One Night, Enemy's Baby

Richard: POV

"Come on, Rich, down one more!" Nathan Sinclair clapped me on the shoulder, sliding another glass of whiskey my way.

We were tucked into the VIP lounge of the swankiest private club downtown, just me and a few close buddies—Nathan, Marcus, and James.

Nathan said he wanted to help me clear my head, but honestly? Felt more like he was trying to get me completely wasted.

"Man, you've gotta let Claire go," Marcus said, shaking his head as I drained my fourth glass. "She made her choice."

"Choice?" I laughed, but it came out bitter as hell. "She ditched me for some French photographer. I had the damn ring and everything, was gonna propose."

"Richard," Nathan cut in, his voice low and heavy, "maybe this isn't the worst thing. Claire's gone. You can start fresh."

I didn't say a word, just took another swig. His words stung, but the alcohol dulled my senses, leaving me too numb to argue.

"I need some air," I muttered, standing up, my body swaying a bit.

"Don't wander too far," Nathan warned, a trace of concern in his tone, though he didn't get up, just leaned back on the couch, watching me go.

I stumbled out of the lounge into a dim hallway. The bass from the music downstairs vibrated through the walls, but my head was a foggy mess. As I headed toward the restroom, raised voices stopped me cold.

"We can keep talking business at my hotel," a man's sleazy voice chuckled, his hand resting inappropriately on a woman's waist.

She tried to push him away, but her movements were sluggish, weak. "Quinn, I'm not interested in your money anymore. Get lost."

Her voice was off—slurred, disoriented. And this Quinn guy clearly knew she wasn't in her right mind, yet he was still trying to take advantage.

My head was a mess of booze, anger, and Claire-related bullshit. But even drunk off my ass, I knew this wasn't right. I couldn't just stand there and watch a woman get treated like this.

"Hey," I called out, my voice rough from the booze, "I think the lady made herself pretty damn clear."

Quinn turned to face me, sizing me up. He was maybe in his forties, dressed in an expensive suit that couldn't hide the sleaze in his eyes.

"Mind your own business, kid. Beat it."

"Kid?" I smirked, even drunk knowing the weight my name carried. "Ever heard of William Bloom? As in, the William Bloom who owns half the real estate in this city?"

Quinn's face went pale in an instant. Anyone doing business in this town knew the Bloom family's influence.

"I—I didn't know you were…" he stammered.

"Now you do," I said, stepping closer despite my unsteady footing. "Get the hell out of here before I make some calls you really don't want me to make."

Quinn practically bolted, not daring to look back.

My attention shifted to the woman. She was slumped against the wall, in rough shape. Under the dim hallway lights, I couldn't make out her face, just her slender frame and disheveled hair.

"You okay?" I asked, moving closer.

She looked up, her eyes glassy and vacant. "Why… why'd you help me?"

In the faint light, the outline of her profile made my heart skip a beat—the curve of her neck… I shook my head, trying to shove the feeling away.

"Where's your room?" I asked. "I'll get you back there."

She pointed down the hall, and I helped her along, her arm draped over my shoulder, her body leaning into mine with a subtle fragility. Her breathing was quick, her warm breath brushing against my neck, making me tense up without meaning to.

At her door, her hands trembled as she fumbled with the keycard, failing a few times. I took it from her, swiped it, and helped her inside. Her fingers gripped my arm, a slight pressure, like she was clinging for support.

The room was dark, only faint city lights slipping through the cracks in the curtains. I was about to leave, let her rest, when she suddenly grabbed my wrist with surprising force.

"Don't go," her voice was desperate. "I feel… weird, hot, so uncomfortable…"

I looked at her in the dim light. Her gaze wasn't vacant anymore—it burned with something urgent. Her cheeks were unnaturally flushed, lips parted, breathing ragged. Her hand slid up my arm, brushing my chest, sending a jolt through me I shouldn't have felt.

"You need to rest," I said, though my voice lacked conviction. "Drink some water, sleep it off."

"No," she whispered, stepping closer. "I need… someone with me. It's unbearable, please…"

She started tugging at her jacket, her movements frantic and clumsy, exposing pale shoulders. The alcohol slowed my reflexes, and though every instinct screamed to leave, her voice and eyes made me hesitate.

"Wait, this isn't right—" I started, my throat tight.

But she grabbed my wrist again, pulling me forward with a strength I didn't expect. I stumbled, off-balance, and she pushed me down onto the bed. She straddled me, her weight pressing against me, her breath hot and heavy.

"I won't hurt you," she murmured, her tone urgent, almost pleading. "I just… I need this. Help me, please."

Her hands reached for my shirt, trembling but determined.

"You sure about this?" I asked, my voice shaky. "Neither of us is thinking straight…"

"I'm sure," she cut me off, her eyes raw with need. "I need you. Now."

Her words hit like a punch. My hands instinctively steadied her, grasping for one last shred of control.

"Tell me who you are," I whispered, trying to find something to ground me. "At least let me know…"

"It doesn't matter," her voice was soft but resolute. "It's just us. Just now."

In the darkness, with alcohol buzzing in my veins and my shattered illusions of love weighing on me, I gave up resisting. Her touch was too real, and I craved that reality, even if it was wrong, even if it'd haunt me later.

She straddled me, her thighs tight around my hips as she tugged my shirt off, nails grazing my chest. I groaned, the heat of her body on mine sparking something raw.

My hands slid under her top, pushing it up to reveal her breasts, brushing over her hardened nipples. She gasped, arching into me, whispering, "Fuck, yes, don't stop."

Her hips rocked against me, the friction through my pants driving me wild. I gripped her waist, muttering through gritted teeth, "You're gonna kill me." She smirked, leaning down to bite my neck, breathing, "Good. I want you wrecked."

She unzipped me with urgent hands, freeing me, her touch firm and teasing. I hissed, "Shit, that's too much." She didn't stop, shedding her own clothes, her body bare above me in the faint light. "Need you now," she panted, positioning herself over me, sinking down slowly, tight and hot. We both groaned, my voice rough, "Fuck, you feel so good."

She rode me with a desperate rhythm, hands braced on my chest, nails digging in. "Tell me how you want it," she gasped. I growled, "Just like that, don't stop," gripping her hips as we moved together, the world narrowing to the heat between us until everything exploded.

As the space between us vanished, the air grew thick and heated. I let go of everything, sinking into the moment, trying to forget the world outside.

The next morning, my head felt like it'd been split open with a sledgehammer.

I forced my eyes open, piecing together fragments of last night.

The room was empty. Just me.

I sat up, memories flooding back. Drinking with Nathan and the guys, helping a drugged woman, and then…

My gaze landed on the nightstand. Five neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills. Next to them, a business card.

I picked up the card, and when I saw the name, my stomach dropped like a stone.

[Camellia Frost - CEO, NexaCore Tech]

No way. No fucking way. This had to be some kind of sick joke.

Last night… that was Camellia Frost? The same ice queen CEO who's been making my life hell for months?

And she left me money. Like I was some kind of... fuck. What the hell did I get myself into?