Bound By The CEO's Cruel Contract

Claire Page's eyes snapped open.

The first thing she registered was the pain. Every muscle in her body screamed in protest, her hips throbbing with a deep, bone-aching soreness that made her want to curl into herself and never move again. She lay still for three seconds, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling of the Bulgari Hotel's presidential suite, the morning light filtering through sheer curtains in thin, accusing strips.

She sucked in a breath. The air tasted of expensive cologne and sex and something else she didn't want to name.

Claire turned her head slowly, her neck stiff, her scalp tender. The movement made her wince. There, taking up more than half of the king-sized bed, was the broad, bare back of Ellsworth Mosley. His breathing was even, controlled, the rhythm of a man who slept like he conquered-deeply, completely, without dreams.

Her stomach lurched.

She pushed herself up on one elbow, the Egyptian cotton sheet sliding down her chest. The motion sent a sharp spike of pain between her legs, and she bit down hard on her lower lip to keep the sound inside. Her teeth broke skin. She tasted copper.

Claire swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet touched the cold marble floor, and her knees buckled immediately. She grabbed the nightstand with both hands, her knuckles white, her fingernails digging into the polished wood. The lamp rattled. She held her breath, waiting.

Ellsworth didn't stir.

She straightened slowly, her spine protesting each incremental movement. Her gaze dropped to the floor. There, crumpled in a heap of destroyed fabric, was her dress. The burgundy velvet evening gown she'd spent three months saving for. It was torn down the side, the zipper ripped clean away, the delicate neckline shredded beyond repair.

Her face burned. The back of her throat tightened.

The phone on the nightstand vibrated.

Claire flinched so hard she nearly knocked the lamp over. She snatched the device, her heart hammering against her ribs, her eyes darting to the bed. Ellsworth's breathing remained unchanged. She unlocked the screen with trembling fingers.

A text from an encrypted number she recognized as Leo Chen's. No greeting. Just a PDF attachment-a wire transfer confirmation for one million dollars to the account on her employment file. The memo line held three letters: NDA.

The cold hit her first. Then the shaking. It started in her hands and spread outward, a violent tremor that rattled her teeth. She gripped the phone until the case creaked, until her fingerprints smudged the glass. A million dollars. For her silence. For her body. For the thing she could never get back.

She pressed her free hand against her mouth. Her eyes burned, hot and desperate, but she wouldn't cry. Not here. Not where he might wake and see.

Claire pushed off from the nightstand. She walked toward the bathroom on legs that felt borrowed, each step sending fresh waves of discomfort through her pelvis. She closed the door behind her