Staining His Sacred Bracelet

Toptier billionaire Killian is a controlfreak psychopath. He treats that custom braided leather bracelet on his wrist like a sacred relic.

Rumor has it the woman he keeps hidden deep in his heart made it with her own hands. He refuses to let anyone else even glance at it.

A top Hollywood actress merely brushed against it, and her entire career was vaporized. At a wrap party, I accidentally spilled wine right onto his wrist.

The whole room stopped breathing. Instead of snapping my neck, he simply pulled a few tissues, blotted the leather, and said with chilling calmness, "It's fine.

Continue." That night, Killian finally got what he wanted, locking a diamond anklet engraved with his initials around my ankle.

The faint scrape of cold diamonds against my skin and his low, seductive murmurs didn't stop until dawn.

Chapter 1 The celebration party for our box office smashing the twobilliondollar mark. "Did you hear?

Delilah accidentally touched the leather bracelet on Killian's wrist a couple days ago.

She got permanently blacklisted by all of Hollywood and the top investment firms." "Of course I heard. Every major brand is tearing up her contracts.

Delilah is drowning in lawsuits and astronomical penalty fees." "Rumor says his wife made that bracelet. God, I envy her.

Imagine being insanely pampered by the ultimate Wall Street tyrant." The tyrant in question currently sat at the head of the table.

He twirled a crystal glass between his fingers, his expression an impenetrable mask of ice. Pierce wiped a layer of cold sweat from his forehead. No one expected him to show up.

Sure, our movie was a blockbuster hit, but Killian wasn't the type of man to blink at a few million dollars. "Mr.

Killian," Pierce stammered, "is there… a specific reason you graced us with your presence tonight?" Killian tapped his bent knuckle against the mahogany table.

He lazily lifted his gaze. "Nothing. Keep going." "Mr. Killian." Chloe stood up. She played the female lead in our movie. "I want to propose a toast.

Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I promise to work even harder for JM Media." She held her wine glass, swaying her hips with exaggerated slowness as she approached him.

A suffocating wave of cheap, heavy perfume flooded the space. Killian’s brow twitched. He lit a cigarette.

His narrowed eyes swept the room, gliding over the terrified faces before locking onto mine for three agonizing seconds. "Her perfume makes me sick," he stated.

He pointed at me. "You pour the toast." Invisible daggers struck my back from every corner of the room. I braced myself, poured a glass of red wine, and closed the distance. "Mr.

Killian, a toast. Thank you for investing in this project." Without breaking eye contact, Killian lifted his glass and drained it.

Pierce and the producers slumped back in their chairs, panting like relieved lapdogs.

They shot me sickening, predatory smiles, heavy with the implication of a castingcouch transaction. "Harlow," Pierce barked. "Take the seat next to Mr. Killian tonight.

Make sure he's completely satisfied." The word "no" formed on my tongue, but I caught sight of Valerie.

My manager stared at me with tearfilled eyes, clearly hallucinating a future where I hooked a billionaire sugar daddy and skyrocketed to Alist status overnight.

I swallowed the refusal and took a silent sip of my juice. I had been in the industry for over a decade. I was still a nameless Dlister with zero blockbuster roles to my name.

My only actual currency was my face. Breathtaking, to be exact. A sharp, hostile glare burned into the side of my head. I looked up. Chloe.

Killian humiliated her in front of everyone, and now she was transferring that pathetic grudge onto me. I let a faint smirk touch my lips, looking right past her.

She leaned in, her voice dripping with venom. "Harlow, you’re sitting right next to Mr. Killian. Are you blind? Pour the man some wine." I glanced at his empty glass.

My fingers barely grazed the crystal decanter when a violent shove struck me from behind. My body pitched forward. A cold rush of adrenaline hit my veins.

I slammed my hands against the table to catch my balance, crashing straight into the spread of wine glasses.

Dark red liquid splattered across the polished wood—and dripped directly onto Killian's wrist. The air in the private room evaporated.

