Abandoned No More: Too Late To Love Me

Weeds choked the abandoned factory. In front of the entrance, a rusted-out red sedan sat as if it had been forgotten for years.

Inside, Summer Stewart's hands were bound behind her back, a strip of yellow duct tape sealing her lips.

A masked man crouched before her. His hoarse voice sent a shiver through the stale air.

"Miss Stewart. You're Trevor Larson's fiancée. $4 million in ransom... that's nothing to him. Go on. Call him yourself."

He tossed a battered old phone at her feet. Without another word, he ripped the tape from her mouth and sliced through the ropes binding her wrists.

Beep... beep... beep...

After what felt like an eternity, a deep, calm male voice finally answered.

"Hello?"

Summer trembled from head to toe.

"Trevor... I... I've been kidnapped. They want $4 million to let me go. Can you... please come save me?"

A brief silence, then Trevor's voice turned colder than ice.

"Summer, I already told you: Peyton is sick. Her last wish is to have this wedding. Stop playing these games."

Only then did it hit her.

The wedding was today.

Peyton was Trevor's first love, now condemned by a terminal illness.

Her dying wish: to marry the man she loved. When Summer learned Trevor had agreed, she had fought him with everything she had.

She shook her head frantically.

"I'm not lying... I swear! Please, you have to believe me!"

But Trevor's voice remained a blade, sharp and unforgiving.

"Summer, you will always be by my side. Why can't you be more understanding, just this once? My patience has its limits. You're crossing a line."

"Trevor, do you really not care if I live or die?" she asked, her voice tight with unshed tears. "If you don't come, then we're done!"

Trevor frowned.

Another threat to break up. "Summer, why can't you just be quiet for once?"

His patience had evaporated.

The kidnapper snatched the phone away.

"Mr. Larson, sounds like you don't care much for this woman. $4 million is pocket change for you. Are you paying or not?"

At that exact moment, in an opulent church, Trevor stood straight in his immaculate white suit, phone in hand. Across from him, Peyton, dressed in an ethereal wedding gown, wore a fragile smile.

Outside, a sea breeze drifted past guests who marveled at the beauty of the ceremony.

A slight smirk touched Trevor's lips.

"I'm not paying."

The kidnapper froze.

If he'd known, he would have kidnapped Trevor's first love-at least she was worth something.

Over the receiver, Peyton's soft, weak voice drifted through.

"Trevor, I'm so happy you're fulfilling my last wish. Even if this wedding is just for show, it's a memory I'll cherish forever. If Summer is doing this because she's jealous, maybe we should just... cancel the ceremony..."

Trevor's answer was firm.

"I made you a promise. And I intend to keep it."

The kidnapper let out a cold laugh.

"Well, Trevor, your fiancée is a real beauty... Aren't you afraid something might happen to her?" the kidnapper sneered.

Trevor's voice dripped with contempt.

"Do whatever you want. In fact, I'll give you an extra million to thank you."

Hearing those words, Summer choked back a sob.

She had spent five years chasing Trevor, loving him, cherishing him, believing that one day she could melt his frozen heart. But the moment Peyton returned, everything she had built had crumbled to dust. And now, Trevor was celebrating a grand wedding with another woman.

The kidnapper gave a cruel grin.

"Very well, Mr. Larson. Since you put it that way, we'll be sure to follow your orders!"

He hung up, then turned to Summer, his eyes gleaming with a sinister light.

"Miss Stewart, your fiancé is a merciless man. He's basically giving us permission to hurt you."

With a cold laugh, he forced something between Summer's lips, and she swallowed it reflexively.

Meanwhile, in the church, a strange sense of unease washed over Trevor.

He was used to Summer's tantrums. She had never been able to stand Peyton, and her jealousy was no secret.

For the past few days, she had been giving him the silent treatment over this sham wedding.

But this time, she had gone too far.

A kidnapping? Just to pull him away from Peyton?

He told himself he had spoiled her.

Once this farce was over, if Summer apologized, he would give her a real wedding, one even more lavish than this.

Peyton, noticing Trevor's darkening expression, lowered her eyes and murmured, "Trevor, I'm so sorry... This is all my fault."

"It's not your fault," he answered calmly.

Her fragile eyes glistened.

"So... shall we continue?" she asked softly.

Trevor hesitated for a fraction of a second, then answered, "Yes."

A barely perceptible, yet triumphant, smile touched Peyton's lips.

Summer would never win against her.

Back in the factory, Summer stared at the now-silent phone. Her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest and shattered.

All hope died within her.

She had to save herself.

Silently, she fumbled for the small knife the man had dropped on the floor. She waited for the right moment... then slashed at her remaining bonds, scrambled to her feet, and bolted for the warehouse exit.

"Catch her! Don't let her get away!" the kidnapper roared, furious.

The drug was already taking effect. A fire spread through Summer's veins, but she kept running-barefoot, gasping-down the deserted road. The footsteps behind her grew closer... and closer.

Her heart hammered against her ribs.

The area was completely isolated, with not a soul in sight.

Suddenly, a sleek black Porsche, a rare and impossibly expensive model, tore down the road at full speed. Summer didn't hesitate.

Better to be hit by a car than to be dragged back into their hands.

She closed her eyes and threw herself in front of the vehicle.

The tires screamed against the asphalt, a sound that ripped through the silence.

The Porsche skidded to a halt just inches from her, but the momentum sent her sprawling to the hard ground.

A few seconds later, the driver's door opened. A pair of flawlessly polished black leather shoes touched the pavement.

Long, powerful legs encased in tailored trousers strode toward her.

The man crouched down.

When Summer lifted her head and her eyes focused on his face, her heart stopped.

"You... It's you..."

The man before her was none other than Fraser Graham, heir to the Graham Group.

If the Larson Group, led by Trevor, was one of the three most powerful financial conglomerates in Havenbrook, then the Graham Group was the undisputed king. What began as a banking empire had rapidly expanded into real estate, technology, telecommunications, and investment funds. The Graham family's influence touched more than half of the city's major companies.

In the business world, he was quietly known as Prince Fraser.

Summer had met him once before, during a bid where the Stewart family was competing for a project overseen by the Graham Group. She had been one of the managers on that bid.

Now, barely conscious, she had no strength left to worry about her appearance. Summoning the last of her energy, she clutched at the leg of his trousers.

"Fraser... please... help me..."

Fraser's gaze darkened instantly.

Without a word, he bent down and swept her into his arms.

A cold pine scent enveloped her, sharp yet strangely soothing.

In his arms, Summer suddenly felt safe.

Fraser placed her in the passenger seat and shut the door, then leaned nonchalantly against the car.

He slowly rolled up his sleeves and unclasped his watch-a limited-edition piece worth several million.

His cold gaze settled on the three kidnappers now running toward him.

"What did you give her?" he asked, his voice low, calm, and utterly terrifying.

A heavy silence fell.

...

Ten minutes later, Fraser slid behind the wheel.

His stained shirt was gone, tossed out the window.

In the dim light, the hard lines of his muscular torso were sharply defined, each abdominal muscle visible as they tapered into the narrow V of his waist, disappearing beneath his black trousers.

Beside him, Summer kept her eyes squeezed shut, her forehead beaded with sweat. A trembling breath escaped her parted lips as she bit down on the tender flesh.

Fraser watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he pulled out his phone and made a call.

"Westhaven villa. