Escaping The Grasp Of My Billionaire

From the back cover

Five years ago, I was the invisible scholarship charity case at an elite Manhattan prep school, trying to survive in a sea of trust-fund babies.

Arlo Hammond, the untouchable billionaire heir, made sure to completely dismantle my soul.

When his wealthy friends asked if he noticed me, his mocking laughter echoed down the hallway.

"Are you out of your mind? You seriously think I'd be interested in a boring little nerd like her?"

But the moment we were alone, he would corner me in dark alleys, pinning my wrists against brick walls with terrifying, possessive jealousy if my phone even buzzed. He played his twisted games until I was left standing in the rain with my shattered dignity.

Now, I am an Assistant District Attorney. I spent years burying those memories under mountains of legal files.

But tonight, he returned.

When we crossed paths at an exclusive club, he looked at me with the cool detachment he'd give a piece of furniture. In front of a crowd of elites, he coldly declared:

"We have absolutely nothing to do with each other anymore."

Then he walked away to pick up a supermodel, leaving me trembling from the sheer humiliation.

I didn't understand. If I was so worthless to him, why did he still have my birthday tattooed in dark ink on his wrist? Why did he look at me with such raw, painful vulnerability in the shadows?

I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror and made a silent vow.

I am not that pathetic seventeen-year-old anymore, and I will prove to him that I am completely, entirely over him.