Everyone held their breath, waiting for the executioner's axe to fall. "Harlow is dead meat. Delilah had elite connections and still got erased.

Harlow is just a nobody." "You think he’ll literally kill her?" "Hard to tell. Everyone knows he treats that leather bracelet like a holy relic." Killian’s jaw locked.

A dark crease formed between his brows. His assistant practically lunged forward to hand him a stack of napkins.

Killian's long, elegant fingers—the same fingers that signed billiondollar merger deals—slowly and meticulously wiped the wine off the braided leather.

His eyes narrowed, flashing with the primal, dangerous heat of a predator guarding its prey. Three minutes ticked by in dead silence.

Three minutes of suffocating agony for every single person trapped in that room. Chapter 2 Pierce gathered whatever pathetic courage he had left. "Mr.

Killian, Harlow didn't mean to—" Staring at the spotless leather bracelet, Killian's rigid jawline finally relaxed a fraction. "It's fine.

Continue." The collective gasp sucked the remaining oxygen out of the room. Did they hear that right? The tyrant was just letting it slide?

Thanks to Killian's bizarre mercy, a fresh wave of venomous glares drilled into my back. I swallowed a dry laugh. The braided leather bracelet Killian treated like a sacred relic?

I wove it with my own two hands. I stepped out of the restroom to find Chloe blocking the hallway. "Harlow! Consider this a warning. Mr. Killian has a wife.

If she finds out you're throwing yourself at him, you're dead meat." I stared at her flailing, manicured hands. A dull ache throbbed at my temples.

Once she finally ran out of breath, a genuine, amused smirk tipped the corner of my mouth. "Mrs. Killian?" "Damn right. I was a VIP guest at Mrs.

Killian's private dinner party in Beverly Hills." Chloe crossed her arms, her chin tilted high. "She's a toptier socialite from a true oldmoney family.

She's a million times more stunning than a weed from the trash like you. You take one step closer to Mr.

Killian, and I'll have her snap her fingers and erase you from this industry." She clawed her way to a shred of fame with this movie and banked on hooking Killian tonight.

Getting cockblocked by a Dlister was making her lose her mind. I lazily shifted my gaze over her shoulder. "Did you catch that, Mr. Killian?

Chloe here says she's close personal friends with your wife." She spun around like a rusted animatronic. "Mr.

Killian, I—" The color drained from her face as the empty hallway mocked her.

She whipped around, raising a manicured hand to strike. "Harlow, you bitch!" My hand shot out, clamping around her wrist.

I shoved her arm back, stepping directly into her personal space. "If you want to survive in Hollywood, keep my name out of your mouth." I dropped her arm and stalked off, the sharp click of my heels echoing against the marble.

Night fell. Inside the luxury Manhattan penthouse, the glittering city skyline stretched endlessly beyond the floortoceiling windows.

A faint, dangerous smirk touched Killian's lips. He tossed his goldrimmed glasses onto the nightstand. My pulse hammered against my throat.

I spun toward the door, but Killian’s heavy frame blocked the exit, pinning me flush against the cold wall.

His heavily muscled arms boxed me in, locking me in a cage of pure heat and dominance.

Zero chance of escape. "Harlow," he murmured, his breath brushing my skin. "You know how much I treasure that bracelet. I never take it off. You stained it today.

You have to pay up." He leaned his full weight into me, his scent wrapping around my senses.

I planted my hands on his solid chest, shoving hard, but his grip only tightened, swallowing my resistance. Heat flooded my cheeks. "How?" I breathed, my voice cracking.

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket. My breath hitched as he locked a custom diamond anklet—engraved with his initials—around my ankle.

The glittering stones stood out sharply against my pale skin. The faint scrape of cold diamonds against my skin and his low, rough groans didn't stop until dawn.

Sunlight sliced through the curtains. My phone buzzed an angry, relentless rhythm against the mattress.

