Chapter 1
"Ugh, it hurts..." Elena Hawthorne slowly opened her eyes, suppressing the discomfort throughout her body as she attempted to sit up. Just as she moved, a chilling sensation spread across her skin, and she glanced down to discover that she was completely bare. What happened? She was supposed to be at Reginald Hawthorne's charity auction, wasn't she? How did she end up here? Confused, Elena tried to pull herself out of bed, eager to find her friend Prospero, but the sharp pain in her body reminded her of what had transpired. “Awake, are we?” From the dark corner of the room came a voice as cold as ice. Startled, Elena clutched the bedclothes to cover herself. “Who… who are you?” “Ha!” The stranger's mocking laugh sent shivers down her spine, and suddenly, the room was flooded with light. Wincing at the brightness, she raised her hands to shield her eyes. Once she adjusted, she peered through her fingers, and her heart sank at what she saw: "Nathaniel Wynter?" What was he doing here? Seated casually on a leather sofa in the corner, Nathaniel, a tall figure in a well-tailored suit, radiated an air of elegance. His strikingly handsome face, particularly those penetrating, bottomless eyes, gave off a sense of danger. The way his eyelids fell slightly overhis gaze added a layer of mystery that had captivated her in the past. But those eyes, which once looked at her tenderly years ago, now carried a chilling intensity. Elena trembled, a pain clawing at her chest like a fresh wound. “How did I end up here?” As soon as the words slipped from her lips, Nathaniel stood up and slowly approached her, each step deliberate and imposing. Elena felt an urge to retreat, but with the remnants of her torn clothes littered on the floor, every inch of her retreat had been cut off, stark reminders of a wild night she couldn’t quite remember. “How did I end up here?” Nathaniel was right in front of her now, gripping her chin tightly. “Shouldn’t we be asking how you ended up in my bed?” Elena's blood ran cold at the implication. Memories surged forth like an overwhelming tide—embarrassing sounds, fiery glances, fragments of a night she had no recollection of. Nathaniel leaned in closer, his voice soft yet dripping with venom, piercing her inside. "I should've known you’d still be this... cheap." Pain shot through Elena's chest. Before she could scramble for a response, she blurted out, “No, it’s not what you think! Yesterday morning was a misunderstanding. I didn’t—” “So, let me get this straight,” Nathaniel cut her off, his tone suddenly icy as daggers. "You didn't think of climbing into bed with a random guy?" He squeezed her chin harder, stealing her breath, and without another word, he tossed her back onto the bed. "Wynter... he—" Before she could finish, Nathaniel pressed his body against hers, cutting off her words as their breaths intertwined in a heated struggle. His grip tightened around her ankle, and with a sudden bite to her lip, he drew blood. She gasped, the metallic taste lingering on her tongue. “I can't believe Reginald Hawthorne thinks he can just toss around fifty million dollars a night,” he mocked, pulling back to look at her, amusement dancing in his eyes. "What fifty million?" Elena stared at him, incredulous, unable to process the figure he'd just thrown out. Her eyes widened, grappling with the reality of her circumstances. Something deep inside her stirred—a flame of defiance against the manipulative game Nathaniel was playing. And yet, there was a part of her that felt entangled in the shadows of their past, where old emotions could easily sway her once more. Little did she know that the night was just sparked the flame of a much deeper conflict than just a misunderstanding.
