Chapter 1
1258words
I forced my eyes open to an unfamiliar hotel ceiling while my nostrils caught the faint scent of cedar—expensive cologne mingled with alcohol.
Shifting my gaze downward, I spotted the man face-down on the pillow beside me.
His upper body was bare, his ridiculously expensive custom shirt discarded like a rag on the carpet at the foot of the bed.
Corvis Croft.
Even though I'd been living as "Nora Grant" for the past decade—playing the role of an ordinary scholarship student working her way through college—I still recognized that face instantly.
The man who ruled the Croft Group with an iron fist. Wall Street's infamous mad dog. That handsome face gracing financial magazine covers year after year.
I rubbed my temples as fragments of last night's absurdity began flooding back.
I'd been out celebrating with friends—just one week left of my "decade of commoner training" before returning to the illustrious Constantine Family.
Who would have thought I'd run into this infamous billionaire while heading to the bathroom?
He'd been so drunk he could barely stand, yet somehow managed to grab the hem of my dress, slurring "help me" over and over.
He hadn't just looked drunk—he'd looked drugged.
So, driven by that damn humanitarian instinct—and fear that this billion-dollar mogul might actually choke on his own vomit outside the ladies' room—I'd somehow dragged his deadweight to the nearest hotel.
As for why he wasn't wearing clothes?
He'd thrown up all over himself the moment we entered the room. I couldn't stand the stench, so I'd held my breath and peeled off his soiled shirt.
"The price of good deeds…"
I sighed, glancing at the time on my phone, preparing to slip out before he woke up.
The last thing I needed was his army of lawyers ruining my final week of normal life.
But just as I tried to climb over him, a burning hot hand clamped around my wrist.
"Going somewhere?"
His voice was raspy, edged with the particular menace of someone freshly awakened.
Before I could react, a tremendous force slammed into me. The world spun as I was pinned against the down pillow.
Corvis's gray eyes were terrifyingly alert—not a trace of last night's helplessness remained.
One hand gripped my throat while the other frantically searched the inner pocket of his jacket on the floor—where paranoid capitalists like him typically keep their secrets.
A second later, his expression darkened.
Empty.
The air in the room instantly froze.
"Where is it?" He tightened his grip, his voice deadly. "Who sent you? My competitors? Or those old bastards who want me dead?"
I clawed at his hand, struggling to breathe. "What… the hell… are you… talking about… psycho…"
"Drop the act."
Corvis sneered, looking at me like I was something he'd scraped off his shoe.
"Bumping into me at the bar, playing the Good Samaritan—all for this moment, right? What, stealing the chip wasn't enough? Thought you'd stick around for some compromising photos, squeeze me for hush money?"
He leaned in, his tone cutting and infuriating: "I've seen plenty of gold-diggers like you scheming their way into my bed."
Gold-digger?
The word hit me like a slap across the face.
I'm the sole heir to the Constantine Family, raised with the finest education money could buy, controlling enough assets to purchase half his precious Croft Group—and this man had the audacity to call ME a gold-digger?!
Furious doesn't even begin to cover what I felt!
"Use whatever brain cells the alcohol hasn't killed, Mr. Croft!"
I forced the words through my constricted throat, glaring daggers at him.
"If I wanted to hurt you, I would've left you for the paparazzi when you were clinging to my legs begging for help! Your pretty, punchable face would've been splashed across every tabloid instead of me dragging your sorry ass here and babysitting you all night!"
At the words "begging for help," Corvis faltered, his brow furrowing as he struggled to piece together his fragmented memories.
But the suspicion in his eyes didn't fade—if anything, the missing chip made him more agitated.
"Still spinning tales? If you didn't take it, did the chip grow wings and fly away?"
"I said I didn't take your damn chip! What evidence do you have to suspect me?"
Just as the tension reached its breaking point—
"BANG! BANG! BANG!"
Thunderous pounding erupted from the door.
There were people outside, and they were making a commotion.
"Mr. Croft! Open up!"
"Reporter from The Sun here! We received a tip about a date rape case!"
"Is the victim a female college student? We need your statement!"
"Did you drug and assault her, or were you the victim? The public deserves answers!"
Date rape?
The jarring accusation stunned us both mid-confrontation.
Corvis looked shell-shocked.
I was equally dumbfounded.
This wasn't part of the script.
How did reporters know Corvis was here??
Camera flashes already strobed through the door crack, hungry vultures eager to witness the downfall of a business titan.
Corvis finally snapped back to reality. He glanced at his empty jacket pocket, listened to the reporters' shouting, his face darkening to thundercloud proportions.
"Damn it…" he muttered, releasing my throat and grabbing the blanket to throw over my head.
Not to protect me, of course—whoever's face got photographed would become the star of this scandal.
"Absolutely ruthless," he snarled through the blanket. "Steal my core secrets, then frame me for sexual assault. Brilliant."
"I'm being set up too, you idiot!" I shot back through the muffling fabric. "This is obviously a trap—whoever stole your precious chip wants to destroy your reputation and drag me down as collateral damage. These reporters showing up is no coincidence—either your enemy tipped them off or someone leaked it."
If reporters burst in and caught me disheveled, even if I claimed I'd voluntarily helped him, the public would only see a quid pro quo or assault scene. My study abroad experience, my family training—everything would be ruined in an instant.
"Analysis won't help us now."
If we admitted nothing happened, the missing chip couldn't be covered up—professional negligence. If we admitted to date rape or a one-night stand—moral scandal.
The only solution was…
He suddenly yanked the blanket away and, a split second before the door burst open, pulled me against his bare chest.
"What are you doing?!" I hissed, wide-eyed.
"Shut up," he whispered, his tone venomous enough to kill. "Play along, Nora Grant. Deny this, and I'll tell everyone you stole the chip and seduced me. I'll make sure that little company of yours—Aurora, was it?—along with everything else you have in this city, vanishes before sunrise."
"You investigated me?!"
"CRASH—"
The door finally gave way with a splintering crack.
A dozen cameras pointed at us like gun barrels, flashes turning the dim room bright as day.
Reporters poured in: "Mr. Croft! May I ask who this lady is…"
Facing the cameras, Corvis's menace vanished instantly. He tightened his arm around me and even planted a gentle kiss on my forehead—one that sent ice through my veins.
Then he raised his head, flashing that signature smile that had melted countless hearts, his tone languid yet perfectly conveying his displeasure:
"Ladies and gentlemen, barging into my fiancée's and my private moment at this ungodly hour—is this what passes for journalism these days?"
Dead silence fell over the room.
He lowered his head, his eyes warning me:
"Smile, darling. Tell everyone just how madly in love we are."