I squinted at the caller ID and answered. "Valerie, what's wrong?" I flinched. My voice was a shredded, husky wreck.

Valerie paused for a second before unleashing a deafening shriek through the speaker. "What's wrong?! Are you insane?!

Out of all the men in the world, you had to throw yourself at Mr. Killian?!" "The entire internet is blowing up! Everyone thinks you're trying to be his mistress!

That exposure I begged on my knees to get you? Gone." "Your gigs next month? Canceled. If you keep pulling this garbage, I'm dropping you!" The bathroom door clicked open.

Killian stepped out, fully dressed in a tailored suit. Valerie's shrieks bled through the phone loud and clear. He arched a single, amused brow.

Valerie caught the sound of the door. "Who the hell are you with right now?!" Chapter 3 Sleep still clouded my senses.

My mouth moved before the lingering fog in my head could stop it. "Killian." The silence on the line snapped me fully awake.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, desperate to snatch the word back. Valerie drew a sharp, rattling breath through her teeth. "Harlow!! Get your ass to the agency. Right.

Now!" Forty minutes later, I walked into the agency. [ HarlowHomewrecker ] [ ChloeBestiesWithMrsKillian ] [ HarlowHickeyMystery: Who is the Sugar Daddy? ] Valerie paced furiously across the office, screaming into her phone at the PR executives. "What the hell is that garbage Chloe posted on Twitter and TikTok?!

She's trying to suck the blood out of an artist in her own agency!

Is the PR department dead?!" Corporate snakes being corporate snakes, they fed her a platter of PR bullshit. "Valerie, the internet is on fire right now.

We can't just snap our fingers and make this disappear. Don't worry, we're prioritizing your situation." Click. They hung up before Valerie could spit out another curse word.

I propped my chin in my hand, staring at the glowing screen.

Chloe's post from this morning was pure vitriol. [ You know he has a family, yet you throw yourself at him like a dog in heat. Stop acting like an innocent little flower. Mrs.

Killian is crying her eyes out in her Beverly Hills mansion. ] [ It breaks my heart. Sending hugs to you, you poor thing. ] She tagged both me and "Mrs.

Killian." I let out a dry, breathy laugh. "Does she have a death wish?" Valerie's hand smacked the back of my head. "Explain these red marks on your neck.

And don't you dare try the mosquito bite excuse." "I heard a man in your room. Was that actually Mr. Killian?

Are you seriously his side piece?!" There was zero point in hiding it anymore. I dropped the bomb. I told her Killian and I were secretly married. Valerie froze. Her jaw unhinged.

She pressed her cold palm against my forehead, muttering, "No fever. Did Chloe's tweet break your brain, or did the internet trolls drive you insane?

I know you want his connections, but you can't just hallucinate a marriage certificate." I kept my chin propped up, watching her with a halfsmile.

A heavy silence stretched between us. "Are you being dead serious?" Valerie finally whispered.

A genuine laugh slipped past my lips. "Dead serious." Valerie slapped her hands together, resuming her frantic pacing. "Holy shit.

Let's see who dares to look down on you now." "One word from Mr.

Killian, and Alist scripts will rain from the sky." Her eyes glazed over, already hallucinating me standing on the Oscars stage.

She stopped, pointing a trembling finger at my neck. "So… you really were with him last night?

And those marks are…" "Yeah." "Valerie," I started, shifting my tone. "You’ve been complaining for years that I don't have any buzz.

Well, look at me now." "I wanted superstar fame, Harlow, not 'most hated homewrecker in America' infamy!" "You always said bad PR is still PR." Valerie paused.

Her eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "What exactly are you plotting?" Chapter 4 "Valerie, I don't want to go public with Killian yet." Valerie frowned. "Why?