Chapter 2
Under the dim lights of her lavish bedroom, Elena Hawthorne's mind raced. Could this whole disaster be orchestrated by Reginald Hawthorne, her stepfather? It felt impossible; he was the one who cared for her the most. How could it come to this for a mere fifty million? “Regret it?” Nathaniel Wynter's voice pierced through her thoughts like ice water. “When you betrayed me for Bartholomew Hale’s sake all those years ago, did you think about the consequences?” Elena closed her eyes, blocking out the painful memories. But Nathaniel wasn't finished. He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You sold yourself to me for Bartholomew, and now you come crawling into my bed for fifty million? You’re nothing but a filthy Isolde!” “No, I’m not! I didn’t mean to!” Tears welled in her eyes as she protested. “Didn’t mean to?” Nathaniel chuckled coldly. “You make me sick, Elena. If Reginald Hawthorne has sold you to me, then from today on, you’re my plaything. The moment I lose interest, you can get lost.” “Please, Nathaniel, just let me go!” “Let you go?” His laughter echoed mockingly. “A toy like you thinks it can negotiate?” Before she could protest further, he leaned in, smashing his lips against hers with a brutal fervor, fueled by vengeance. Pain shot through her as she struggled, desperate to escape the unwanted grasp of his lips. In a frantic attempt to break free, Elena’s hand groped a nearby ashtray, and with a sudden surge, she swung it towards Nathaniel’s head. “Ah!” he yelped, unprepared for her retaliation. The blow sent him reeling, his eyes rolling back as he collapsed, unconscious. Seizing the moment, Elena hastily shoved Nathaniel off her, scrambled off the bed, and frantically pulled on her torn clothes. With adrenaline coursing through her veins, she darted out of the lavish room. As she dashed through the opulent hallways of the Guildhall, the sound of pulsating music filled her ears. She was in one of the most famous party venues in the city, the Guildhall, where the dance floor overflowed with bodies, vibrant lights flickering around her. Elena hugged herself, trying to blend into the crowd as she carefully navigated through the throngs of revelers, glancing back continuously, heart pounding in fear that Nathaniel might pursue her. Just as she managed to slip away from the dance floor, she abruptly collided with someone. “Oof! Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” “Whoa, this girl is hot!” The guy chuckled, exhaling a cloud of alcohol-laden breath. Alarmed, Elena instinctively tried to back away. But before she knew it, a group of men in black suits surrounded her, blocking her escape. “Step aside, I really need to go.” Her voice trembled with anxiety, but the man grinned in a way that made her skin crawl, grabbing her shoulder and pulling her closer. “You think you can just bump into me and walk away? Where do you think you’re going?” “I really am sorry!” she continued to plead, desperately trying to maneuver past him. But he clamped his hand tighter around her shoulder, dragging her towards the exit as she struggled to break free. “Get off me! Let me go!” “Shut it, little one!” he hissed, covering her mouth, clutching her tightly as they continued toward the exit. Outside the Guildhall, a sleek black car was parked, waiting with the engine idling. The guy signaled to his crew, and they swung the car doors open, ready to make their escape. Panic surged within Elena. Just as she was about to scream for help, she impulsively drove her knee upwards into the man’s groin. “Ah! You little—!” he cried out, releasing her momentarily. Without hesitating, Elena broke free and sprinted down the street, heart hammering in her chest. The Guildhall had a lineup of luxurious cars parked outside, but the street was eerily quiet at this late hour. “Nathaniel! Please help me!” she shouted into the night, already feeling crushed by despair as tears streamed down her face.
