The Billionaire's Captive: A Heart Broken

The lock on the storage room door clicked open.

Alton stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. He tossed a piece of fabric at Amalia. It landed on her face. It was a flimsy, black silk slip dress, the material so thin it was practically transparent.

"Put it on," Alton ordered coldly. "Go to the master bedroom and serve the boss. This is your last chance to breathe."

Amalia pulled the silk from her face. Her hands gripped the delicate fabric tightly. A wave of intense humiliation washed over her, making her face burn, but she bit her tongue and kept her head down. She couldn't fight Alton.

Alton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, bright pink pill. He held it out to her. It was the standard compliance protocol for any woman sent into the master suite, a chemical guarantee to maintain the boss's flawless, aggressive public facade, regardless of what actually happened behind closed doors.

"Take this," he said, his eyes narrowing with cold detachment. "It's a party favor. Don't lay there like a dead fish and ruin his mood."

Amalia's heart pounded against her ribs. She reached out with a trembling hand and took the pink pill. She brought it to her mouth, pretending to place it on her tongue, but quickly pushed it deep into the pocket of her cheek with her finger.

She tilted her head back and swallowed loudly, making a show of gulping it down.

Alton watched her neck muscles move. Satisfied, he nodded once and turned away, closing the door behind him.

The second the latch clicked, Amalia spat the pink pill into her palm. She grabbed a piece of tissue from a nearby shelf, wrapped the pill tightly, and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.

She quickly stripped off her dirty clothes and pulled the black silk dress over her head. The cold air in the room hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently. She pulled the bag of sleeping pills from her jeans. Placing the white tablets on her palm, she used the edge of a heavy coin from her pocket to crush them into a fine, chalky powder.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She pushed open the heavy door to the master bedroom.

The room was massive, lit only by the dim, warm glow of a bedside lamp. From the attached bathroom, the loud, steady sound of a running shower echoed through the space. Chadwick was inside.

Amalia walked on her tiptoes, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps. Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. She approached the nightstand.

A crystal glass filled with ice and clear water sat next to the lamp.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she hovered her palm over the glass. She tipped her hand, letting the crushed white powder fall into the water.

The powder hit the ice and began to dissolve, leaving a cloudy swirl in the clear liquid.

Amalia grabbed the small silver stirring rod resting on a napkin. She stirred the water frantically, the metal clinking softly against the glass, until the liquid turned completely transparent again.

Suddenly, the sound of the shower stopped.

Amalia gasped. Her hand jerked, and the silver stirring rod slipped from her fingers, dropping onto the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

She yanked her hands behind her back, standing frozen next to the bed. Her lungs seized up. She couldn't draw a breath.

The bathroom door swung open. A cloud of hot steam rolled into the bedroom.

Chadwick stepped out. He wore nothing but a white towel slung low around his waist. Drops of water clung to his broad shoulders and ran down the hard ridges of his stomach. The overwhelming scent of expensive soap and raw, aggressive male heat filled the room.

He ran a hand through his wet hair and stopped. His sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Amalia standing by the bed.

He recognized the girl who had fought him in the hallway. A dark, mocking smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

Chadwick walked slowly toward her. Every step he took felt like a hammer striking Amalia's tightly wound nerves. She wanted to run, but her feet were glued to the floor.

He stopped right in front of her. He reached out and picked up the glass of ice water from the nightstand.

Amalia stopped breathing. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they almost broke the skin.

Chadwick brought the rim of the glass to his lips. He paused. His dark eyes flicked over the rim, staring directly into Amalia's terrified face.

Amalia quickly looked down at the floor, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. Drink it. Please, just drink it.

Chadwick tilted his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the entire glass of spiked water in three long gulps.

A massive wave of relief crashed over Amalia. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

Chadwick slammed the empty glass onto the nightstand. Before Amalia could react, his large hand shot out and clamped around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

He leaned in close. The coldness of the ice water lingered on his breath, mixing with his intense heat.

"Take off this useless dress," he ordered, his voice a low, rough rasp.

Amalia stared into his wide, alert eyes. He wasn't sleepy at all. Panic seized her throat. The pills needed time to work. She had to stall.