In the commercial battlefield, for Leighton, business had always been a matter of transactions—money and tangible interests exchanged with little room for sentiment. Normally, he went with the flow, unbothered. But today, irritation prickled beneath his skin, impossible to suppress.
A headache pounded at his temples, a sharp pain clawed at his chest, and a strange lightness made it feel as if he were floating. All he wanted was to leave.
Ryan, standing by his side, raised an eyebrow as he noticed his boss lifting his right hand.
"That’s enough for today. The president has other matters to attend to," Ryan announced smoothly. The moment he finished speaking, Leighton was already on his feet, striding toward the exit without hesitation.
He ignored the calls of those trying to stop him. Politeness had never been his style. At twenty-eight, he had taken a near-bankrupt family company and, within three years, turned it into an empire. Dominating the real estate and electronics industries, his ventures in other sectors were equally formidable. No one dared question his business acumen.
And yet, someone had made the mistake of underestimating him in another aspect.
As Leighton disappeared down the corridor, a man who had been silent throughout the dinner promptly pulled out his phone and sent a message.
By the time Leighton settled into his car, his headache had worsened. Heat pulsed intermittently through his body, a slow burn creeping beneath his skin. If not for the persistent ache in his head and his near-unbreakable self-control, his discomfort might have been more obvious.
His mind flickered back to the faint scent lingering in the hotel’s private dining room, the way the symptoms had begun after he had taken a drink. His brow furrowed, and a dangerous glint flashed in his dark eyes.
If they thought they could manipulate him with such cheap tricks, they had gravely miscalculated.
Ryan drove swiftly, the atmosphere in the car tense. When they arrived at Leighton’s private villa, he stole a glance at his boss and hesitated before speaking. "Sir… there’s a woman at the front door."
Leighton’s eyes narrowed. He turned his head and, sure enough, there was a figure lying at the villa’s entrance.
A woman.
A cold sneer tugged at his lips. The lengths people would go to truly had no bounds.
Suppressing his rising frustration, he stepped out of the car. Ryan followed closely, his gaze dark with disdain.
During his two-week stay in the capital, at least ten women had been sent his way through various schemes. None had succeeded. Yet, clearly, some people still refused to take the hint.
Leighton had neither the patience nor the inclination to deal with another one of these opportunists. His body burned hotter, his headache intensifying, but just as he was about to turn away, Ryan’s voice made him pause.
"Sir, I think she’s been drugged."
Leighton’s sharp gaze snapped toward the woman, just as the moonlight illuminated her face.
His pulse stuttered—so briefly, so unexpectedly, that he almost missed it.
Her face was unadorned, free of makeup. Under the soft glow of the villa’s outdoor lights, fine baby hairs on her skin shimmered subtly. She wore a simple house dress, utterly unremarkable, yet something about her stirred something deep in his chest.
He clenched his jaw. It had to be an act.
"Throw her out," he ordered, his voice laced with cold indifference. He turned, his body screaming for a cold shower.
Yet as he walked past her, something made him stop.
The sight of her face beneath the moonlight flashed through his mind again, out of place and unwelcome. And despite himself, he turned back.
She lay at his feet, small and helpless. His well-defined brows furrowed, irritation flickering in his eyes.
Evelyn was barely conscious, her body caught between two extremes—the cold ground beneath her and the burning fever raging inside. She bit down on her lip, desperately trying to suppress the unbearable sensation.
"So hot..." she murmured.
A tremor ran through her small frame as she shifted, her body wracked with discomfort. Sweat glistened on her forehead, and her usually bright, innocent eyes had lost their clarity, replaced with a dazed, unfocused haze.
Leighton crouched down, his gaze assessing. His eyes lingered on the natural flush of her cheeks, the way her breath came in short, uneven gasps. Then his gaze fell to her lips—slightly parted, trembling.
A sudden heat flared in his veins, sharper than before.
Before he could step away, Evelyn stirred.
Disoriented and consumed by the drug’s effects, all she saw was a figure in front of her—someone solid, someone who could save her. Without hesitation, she reached for him, her arms slipping around his neck, her soft lips pressing against his.
Leighton stiffened, his pupils contracting in surprise.
Instinct screamed at him to push her away. But his body… didn’t obey.
Her kiss was clumsy, unpracticed. But it was unexpectedly sweet, untainted by calculation or deceit.
In his arms, she felt weightless, delicate—her heat pressing against him, igniting something foreign and unfamiliar in his chest. Her scent, light and natural, curled around him, distinctly different from the artificial perfumes he was used to.
He had always despised women who schemed their way into his life. But this woman…
He didn’t feel that same disgust.
And worse, he wanted more.
Evelyn whimpered softly, pressing closer, her trembling hands gripping his shirt as if seeking something—someone—to anchor her.
Leighton inhaled sharply, a muscle in his jaw ticking. This woman was dangerous. Not in the way he had expected, but in a way that made him question his own restraint.
His gaze darkened. Before he could think better of it, he scooped her up into his arms and strode toward the villa.
Ryan blinked in stunned silence. His boss was actually… taking her inside?
Inside the bedroom, Leighton laid Evelyn down on the bed. Her hands, restless and feverish, sought him out again, her small fingers clutching at his shirt.
Leighton exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. This night was about to get a whole lot more complicated.