Chapter 3
“Save me? Tomorrow, no one can save me!” Isolde groaned in pain, gritting his teeth as he lunged after Elena Hawthorne. Elena threw off her heels, sprinting like her life depended on it. She couldn’t be caught—she absolutely couldn’t! Suddenly, a sharp pain jolted through Elena’s shoulder as Isolde yanked her roughly backward. She stumbled and fell hard into Jasper, who was equally taken by surprise. “Ah!” Elena cried out, feeling a stabbing pain shoot through her ankle as she moaned softly. Dazed, she didn’t register the hit until her head collided against Jasper’s. “Bastard! You think I want to be here?” Isolde sneered, jerking her hair back, his breath reeking of alcohol. Through teary eyes, Elena looked up at Isolde, her voice quaking. “Guys, he really didn’t mean it.” If only there was someone—anyone—who could save her from this nightmare… Isolde chuckled lewdly, pushing his hand toward the fabric of her clothes, invading her space. At that moment, a sharp voice cut through the tension. “Big talk for someone who's about to see how I deal with your lady, Isolde.” At the sound, Elena's eyes flew open to see Nathaniel Wynter striding toward her, the neon lights highlighting his confident presence as he approached from the Guildhall’s entrance. “Wynter…” Hot tears began to well up in Elena's eyes; she curled tighter into herself, desperate to hide her shame from him. Nathaniel restrained his anger, his tone serious. “Why am I here?” Isolde let go of Elena quickly, straightening himself, eager to defuse the situation. “My lord, you’ve got it all wrong. Even if I had the guts, I wouldn’t touch her!” He stepped back, creating distance as Elena dropped her gaze, nervously inching toward Nathaniel. In a split second, Nathaniel swept Elena up into his arms, mocking, “What’s the rush? Just got off his bed, and you can’t wait to be back with him?” “He… he didn’t—” Elena shook her head, tears flowing uncontrollably now, streaming down her cheeks. Nathaniel’s cold gaze swept over her again before he turned back to Isolde. “What’s the matter? Waiting for me to ask you to leave?” Isolde froze, his face paling as he turned to leave in a hurry. But just before Isolde could escape, Nathaniel’s voice rang out again. “Since you’ve laid a hand on her, don’t you think you owe her an apology?” Isolde faltered, biting his lip before turning back. He bowed his head, knees hitting the ground in a desperate plea. “I’m sorry. I can't…” As if compelled by distress, his legs gave in, and he followed suit, kneeling in fear. In Kingston, everyone knew what Nathaniel was capable of. Cross him, and your life would become a living hell. Ignoring Isolde entirely, Nathaniel wrapped an arm protectively around Elena and turned away, leading her off into the night, finally free of the chaos.
Chapter 4
Elena Hawthorne never expected to find herself back at Golden Keep one day. Lady Seraphina Moore had left her in the hands of Nathaniel Wynter and disappeared without a trace. The grand estate, part of Nathaniel’s impressive collection, held bittersweet memories for Elena, particularly from the days she spent here with him, filled with laughter and stolen moments. The staff at Golden Keep had changed over the years. Now, as she stood in the entrance hall, Elena felt like a prisoner in this beautiful yet suffocating place. Just before leaving, Nathaniel had gripped her chin, warning her that she was now worth fifty million dollars. The implication cut deep—worth that much, yet reduced to a mere possession. Fifty million? She couldn’t believe it; it was both infuriating and astonishing. After two days passed without Nathaniel returning, Elena accepted the harsh reality that she might have been forgotten. The encounter felt more like a fleeting ghost of their past rather than a rekindling of something once cherished. The morning after her second night alone, as she descended the stairs, Elena was met with a voice that dripped with sweetness, echoing from the entrance. “Brother Wynter, you’re so annoying~” There stood Lady Isolde Grey, a stunning vision with dark flowing hair and an exquisite figure elevated by her sky-high stiletto heels. The beauty was captivating, and it was hard to imagine any man not falling for her charms. A pang of jealousy struck Elena’s heart, but the two didn’t seem to notice her presence, lost in their own intimate exchange. Nathaniel, who typically kept a distance from Isolde, didn’t push her away. Instead, he patiently replied, “I’ve got your gift ready. Don’t act spoiled.” Lady Isolde giggled. “I knew you wouldn’t forget my birthday, brother Wynter! Oh, and about the clothes you left at my place last night, I had the maids wash them. I’ll send them over later.” Last night? Nathaniel had spent it with her? An ache gripped Elena’s chest. Consumed by