His Vengeful Game: The Bankrupt Heiress

The deactivated black American Express card cut deep into Alaina's palm as she squeezed it.

The sharp plastic edge was a physical reminder that her life was over.

She stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Gay family's Upper East Side penthouse, staring down at Central Park. Her chest felt incredibly tight, as if an invisible hand was crushing her ribs, making it impossible to pull in a full breath.

The heavy oak doors of the office swung open.

Her bankruptcy lawyer walked in and slammed a massive stack of liquidation files onto the mahogany desk. The loud thud made Alaina's shoulders flinch.

"It is done, Alaina," the lawyer said. His voice was completely devoid of pity. "Under the Bankruptcy Code, the federal court has officially frozen every offshore trust tied to the Gay family name."

Alaina turned around. Her fingertips were ice-cold.

"What about the Hamptons estate?" she asked. Her voice shook. "It has been in my family for four generations. Tell me we saved it."

The lawyer shook his head. He did not look her in the eye.

"The Hamptons estate was fully acquired this morning by a private equity firm on Wall Street."

Alaina's stomach dropped like a stone. "Who? What firm?"

"Dyer Capital."

The name hit her like a physical blow to the stomach.

Alaina's pupils shrank. Her heart skipped a beat, then started hammering violently against her ribs.

Hardin Dyer.

Three years ago, he was the poor boy living in the damp basement of that very estate. He was the charity case who took her cold stares and arrogant insults without a word.

The heavy front doors of the penthouse were suddenly shoved open.

Five men in dark, cheap suits marched into the living room.

One of them held up a court summons. "Asset seizure. We are taking the paintings and the antiques."

Alaina rushed forward as two men grabbed the heavy gold frame of her grandmother's portrait.

"Stop! Do not touch that!" she yelled, grabbing the man's arm.

The man shoved her backward. Alaina stumbled, her heel catching on the Persian rug, but before she could hit the floor, the room went dead silent.

Heavy, measured footsteps echoed against the marble floor.

Hardin Dyer walked through the doorway.

He wore a dark, custom-tailored suit that made his broad shoulders look even more intimidating. The air in the room instantly grew thin.

Alaina looked up. Her eyes met his.

Hardin's gaze was entirely empty, save for a cold, mocking glint. The sheer humiliation of him seeing her like this made Alaina's face burn hot.

Hardin raised one hand. He flicked his fingers.

The men in cheap suits immediately dropped the painting and backed out of the room.

Hardin walked slowly toward her. He stopped inches away, forcing Alaina to tilt her head back to look at him.

His eyes dragged down her body, taking in her out-of-season designer dress. He let out a low, harsh scoff.

He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a folded document.

He did not hand it to her. He slapped it directly against her chest.

The papers fluttered to the floor. The bold black letters at the top screamed at her: Divorce Agreement.

Alaina bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper.

"Is this what this is about?" she demanded, her voice vibrating with anger. "You bankrupted my family just to get back at me?"

Hardin's hand shot out. His large fingers clamped around her jaw, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

"Your old-money arrogance is worth absolutely nothing now, Alaina," he whispered.

Alaina was forced to look up at him. She could feel the rough calluses on his thumb pressing into her soft skin. The physical strength radiating from him made her knees feel weak.

"You are leaving this marriage with nothing," Hardin stated. His breath fanned across her face. "Not a single cent."

Alaina brought her hands up and smacked his wrist away.

"I will never beg you," she spat.

Hardin slowly pulled his hand back. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a white silk handkerchief, and wiped his fingers.

He wiped them thoroughly, as if touching her skin had infected him with a disease.

He turned around and walked toward the door.

"You have twenty-four hours to vacate my property," he said over his shoulder.

Alaina stared at his broad back. Her eyes burned with unshed tears, but she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep them from falling.

The lawyer sighed heavily. He picked up the divorce papers, placed them on the desk, and held out a silver fountain pen.

"Just sign it, Alaina."

Alaina walked to the desk. Her hand trembled violently as she took the pen.

She pressed the nib to the paper and signed her name. She pressed so hard that the sharp metal tore right through the thick paper.

The sound of the tearing paper echoed in the empty room. Her three-year nightmare of a marriage was physically severed.

She looked around the massive, silent penthouse. She had absolutely nothing left.