Actresses would literally kill for a backer like him, and you're just keeping it a secret?" "It's annoying." Valerie crossed her arms, her eyes screaming Do I look like an idiot to you? "Valerie, you're getting way too hard to fool." The silence stretched until the gears finally clicked into place behind her eyes. "So, you made a bet with your Forbes Top 10 billionaire dad?

If you can't make a name for yourself in Hollywood, you have to crawl back and become the heir to your family's multibilliondollar empire?" I rubbed my temples.

I knew how obnoxious that sounded. Valerie looked like she wanted to strangle me. "And Mr.

Killian just agreed to keep it a secret?" A phantom ache shot through my lower back at the mention of it.

Killian tried to announce our marriage multiple times, and I had to physically stop him. The 'compensation' he demanded in return was… exhausting.

Valerie sighed. "Fine, keep it a secret. But the PR disaster is a nightmare. You're trending with Mr.

Killian, and now everyone thinks you spent the night with some random sugar daddy." Too bad the internet didn't know the 'sugar daddy' was Killian himself.

She waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. Bad PR is still PR. You start shooting Pierce's reality show in a few days." "Crush it. Flip the haters into fans.

I'll go terrorize the PR department into scrubbing those search trends." "Got it." The day of the shoot arrived.

It was a hardcore wilderness survival reality show with explosive ratings, completely unscripted and broadcast live online 24/7. Three men, three women.

The live comments flooded the screen: [ Am I hallucinating? Why hasn't JM Media blacklisted Harlow yet?

Why is she still allowed on TV? ] [ Harlow, care to explain who the guy in your room was? Was it Mr. Killian? ] [ Stop insulting Mr. Killian!

Everyone knows he's insanely devoted to his wife. Why would he ever look at trash like Harlow?

She probably slept with some sleazy investor. ] Offcamera, I caught Pierce gesturing frantically to the cameramen, pointing directly at me and Chloe.

The assistant director looked panicked, probably arguing that my toxic reputation would tank the show. Pierce just tapped the live viewer count on his monitor.

The assistant director immediately shut his mouth. Ratings were king. Chloe had gained hundreds of thousands of followers after her pathetic stunt defending "Mrs.

Killian." Drunk on her new savior complex, she couldn't wait to milk the drama on live television. She crossed her arms and stared me down. "Harlow, you owe Mrs.

Killian a public apology right here in front of millions of viewers.

Then you need to quit Hollywood and give everyone closure." Her little speech was a blatant attempt to force a confession out of me on camera.

I scoffed. "Apologize for what exactly?" "For what you did with Mr.

Killian the other night, obviously." She pressed a hand to her chest, playing the tragic victim. "You have no idea how heartbroken Mrs. Killian is.

I couldn't bear to watch her cry." The live chat exploded in a blur of text.

Pierce practically vibrated with excitement behind the monitors. [ Is Chloe secretly a billionaire heiress? The way she talks about Mrs.

Killian, they sound super close! ] [ LMAO Harlow acting all innocent asking why she should apologize. You wrecked a home, bitch. Is that not reason enough? ] [ Cancel Harlow!

I refuse to watch any show with her in it. ] Hate flooded the screen, but the viewer count kept skyrocketing. I stared her dead in the eye. "I was with my husband that night.

Do I need to submit a report to you every time I sleep with my own husband?" The word 'husband' hung in the air, heavy and lethal. Chloe’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Chapter 5 For a celebrity, announcing a boyfriend requires a month of PR meetings and contingency plans, let alone an entire marriage. "Harlow, you're the kind of bottomtier trash with nothing but a pretty face.

You can't even find a sugar daddy willing to buy you a bag, let alone a husband.

Aren't you embarrassed to make up such a pathetic lie?" I didn't even blink. "Do you need me to shove the marriage certificate in your face?" Seeing that I was dead serious, Chloe quickly pivoted. "So what if you have a husband?

Who can prove whether you were with him or Mr. Killian that night? And even if you really were with your husband, I saw you throwing yourself at Mr.

Killian at the wrap party with my own two eyes