Trapped By My Ruthless Billionaire Ex

The freezing Manhattan rain slashed against the heavy glass door of the Tribeca restaurant.

Annette pushed her weight against the brass handle. Her muscles ached. She collapsed her cheap, black folding umbrella, the metal spokes groaning in protest.

Water dripped from the hem of her faded trench coat. It formed a dirty puddle on the pristine, imported marble floor of the lobby.

The maitre d' stepped forward. His eyes dropped to her scuffed flats, then traveled up to her soaked collar. His upper lip curled in a microscopic sneer.

"Name for the reservation?" he asked, his voice flat.

"I'm with the bridal party. Annette."

The man tapped his tablet. He didn't bother to hide his disdain as he gestured toward the grand hallway.

Annette peeled off her wet trench coat. Underneath, she wore a plain, ill-fitting navy dress she had bought off a clearance rack three years ago.

A group of women in designer silk gowns stood near the coat check. They stopped talking as Annette walked by. Their eyes scraped over her cheap fabric like sandpaper.

Annette's stomach twisted into a hard, painful knot. A familiar, gut-wrenching pain twisted inside her. She dug her fingernails into the center of her palms, using the sharp physical sting to ground herself.

The hallway was hushed, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps. The only noise was the distant hum of the building's ventilation. She took a shallow breath and pushed open the double walnut doors of the banquet hall.

The noise of the rehearsal dinner hit her like a physical blow. Clinking crystal, loud laughter, and the smell of roasted truffles filled the air.

At the head table, the groom, Leo, looked up.

"Annette!" Leo shouted over the music.

Fifty pairs of eyes snapped toward the doorway. The spotlight of their attention made Annette's skin crawl. Her chest tightened. Her lungs suddenly forgot how to process oxygen.

She took a half-step backward, wanting to melt into the shadows of the hallway.

But Leo was already striding across the room. He grabbed her wrist. His grip was warm and firm.

"I told you to drop that legal aid case for one night," Leo scolded playfully, dragging her toward the brightest part of the room.

Annette stumbled in her cheap shoes. She looked past Leo's shoulder toward the head table.

Her heart stopped beating.

Sitting at the center of the table, casually rolling an unlit cigar between his fingers, was a man she hadn't seen in five years.

Declan Carter.

He slowly lifted his gaze. His slate-gray eyes locked onto hers across the room.

The air in Annette's throat turned to solid ice. The blood drained from her face so fast she felt dizzy. Her feet glued themselves to the thick carpet.

Declan's eyes were like surgical blades. They sliced through the noisy room, dissecting her pale face, her trembling hands, and the frayed hem of her dress.

His jaw locked. A muscle feathered in his cheek. Then, the corner of