Pain. A deep, searing pain shot through her entire body as she drifted back to consciousness. It felt as though she had been hit by a truck, her limbs weak and sore, her head pounding like a relentless drumbeat. A soft groan escaped her lips as she stirred, trying to push away the oppressive weight above her, but her strength failed her.
In the darkness, she couldn't see the man beside her, but his scent lingered—masculine, clean, and unfamiliar. He remained silent, his presence heavy, and before she could react, his lips brushed against the tender skin of her neck.
Then—blackness.
The first rays of morning sunlight streamed through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the lavish bedroom. Isabella Bailey's eyes flew open, and she bolted upright, her breath hitching in her throat. The silk sheets slid off her bare skin, and reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.
A man. A stranger. He lay beside her, his broad back turned to her, his breathing slow and steady in sleep.
Her heart pounded violently in her chest. This wasn’t a dream. It had happened.
She clutched her temples, fragments of the previous night flashing through her mind. Her eighteenth birthday. The celebration. The glass of wine handed to her by Olivia Bailey—her stepsister. The moment she took a sip, everything became a blur.
Her hands trembled as she stumbled out of bed, frantically gathering her clothes. She needed to get out of there. She needed answers.
The Bailey family estate loomed before her, its grand facade feeling colder than ever. As she stepped through the door, she was met with a thunderous voice.
"Where were you last night?!"
Her father, Richard Bailey, sat on the leather sofa, his face dark with rage. A photograph landed on the glass coffee table before her. Isabella’s stomach clenched as she picked it up. The image showed a man helping her into a hotel room, her body limp in his grasp.
A setup.
Before she could defend herself, the sharp click of high heels echoed from the staircase. Olivia, clad in an elegant designer dress, sauntered down, her face the perfect mask of concern. "Dad, please calm down," she said, placing a gentle hand on their father’s shoulder.
Then she turned to Isabella with a feigned look of disappointment. "Sister, how could you? Even if you had feelings for someone, how could you be so reckless? You’ve disgraced our family."
Isabella’s blood ran cold. "What are you talking about? You drugged me!"
Richard’s face twisted in fury. "Enough! Olivia is your sister, and you dare accuse her? How low will you stoop?"
"Sister?" Isabella scoffed bitterly. "She’s been nothing but a snake, and you refuse to see it!"
Her father’s expression hardened. "I was going to entrust you with the family's inheritance now that you’re an adult. But after this disgrace, you are no longer my daughter! Pack your things and leave!"
His words struck her like a slap.
"You’re throwing me out?" Her voice wavered.
The shattering of porcelain against the floor made her flinch. "Get out!" he roared.
Isabella turned, feeling the icy glares burning into her back. She walked toward the grand doors, her hands gripping the handle of her suitcase with white-knuckled fury.
Behind her, Olivia leaned in, her voice a sinister whisper. "Oh, I made sure the whole night was recorded. If you don’t leave quietly, the world will see just how ‘reckless’ you really are."
Isabella’s nails dug into her palms.
Olivia smirked, stepping back. "Now be a good girl and disappear."
Gritting her teeth, Isabella stormed out, vowing that this would not be the end.
As the front doors shut behind her, a sleek black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the estate. The air shifted, tension crackling like static electricity. The car door opened, and four suited bodyguards stepped out, their presence commanding attention.
Then, a man emerged.
Tall and striking, he carried an aura of raw power. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, he exuded effortless wealth and authority. His icy gaze swept over the scene before landing on Olivia.
"Are you Olivia Bailey?" His voice was deep, smooth, yet utterly devoid of warmth.
Olivia’s heart skipped a beat. He knew her name? Could this be her moment?
She straightened her posture, flashing a charming smile. "Yes, I am."
The man’s gaze darkened. "So, you’re the woman who spent the night with me in Room 6228 of the Gandour Hotel?"
Olivia’s smile froze.
Gandour Hotel? But that was where she had sent Isabella!
Her mind reeled. Could it be—?
Her stomach twisted with dread as she realized the horrifying truth.
Isabella hadn’t spent the night with the pathetic drunkard she had arranged. She had unknowingly been with him.
And standing before her was none other than Ethan Reed—ruthless CEO, financial mogul, and the most powerful man in the city.
Ethan swallowed hard, forcing her nerves to settle. This was still an opportunity.
With a practiced smile, she stepped forward. "Yes… it was me."
Ethan’s piercing gaze bore into her, unreadable and unyielding.
If only she knew what a dangerous game she had just begun.