The Tycoon's Contract With A Vicious Beauty

Amelie's fingers trembled as she tried to push her upper body off the Persian rug. Warm blood dripped from her forehead, blurring her vision and matting her eyelashes together. Her heart hammered against her ribs so violently it made her chest ache.

Hubert took a step forward. He wore a custom Armani suit, perfectly pressed. His polished Oxford shoe came down hard on Amelie's right hand.

Amelie let out a muffled groan. Her muscles contracted, instinctively trying to pull her hand back, but Hubert shifted his weight, pressing the hard leather sole deeper into her knuckles. The bones in her hand ground together.

Hubert reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. He pulled out a stack of high-definition photographs and threw them directly at Amelie's pale face.

The glossy papers scattered across the expensive rug. Amelie squinted through the blood. The images showed her in highly compromising, intimate positions with a man she had never seen before. Her brain flatlined. The air left her lungs.

"This is a lie," Amelie rasped, shaking her head frantically. "Hubert, someone faked these. You have to believe me."

Hubert bent down and grabbed a fistful of her dark hair. He yanked her head up, forcing her to look at him. There was no warmth in his eyes. Only cold, calculated disgust.

He pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand and tapped the screen. He shoved it in front of her face. It was a live surveillance feed. Hubert Jr. , their five-year-old son, was running across the playground at a top-tier private kindergarten with full-day care and tight security. A large man in a black suit stood just a few feet away, watching the boy.

Amelie's pupils dilated. Her breathing turned into rapid, shallow gasps. She reached out with her free hand and grabbed the fabric of Hubert's sleeve, her knuckles turning white.

"Sign the divorce papers," Hubert said, his voice completely flat. "Give up your shares in the company and full custody of the boy. If you don't, the man on that screen will put Hubert Jr. in a car, and you will never see him again."

Amelie's stomach dropped to the floor. The psychological dam broke, and hot tears spilled over her cheeks, mixing with the blood. Her throat tightened so much she couldn't speak. She just nodded frantically.

Hubert let go of her hair. He dropped a thick stack of legal documents and a Montblanc pen onto the floor next to her bruised hand.

Amelie picked up the heavy pen. Her fingers shook so badly she could barely grip the metal. She pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name, the ink bleeding into the page.

The heavy oak double doors of the penthouse pushed open. Ara Wilkinson walked into the living room wearing a tailored Chanel suit.

Amelie looked up. A desperate spark of hope flared in her chest at the sight of her younger sister. She reached her bloody hand out toward Ara.