Chapter One: The Billionaire Seductive Wife
A painful groan echoed through the dark room.
The sound was low, rough, and broken, like a man fighting a battle no one could see.
Moonlight slipped through the half-open curtains, revealing a tall figure collapsed on the cold marble floor. His hand clutched his chest while the other searched blindly across the ground.
He was trembling.
Sweat covered his face, and every breath that left his lips sounded like torture.
With the last bit of strength in him, he dragged himself forward, inch by inch, toward the king-sized bed.
His fingers reached the bedside table.
He grabbed a small bottle of pills, shaking violently as he opened it. Two tablets fell into his palm. He swallowed them dry, coughing hard before leaning against the bed for support.
Then—
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door shook.
"Colt! Open the damn door!"
Another loud bang followed.
"Colt! We know you're in there!"
No answer.
Inside the room, the man only gasped for air, his vision turning blurry.
Outside, panic rose.
Reid MacPherson stepped back, jaw tight.
"Move."
Without hesitation, he grabbed a metal sculpture from the hallway and slammed it against the lock.
Once.
Twice.
The third hit shattered the door open.
Four figures rushed inside.
Their eyes widened.
On the ground lay the most feared and desired man in Blackwood City.
Colt Clifford.
Bethany was the first to kneel beside him, tears filling her eyes instantly.
"Colt!"
She lifted his head carefully onto her lap.
And there he was—
Even in pain, he looked dangerously perfect.
At twenty-six, Colt Clifford was every woman's forbidden dream and every man's nightmare.
Young.
Rich.
Untouchable.
His face held a sinful beauty that looked carved by the devil himself. Sharp jawline, dark intense eyes, smooth skin untouched by beard, and lips that could ruin lives with one smirk.
He was hot in a way that felt illegal.
Sexy in a way that made breathing difficult.
The devil's carbon copy.
And above all—
He was the richest youngest billionaire in Blackwood City.
Yet right now, the powerful Colt Clifford looked fragile.
Broken.
Human.
Reid MacPherson stood nearby, breathing hard after breaking the door.
At twenty-four, Reid was the second son of the most influential man in Blackwood City.
Wild, playful, and always smiling, he looked like trouble wrapped in expensive clothing.
But everyone knew one thing—
If you crossed Reid MacPherson, you wouldn't live long enough to regret it.
Next stood Dylan Brooke.
The golden singer.
At twenty-two, Dylan was the voice of the city.
Women screamed his name in sold-out arenas. Men envied the face that seemed blessed by the gods.
With his charismatic vocals, endless charm, and beauty that cameras worshipped, Dylan Brooke was more than a celebrity.
He was an obsession.
Then there was Bethany Salvatore.
The only girl among the city's hottest men.
At twenty, she was elegant, fiery, and impossible to ignore.
Years ago, when Reid nearly got arrested after a reckless street race, it was Bethany who blackmailed the officer with evidence of his hidden affairs and got them all out.
Since that day, she became one of them.
Not because she was rich.
But because she was fearless.
Though wealth was never a problem.
She was the only daughter of Mrs. Salvatore, the richest woman in Blackwood City and owner of the luxurious fashion empire, Montana Boutique.
Lastly, Franco.
The quiet storm.
The youngest in the group.
He rarely spoke and only opened his mouth when words were necessary.
But when he did, everyone listened.
His father owned the biggest gaming company in Blackwood City, making Franco another heir born into money and power.
Together, they were the untouchable circle of Blackwood.
Rich.
Powerful.
Dangerous.
And loyal only to each other.
Back to the present.
Bethany still cried softly while Colt's head rested on her lap.
Reid ran a hand through his hair and muttered,
"We were late this time."
Dylan swallowed hard.
"It wasn't supposed to happen soon."
Franco said nothing.
But the worry in his eyes said enough.
Across the city, life looked very different.
"Please, sir… just one more chance."
A young girl stood before the restaurant manager, tears threatening to spill.
Her apron was stained, her shoes worn out, and exhaustion rested heavily on her shoulders.
But even in hardship, she was beautiful.
Not the polished beauty of rich girls.
But raw, natural beauty.
The kind pain could not destroy.
The manager folded his arms.
"This is your thirty-first time coming late, Trinidad. Thirty-first! Do you think this is a joke?"
"Please… my father was sick last night. I had to—"
"I don't care."
He pointed at the door.
"You're fired."
Her knees almost gave way.
"Sir, please. I need this job."
But the man had already called security.
Two guards grabbed her arms and dragged her outside while customers watched.
No one helped.
No one cared.
They threw her onto the pavement.
Trinidad Montana sat in a corner, hugging herself as tears poured down her cheeks.
She was tired.
Tired of hunger.
Tired of struggling.
Tired of watching her father die slowly because they couldn't afford treatment.
Her mother had abandoned them years ago, unable to bear the weight of poverty.
Since then, Trinidad had worked from hand to hand, job to job, doing anything honest just to survive.
But honesty had brought her nowhere.
Then a dangerous thought entered her mind.
What if she stole money from the Clifford family?
She had heard enough stories about their wealth to know they would never notice a little missing cash.
She had even tried several times to meet the billionaire son and beg for help.
Each time, she was rejected before reaching the gate.
Her tears slowly dried.
She clenched her fists.
"I can do this."
That night, she went to one of her secret hideouts.
A hidden place only she knew.
Even the smartest thief would fail to find it.
Inside were small savings she had gathered over the years.
Every coin.
Every note.
Every sacrifice.
She pushed them aside and spread a folded blueprint on the floor.
Someone unknown had slipped it to her earlier.
A map of the Clifford mansion.
No name.
No explanation.
No identity.
But Trinidad didn't care.
The only thing that mattered was saving her father.
The next day, she made her move.
And somehow—
She succeeded.
The Clifford mansion stood like a palace built to insult poverty.
Tall gates.
Golden fountains.
Imported flowers.
Shining cars lined like trophies.
The walls themselves screamed money.
Everything about the estate was powerful, elegant, and impossible to touch.
Yet Trinidad had entered it.
She moved quietly through the grand halls, heart pounding like thunder.
After following the blueprint, she reached a private vault room.
Stacks of wealth surrounded the space.
Cash.
Jewelry.
Luxury beyond imagination.
Then she saw it.
A large safe.
Her eyes widened.
She stepped forward—
Click.
The sound of a gun being cocked froze her blood.
A sharp voice sliced through the silence.
"Move a step further and I'll blow your brains out."