The Secret Billionaire's Obsessive Love Trap

Alaina threw her entire body weight against the heavy iron door of the Park Hyatt alleyway.

The metal groaned, scraping against the wet concrete as she slipped inside. The icy Manhattan rain slicked her skin, plastering her dark hair to her cheeks. Her lungs burned. Every breath felt like swallowing broken glass.

She pressed her spine against the cold brick wall, her chest heaving.

Through the narrow gap in the door, she saw them. Two massive men in black raincoats kicked a metal trash can out of their way at the alley entrance. The sound of metal clattering against the pavement sent a violent jolt of adrenaline straight into her bloodstream. They were closing in.

Alaina turned her head. The employee entrance to the main lobby was blocked. A hotel security guard stood there, arms crossed, checking the badges of the catering staff.

Her stomach dropped. She couldn't go through the lobby.

She dropped into a low crouch. The wet fabric of her jeans clung to her knees. A hotel worker pushed a massive canvas laundry cart out of a side corridor. Alaina moved. She kept her body pressed tight against the side of the cart, using it as a moving shield.

She slipped past the guard's line of sight and ducked into the service elevator bay.

One of the men in black stepped into the corridor.

Alaina stopped breathing. She pressed her back against the rough plaster wall. Her fingernails dug into the grooves of the wall so hard the tips turned a bruised purple. The man's heavy boots squeaked on the wet linoleum. He turned his head toward the laundry carts.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm.

The man's radio crackled. He turned away and jogged toward the kitchen doors.

The moment his back was turned, Alaina slid into the open service elevator. She slammed her wet palm against the button for the top floor.

The metal doors slid shut. The elevator jerked upward with a dull, grinding mechanical noise.

Alaina shoved her trembling hand into her soaked canvas bag. Her fingers bypassed her wallet and keys, closing around a hard plastic cylinder. She pulled out an unopened medical syringe. Her thumb flicked the plastic cap off. The needle caught the dim fluorescent light of the elevator.

The elevator chimed. The doors opened to the penthouse floor.

The hallway was lined with thick, sound-absorbing carpet. The lighting was deliberately dim. At the far end of the corridor, a sliver of warm yellow light spilled from beneath the door of the presidential suite.

From the stairwell behind her, she heard the heavy crash of a door being kicked open.

They were already on this floor. They had cut the main power to the elevators, and the emergency lights flickered above her.

Alaina ran. Her wet sneakers made no sound on the plush carpet. She reached the heavy oak door of the suite. She pulled a metal bobby pin from her wet hair. Her fingers shook,