stepped out behind him into the covered driveway and immediately kicked off my heels with a sigh of relief. The wet straps had been digging into my skin the entire drive here, and I could not stand them for another second. Carrying my shoes in one hand, my bare feet met the cool, pristine floor of the lobby. Three women in identical black uniform dresses stood in a perfect line beside the private penthouse elevator. The moment the glass doors slid open for us, they all bowed their heads toward the floor. “Welcome back, Master Cross.” My legs froze on the Marble

Clara's POV. Who spends almost twenty thousand dollars on one dress?I stared down at the price tag, convinced I had read it wrong.I hadn’t.I felt my face heating up. I came from money, but I had never understood spending this kind of money on clothes. To me, they were just overpriced versions of things you could buy somewhere else for a fraction of the price.Meanwhile, Julian just sat there sipping his scotch, barking orders like none of it meant anything. “It looks good on you. We’re taking it.”He said it so calmly, like the decision had already been made. I opened my mouth to argue, but the way he looked at me made the words die in my throat.When we moved to lingerie, it got even worse. I stepped out of the fitting room wearing a white lace set, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. The lace hugged every curve of my body, pushing up my breasts and showing off my cleavage, while the thin fabric clung tight to my ass. I had never felt so exposed in my life.Julian looked up fro

Clara's POV. The heavy glass VIP entrance doors of the state hospital slid open with a soft hiss. We stepped out of the angry storm and into the cold hospital. The sharp smell of bleach and antiseptic hit me the moment we walked inside. The night-shift staff went quiet the moment Julian walked in. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. Even the receptionist sat up so fast her chair squeaked. “Good evening, Mr. Cross,” she breathed. “Dr. Aris has been informed. He’s waiting for you on the private floor.” Julian didn’t acknowledge her. He kept walking, his hand firm against the small of my back, guiding me through the lobby. Even through the cashmere coat, I could still feel his touch. It was a constant reminder that I wasn’t the one in control. I pulled the coat tighter around myself. The white lace underneath did nothing to keep out the cold, and my feet already ached inside the cheap emergency slides he had made me wear before we left the penthouse. When we got into the elevator,