Flash Marriage To The Undercover Billionaire

The morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, stinging Chloe Prescott's eyes and causing her to groan softly. A sharp headache struck—the result of the medication her stepmother had secretly given her and the tequila she had desperately gulped down to relieve the burning sensation.

Chloe rolled over, her arm slamming heavily against warm, firm muscles. She snapped her eyes open, the rush of adrenaline dispelling the fog. She recoiled as if burned, burying her hand in the silk sheets.

Chloe breathed slowly, trying to calm herself, tilting her head to the side. The man beside her was asleep with his back to her , his face obscured .

Memories of last night flooded back—her stepmother's sinister smile as she shoved a drugged glass of champagne into her hand at the family dinner, the suffocating heat that followed, and her horrified realization that she had been drugged and was about to be sent to a fifty-year-old suitor in exchange for a dowry. Half-asleep, she fled, rushing into the hotel lobby and stumbling towards the bar. There, she saw him: an unbelievably handsome man, which sparked a desperate and foolish idea in her. She assumed he was one of the hotel's regular high-class companions, and under the influence of drugs, in a rebellious fog, she…hired him.

Shame and anger churned within Chloe—anger at her stepmother, shame at her own actions. Chloe bit her lip, forcing herself to concentrate. She had to escape. Now.

Chloe slid off the bed, her bare feet sinking into the carpet. Standing on tiptoe, she saw the silk dress crumpled beside the chair and grabbed it. A sudden noise from the bed startled her. The man grunted, rolled over, and faced her. Chloe froze like a statue, holding her breath until he quieted down. Then she hurriedly pulled on the thin dress. It didn't keep her warm at all.

Chloe's high heels were beside the sofa. She picked them up and carefully left, afraid of making a sound. Her handbag was on the bar. She awkwardly opened it, her eyes quickly glancing towards the door.

Chloe stopped in front of the heavy brass doorknob, a twisted sense of responsibility piercing her. After all, it was a deal—a terrible mistake made in desperation. She found emergency cash, pulled out two crisp hundred-dollar bills, and scribbled a note on the console.

Performance: 3 stars. Stamina is acceptable, but lacks emotional investment. This is my suggestion for you.

Chloe weighed the money and the note in her hand. It seemed both childish and absurd, an act of anger by her stepmother, who had treated her like a commodity to be sold, now desperately trying to reclaim her autonomy.

Chloe gripped the doorknob tightly and turned it slowly; the slight click made her frown. She squeezed through the door and carefully closed it. The latch clicked softly, like a gunshot echoing in her ears. She rushed down the empty hallway and frantically pressed the elevator buttons. Once inside, she repeatedly pressed the lobby buttons, her thin silk dress offering no protection against the chill of fear.

Back in the suite, the man slowly awoke . Julian Sterling jerked his eyes open, his gaze sharp and icy. He sat up, the blanket slipping down to his waist, revealing his chest covered in pale red scratches. His eyes swept across the empty room. The audacious woman was gone.

He jumped out of bed naked and walked to the door without any shame. His eyes fell on the two banknotes and the note.

He read the words on the note, a dangerous stillness enveloping him. The air in the multi-million dollar suite seemed to crackle. He gritted his teeth, a pure, violent rage surging in his eyes. No one would mistake Julian Sterling for a male prostitute . He clenched the note, then crushed it violently. A cold, deadly premonition flashed in his eyes. He would find her, and show her who she had insulted.