Trapped By The Ruthless Billionaire Lawyer

Eleanor clutched the paper cup tightly in her hand , her fingertips turning white. In the interrogation room, this paper cup became her only support.

Across the metal table, Detective Sullivan's gaze pressed down on her like a heavy stone, searching for loopholes in her story.

"So, you mean Kensington forced you?" he asked in a flat tone, without a trace of sympathy.

Sullivan 's fingers tapped on the keyboard like tiny hammers, striking Eleanor's taut nerves. She forced herself to meet his gaze, to meet his eyes.

“Yes,” Eleanor said, her voice trembling but firm. She cleared her throat. “Last night. In his penthouse.” She recited the details she had rehearsed countless times, the lines sounding so real.

Sullivan stopped typing. His gaze shifted downwards, taking in her worn jeans and faded thin coat. It was a scrutiny. An unspoken question hung between them: Why would a man like Damian Kensington be interested in a woman like you?

A sense of humiliation burned fiercely in Eleanor's stomach. She bit her lower lip hard, the intense pain temporarily making her forget the shame in her heart.

Suddenly, a new sound broke the silence in the corridor—the sound of leather shoes on the linoleum floor. Behind the blinds of the small window by the door, shadows flickered.

Eleanor's heart skipped a beat.

The heavy door was pushed open abruptly, and a blast of cold air rushed in.

Damian Kensington stood in the doorway like a ghost of wealth and power. He wore a custom-made charcoal gray suit. His legal team, three equally well-dressed men, flanked him, making the small room feel like a cage.

Damian's deep, cold, steely eyes swept over the detective and finally settled on Eleanor. Those eyes pinned her to the cheap plastic chair. Eleanor instinctively shrank back, a useless urge to disappear welling up within her.

One of the lawyers, with silver hair and a cold expression, stepped forward and slammed a thick file heavily on the table. The sound echoed like a gunshot, startling Eleanor. Her carefully maintained composure crumbled instantly.

Damian exuded a languid elegance in every gesture. He slowly entered the room and sat down in the chair next to Eleanor . Damian crossed his long legs. A faint, mocking smile flickered across his lips.

Detective Sullivan, who had just been acting like an authoritative figure, suddenly stood up.

“Mr. Kensington,” he said, his tone shifting instantly from condescending to obsequious, “we were just taking notes on Ms. Hayes’ testimony.”

The blatant shift in power relations and the direct veneration of wealth struck Eleanor like a heavy blow to the stomach. Despair, cold and utter, spread through her heart.

Damian finally spoke. He didn't even glance at Sullivan; his gaze remained fixed on Eleanor.

“ Give it to me,” Damian ordered his lawyer.

The silver-haired lawyer pulled out a small USB drive and plugged it into the police station's computer. The monitor lit up. Eleanor's heart pounded, and her palms were soaked with cold sweat.

The screen shows a bedroom. Damian's bedroom. The image is blurry, a black and white picture taken by a high-definition night vision camera.

Eleanor couldn't look away. The video played, a silent yet heartbreaking clip from last night. In it, she clumsily and desperately reached out to him. Her hand climbed onto his shoulder, her body pressed tightly against his. It wasn't a struggle, but a one-sided seduction.

The cruel and merciless truth slapped Eleanor hard in the face.

Detective Sullivan chuckled softly, a knowing look on his face. The laughter filled Eleanor with unbearable shame. A sharp pain gripped her stomach, as if a knot had been torn open.

Damian moved closer, his breath enveloping Eleanor . “What a terrible performance,” he whispered, laying bare her despair. “You could at least have acted a little more convincingly.”

Damian's lead attorney pushed a document across the table, then handed him a pen. "This is a statement withdrawing your complaint. Please sign it. We've also attached a memorandum outlining New York State's penalties for perjury. The penalties are... very severe."

“My brother…” Eleanor began, her words choking in her throat, uttering a final, desperate plea.

“I have absolutely no interest in the tragic stories of the lower classes,” Damian interrupted her, his voice icy and chilling.

Sullivan snatched the pen and slammed it onto the paper. "You heard me. Sign it, or you'll be the one leaving here in handcuffs."

Eleanor's hand trembled as she reached for the pen. Tears welled in her eyes, hot and stinging, but she forced them back. She couldn't let them fall in front of him. The pen nib scratched across the paper, a soft, grating sound—a declaration of her utter defeat.

Eleanor finished signing her name, it felt as if all the strength had been drained from her body. She slumped into the hard chair, gasping for breath, but unable to catch her breath.

Damian straightened the cuffs of his crisp shirt, appearing indifferent. He glanced at the signed document as if it were a piece of trash.

He stood up, turned and walked towards the door.

Something deep inside Eleanor broke down.

She stood up abruptly, the chair overturning behind her with a screeching sound.

“Why?” she cried out in a hoarse voice. “Why are you hurting everyone? Isn’t it enough that you’re protecting Trent Knight?”

Damian stopped at the doorway, his back to her. He turned his head slightly, just enough for her to see his profile in the glaring fluorescent light. He glanced back, his eyes filled with undisguised contempt. He didn't bother to answer.

One of his lawyers stepped between them. "I suggest you keep your distance, Ms. Hayes."

Damian pushed open the door and walked out. The light in the corridor outlined his broad shoulders; he was an invincible figure.

The door slammed shut. It severed all of Eleanor 's hopes, leaving her all alone.

Tears finally welled up and streamed hot down Eleanor 's cheeks.

"Get out!" Sullivan snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. "This isn't a theater."

Eleanor covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle her sobs. She awkwardly groped for the tattered canvas bag on the ground.

Her world had collapsed. She pushed open the heavy door and stumbled into the long, indifferent corridor.