Billionaire's Prisoner

Emma screamed as she hurled the bedside vase at the man who had just reached for her skirt. The ceramic shattered against his forehead with a sickening crack. “Ah!” he groaned, clutching his bleeding head. “Stay away from me!” she shouted, voice trembling. “Touch me again and I’ll call the police!” Still hunched in pain, the man sneered through gritted teeth. “You b***h. Feisty... I like it.” Emma’s breath hitched. Her heart pounded like war drums. She snatched the heavy bedside telephone and slammed it against him with all the strength her shaking limbs could muster. He stumbled back with a grunt. Without waiting to see if he got up, Emma bolted. Her legs were unsteady, her vision spinning. Where am I? These rooms… they don't look familiar! She tried to piece things together. I remember having dinner with Oliver. What happened next? She wondered. Dizzy and breathless, she staggered into the living room—and froze. There, lounging on the couch like nothing was wrong, sat Oliver. Her husband of three years. Relief flooded her chest. She rushed toward him, voice quivering, “Oliver, Oliver, there's a man in my room… quick call the police.” The man stumbled into the living room, blood streaming down his forehead. “What the f**k?” Oliver shot up from the couch— but his eyes locked on the bleeding man, not on Emma. Emma clutched the wall for support, her voice cracking. “Oliver... that's him! He— he tried to—” “Tried to?” Oliver cut her off coldly. “So the job isn’t done yet?” Emma froze. Her breath caught in her throat. “What... what are you talking about? What's going on? Where am I?” Oliver turned to her with a slow, mocking smile. “Oh, dear wife. What else would I be talking about? I’m trying to help you have a child.” His words hit her like a slap. Then he glared at the man. “You had one job— sleep with a drugged woman. Can’t even manage that?” “You planned this?” Emma whispered, her voice barely audible. “Are you even human?” “I’m your wife, Oliver,” she said shakily. “How could you do this to me?” Oliver scoffed. “Wife? Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just some nobody who caught Grandpa’s attention. Without him, you would’ve never been a Jones.” Emma’s eyes welled up, her knees buckling. “Even if our marriage is a contract… I’ve always respected it. I took care of your grandfather like he was my own family. The least you could do is show some decency.” He rolled his eyes, ignoring her words completely. His gaze was fixated at the man, “looks like the drug is still in her system. What are you waiting for? You got the money. Finish the job.” Emma staggered back, horror-struck. “You drugged me? This— this is a crime! Do you even hear yourself?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. In three years of marriage, she had endured his coldness, his indifference. But this—this was something else. This was evil. “I’ve heard enough,” Oliver said with a sigh, waving dismissively. “Wipe your damn blood and get it done.” Emma felt sick to her stomach. How did I ever marry a man like that? Without another word, she turned and ran out of the room— tears stinging her eyes, fury pounding through her veins. She sprinted through the hall, heart racing, until the truth hit her like a wave: This is a hotel… not our home. “Catch her! Don’t let her leave!” Oliver’s voice thundered behind her. Emma didn’t look back. She darted down the long corridor, banging on random doors as she passed, hoping— praying— someone would help. Just as she reached the last door, it swung open. A tall man stood on the threshold. Without hesitation, Emma shoved past him into the room and slammed the door shut behind her. “Please,” she gasped, turning the lock. “Help me… they drugged me.” The man said nothing. He simply stared at her—intensely. Too intensely. Her hands trembled. Her thoughts spun. “Just let me hide,” she pleaded, her voice cracking. “Only for a few minutes. I’ll pay you for the room— anything.” “Is that so?” The man asked, amused this time. Emma nodded, panting. Her skin felt flushed, her pulse erratic. “It’s so hot in here,” she muttered, tugging off the hotel robe and dropping it to the floor, revealing a thin satin nightgown beneath. The man’s jaw tightened. His eyes flicked over her— sharp, calculating. Was she really drugged? Or was she pretending to get close? Another one of assassins? He thought. Before he could ask anything else, Emma staggered toward the table, reaching for the water bottle. But her knees buckled, and she collapsed—straight into the stranger’s chest. They both tumbled onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and breathless silence. The man caught her instinctively, his body tense beneath her. “The drug’s kicking in hard,” he murmured to himself, just as Emma giggled softly against his chest. She lifted her finger and pointed to his mouth. “You… you’re very handsome,” she slurred, tracing the curve of his lower lip with her fingertip. “And your lips… they look sooo kissable.” “Do they now?” he asked, amused, raising a brow. Emma nodded with drunken delight, then leaned in without warning and pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips. “Mmm… soft,” she purred. “I could kiss you all day…” The man chuckled darkly, though there was a flicker of restraint in his gaze. So she really was drugged. And she has no idea who she’s climbing on top of… But Emma didn’t care. Lost in the haze, she kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the way his breath hitched when she nipped lightly at his lower lip. His grip tightened on her waist. “You should stop,” he warned, though his voice had gone dangerously rough. “Before we do something you’ll regret.” “Regret?” she whispered, her breath warm against his cheek. Her eyes shimmered. “Why should I regret? He should. This is all on him.” Emotion surged in her chest. Her laughter turned to something broken, vulnerable. Tears welled in her eyes. The man watched her silently. Then, dryly muttered, “You’re a clumsy little kisser.” “Yeah?” she sniffled. “Then… teach me.” He tilted his head, a dangerous smirk curving his lips. “Since you asked for it… Bella.” Without another word, he crushed his mouth to hers. His tongue swept past her lips, claiming her with a heat that burned through the last of her resistance. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair as he tilted her head back, deepening the kiss until her thoughts scattered. Every stroke of his tongue was deliberate, intoxicating, stealing the breath from her lungs. She melted into him, her body arching instinctively, seeking more. His hands slid down her back, pulling her flush against him, and she whimpered at the hard press of his body against hers. When he finally broke away, she was panting, her lips throbbing, her entire body alight. Just as he pulled away, his phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand. He sighed and glanced at the screen, his expression shifting. Duty called. With one last look at the flushed, breathless woman on his bed, he stood. “I have to go, Bella,” he said, his voice low and velvety. He leaned down, brushing a final kiss against her lips. “But we’ll meet again… and next time, I’ll teach you far more than just kissing.”