Fake Wife, Real Trouble: When the CEO Won't Let Go

Chapter 4 The Lavish Basement

Valerie's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.

What the hell had she just done? Mistaken Ryan Sidney for a gigolo and practically molested him?

Jesus Christ—this had to be a nightmare. No, scratch that, she'd clearly blacked out from drinking. Maybe another power nap would reset this insanity?

Without hesitation, she face-planted into the pillow, ready to play possum and pray this disaster would magically disappear.

But she'd sorely underestimated Ryan's IQ and notoriously short fuse. Before her cheek even touched linen, his sardonic voice sliced through the silence: "That other woman—wasn't she your friend?"

Holy s**t! Nina—where was Nina?

Valerie's mind white-noised with panic. Like someone electrocuted back to consciousness, she jackknifed upright, abandoning her pathetic death act as she pawed desperately for her phone—only to clutch empty air.

"Ryan, where's my damn phone?" She scanned the room like a rabid raccoon before zeroing in on him with accusatory fury.

"Here." Ryan's razor-sharp lips quirked, his feline eyes slitting. His sculpted face might as well have been carved from Arctic ice.

Though confined to his wheelchair, his presence loomed so large that Valerie instinctively recoiled. Her teeth chattered with an audible *click* as her traitorous eyes locked onto the phone dangling between his fingers—where a horrifying video played.

"...Nina!"

In three heartbeats, Valerie recognized her best friend being manhandled like trash by two goons in black, then tossed into a van that peeled out with a tire-screeching roar.

They might as well have been dragging her to Siberia!

Liquid nitrogen replaced Valerie's blood. Forgetting all caution, she launched off the bed, hopping like a madwoman as she jammed her feet into shoes. "Ryan, you psychotic bastard! If Nina gets so much as a scratch, I'll—"

"Oh?" Ryan's smirk didn't reach his polar-void eyes. With a *thunk*, he dropped the phone—then crushed it under his wheelchair with a bone-chilling *crunch*. The device exploded into circuitry shards.

He closed the distance in one smooth motion, steel-cable fingers digging into her chin. "No one's picking up. Even with this, you're powerless."

His voice could've flash-frozen hell. Seated or not, he dominated the space, his gaze stopping her heart mid-beat. She thrashed, producing only choked whimpers.

After an eternity, Ryan released her with deliberate slowness. "Set one foot outside—and your friend gets erased from existence."

"And that's just the opener. Keep testing me, and the woman in that nursing home joins her. Hah—you know exactly who I mean."

"Unless you need convincing—"

"Of course I believe you!" Valerie wrenched her hand free with a sharp *smack*, cutting Ryan off mid-sentence. "You ruthless, selfish monster! Is there anything you wouldn't stoop to?" she snarled.

With a shuddering breath, she *thudded* back onto the mattress, hugging her knees. "Hurt Nina? Hurt my mother? Go ahead—slit my throat right now and I wouldn't even blink. You're the great Ryan Sidney after all. We're just insects beneath your feet!"

Ryan's chiseled features darkened like a gathering storm.

Unbelievable. He'd considered mercy, but this woman kept testing his limits.

His knuckles whitened against the wheelchair arms as he studied her—a wounded kitten curled in defiance, those glistening eyes daring him to comfort her. Infuriating. A porcelain doll with the claws of a wildcat, challenging *him* in his own domain.

"Mark." He thumbed the call button, voice dangerously calm. Not to mask his anger, but to hide how thoroughly she kept getting under his skin.

Mark entered promptly, his stoic expression flickering at the scene. Years of training prevented laughter—likely saving his career.

"The basement," Ryan commanded.

"Sir!" Mark complied, though inwardly lamenting the wasted romantic opportunity. "Madam, will you walk or—?"

Valerie launched off the bed before he could finish, shooting Ryan a venomous glare. "Do your worst! Just don't expect me to thank you for letting me out!"

Ryan answered with an arctic stare, calmly steering toward the bathroom.

Fuming yet powerless, Valerie followed Mark like a prisoner flanked by stone-faced wardens. Escape was impossible.

Only when the basement door clicked shut did she gasp—this "punishment" was absurdly luxurious. Sprawling across 150 square meters, it dwarfed her Nors City apartment.

A cozy sleeping nook nestled against one wall. Not the master suite upstairs perhaps, but compared to the shoebox apartments most young professionals rented? This was paradise.

She squared her shoulders. Solitary confinement? Child's play. "Go ahead, Ryan," she muttered to the empty room. "Lock me away forever. That's when I'll know you've got real backbone."

Valerie sat in front of the sleep pod, grumbling curses until the alcohol and exhaustion took over. Without another thought, she stumbled inside and passed out cold.

Back upstairs, Ryan wheeled out from the bathroom, freshly showered. He surveyed the empty bedroom with an unreadable expression before abruptly turning his wheelchair toward the surveillance room.

"Basement feed."

"Y-yes, sir!"

The icy command startled the dozing guard, who nearly fell off his stool scrambling to switch cameras. The main screen flickered to show Valerie sprawled out, dead asleep.

Ryan's face darkened and cleared, his eyes briefly closing to mask his emotions. He spun his wheelchair around with a mocking laugh.

"Foolish woman. How can anyone sleep like that?"

"What kind of creature sleeps like that?"