hurt, she turned to leave, but Lady Isolde finally acknowledged her presence. “So, you’re Elena Hawthorne?” As Elena halted, she took a deep breath. A sudden sensation of being scrutinized made her spine tingle. After a moment, she turned to face them, her expression composed. “Yes, that’s me.” Nathaniel scoffed dismissively, shrugging off his jacket and tossing it to her. The scent of Isolde's perfume hit Elena like a wave, a cruel reminder that she was dealing with a woman who had once been close to Nathaniel. Elena felt a moment of weakness, her throat tightening with emotion. Isolde must have sensed Nathaniel's disdain for Elena, as she puffed up her chest, full of bravado. “I heard you were bought by Nathaniel for fifty million?” The words stung like a physical blow, cutting to the very heart of Elena’s worth in this world. They twisted the knife deeper, reminding her that in their eyes, she was nothing more than a mere “plaything.” Elena steadied herself, her voice cold as ice. “And what if I am?” With a sudden leap, Isolde stepped closer, her tone dripping with insincerity. “You think you’re worth five million?” The disdain in Isolde's eyes was palpable, her contempt for Elena evident. Elena smirked, a defiance swelling within her. “You could always try your luck. Offer him fifty million. Let’s see if he’ll bite.” Isolde’s expression darkened, a flush creeping across her cheeks. Elena’s comment tore down her façade, leveling them both to a ground they both understood—a challenging game of status and worth. Nathaniel wouldn't care if Isolde offered the money, not when it came to someone like her. They both knew that Elena had struck a vulnerable chord.
Chapter 5
Elena Hawthorne stood in the opulent drawing room of Wynter House, her heart racing with indignation. In front of her, Lady Isolde Grey wore a smile that seemed entirely out of place given the venomous words that followed. “I’m Lady Isolde, the Big Lady of Moore Manor. Fifty million means nothing to me. Do you think everyone in the world is as worthless as you?” Elena's face shifted into a mask of shock. The word "worthless" sent a sharp pang through her; she had heard it too often from Nathaniel Wynter, the icy patriarch of the family. “Enough, Seraphina Moore!” Nathaniel's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, and he turned his disapproving gaze towards his sister. Seraphina, sensing the disappointment in his tone, stomped her foot. “But Wynter, Isolde’s being cruel!” “Nathaniel Wynter,” he corrected sharply, “she is my Lady Isolde.” Elena felt the ground shift beneath her. Did he really just assert that claim? His Lady Isolde? That was a declaration that carried weight she hadn’t expected. Seraphina glared at Isolde, exasperated, before turning on her heels in a huff and storming out of the room. Even as Isolde left, Elena struggled to absorb what had just happened, her mind racing with Nathaniel's words. “What are you still standing there for?” Nathaniel said, disdain creeping into his voice as though she were an uninvited guest at a gathering. Snapping back to reality, Elena approached him silently, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, without warning, Nathaniel stood up and yanked her into his embrace, his hands dangerously slipping beneath her blouse, squeezing tightly. “Ah!” she exclaimed, pain radiating through her as her body tensed. “Did you honestly think this wouldn’t hurt?” he mocked, an edge of amusement in his tone. With that, he shoved her onto the plush sofa. Before she could react, he leaned over her, his lips crashing down on hers forcefully, as if punishing her for something. Elena instinctively pushed against him, her soft protests muffled by the fury of his kiss. He felt like an angry beast, relentless, and her resistance only fueled his aggression. What did he believe he was doing? The household staff quietly withdrew, leaving the pair to their strange and volatile confrontation. Despite the sunny day outside, Elena felt as if she were trapped in a deep freeze, her heart aching with frustration and sorrow, the unfairness of the situation flooding her senses. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, much to her dismay. Nathaniel paused, lifting his head to regard her with a dark scowl, his hand tightening around her throat. “Is it permissible for every man to act this way, except me?” “No, it’s not…” “Good. Because it disgusts me, Elena Hawthorne!” With that, he released his grip, standing abruptly and retrieving a handkerchief. He wiped his fingers clean, then hurled the cloth at her, deadpan. “Get out!”
There are limited chapters to put here, click the button below to continue reading "Fifty Million Reasons to Run"
(It will automatically jump to the book when you open the app).
❤️Click to read more exciting content❤️