Trapped with a Ruthless Billionaire

The Carter Art Gallery's walls reeked of failure and old paint.

Standing in the center of the empty room, Leila Carter clutched the eviction notice so firmly that it crumpled in her fist. The large windows let in sunlight, which left golden striations on the worn wooden floors. This gallery used to be the center of New York's affluent art scene, with its invaluable treasures and the subdued murmur of appreciation. All that remained was a dead, hollow shell.

The legacy of her father was reduced to a last-minute deadline.

Despite the pressure of reality, she forced herself to breathe. Before the gallery was seized and put up for auction to the highest bidder, she had precisely two weeks. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it unless she miraculously summoned two million dollars.

Leila felt sick to her stomach. She had tried everything.

She had pleaded for loans from banks. Rejected. She had made contact with investors. Indifferent. She had looked into every possible possibility, but all she could find were closed doors.

All but one.

Her pulse quickened at the thought. There was only one person left who could help.

However, it would cost her.

The entrance to Blackwell Enterprises loomed ahead, its glass-and-steel exterior shining like a monument to power.

Leila lingered outside, staring up at the towering skyscraper that housed New York's most cutthroat billionaire and his company.

Adrian Blackwell.

The mere thought of his name caused her to become enraged, frustrated, and a feeling she was unable to express.

She hated him. She hated that he had watched her father’s empire collapse without lifting a finger. She hated that he had built his success on cutthroat deals and ruthless ambition.

And most of all, she hated that he was her last hope.

Leila exhaled sharply, shoving her pride aside, and strode into the marble-floored lobby.

The receptionist barely glanced up. “Do you have an appointment with Mr Blackwell?"

“No.” Leila forced her voice to stay even. “But He will want to see me.”

The woman didn’t even blink. “Mr. Blackwell doesn’t take unscheduled meetings.”

“He will,” Leila said tightly. “Tell him it’s Leila Carter.”

That got the woman’s attention. Her gaze flickered with recognition and, for a split second, pity.

Everyone knew who she was. The once-adored daughter of Richard Carter, a man whose name had been synonymous with prestige—until a financial scandal shattered everything.

Leila clenched her jaw. She didn’t need anyone’s pity.

The receptionist hesitated, then picked up the phone, murmuring something into the receiver. A moment later, she nodded.

"Mr. Blackwell will see you now."

Of course, he would. Adrian Blackwell enjoyed watching people crawl.

Leila raised her chin and entered the private elevator, her heart thumping as it ascended.

"You're not crawling. You're taking what's yours."

Adrian Blackwell's office was as icy and menacing as the man himself, with floor-to-ceiling windows framing the New York skyline, a mesmerizing sight that exuded dominance and power. The modern space was sleek, with sleek black furniture, minimalist design, and not a single item missing.

Adrian sat behind a huge glass desk in the center of it all.

The devil himself.

He flipped through a file slowly and purposefully without looking up. Upon finally locking eyes with her, his dark, obsidian eyes became piercing and measuring.

"Leila Carter," he muttered in a silky voice. "This is... surprising."

She detested his tone. She wanted to slap the smirk off his face because it was deep, rich, and filled with amusement.

She hated his voice. Deep, rich, laced with an amusement that made her want to slap the smirk off his face.

She didn’t sit. Didn’t flinch. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction he wanted.

"I need your assistance."

Adrian's head cocked, his face unreadable. "I see."

Leila slapped the folder onto his desk as she moved forward.

She declared, "Everything is in there." The eviction notice, the debt, and the bank statements. I require a loan.

Picking up the file, Adrian flipped through it at a painfully slow rate. The oppressive hush lasted.

Finally, he let out a faint breath and closed the folder with a soft thump.

"You've run out of time," he stated in an emotionless tone.

"I know," she answered rigidly.

Adrian studied her, leaning back in his chair. "What do I receive in exchange?"

Leila took a swallow. She had been afraid about this particular part.

"I'll do anything," Leila said

A lazy, predatory sneer formed on Adrian's lips.

"Be careful, Leila." He spoke in a dripping, dangerously silky voice. "I work in precise words. "Anything" is a risky proposition.

Although she felt a chill, she didn't flinch. "Tell me what you want, please."

He remained silent for a minute. Then he got up.

As he came around the desk and stopped only inches away, Leila stiffened.

Adrian Blackwell was too big, too angular, and too intimidating.

His voice was a hint of danger when he finally spoke.

"I want a fiancée." She gasped. What?

A lazy, sly smirk. "You need funds. I need an engagement. It's an easy transaction.

She laughed sharply, incredulously. "You're crazy."

Adrian remained silent. There is a very profitable commercial deal on the table, but my board members need stability. A female by my side. Someone..... credible.

Her stomach churned. He desired to take advantage of her. "No," she answered at once. "No."

He remained smirking. "So I'm afraid I can't assist you."

As though he had completely dismissed her, he turned aside and walked back to his desk. He knew she had no other choice, damn him.

Leila buried her fingernails into her hands.

Dealing with the worst man imaginable was the worst thing ever.

But she would lose everything if she didn't agree.

Hating herself for what she was going to do, she let out a harsh exhale.

"All right," she gritted out. "I'll do it."

Afterward, Adrian grinned slowly and triumphantly.

"Savvy girl."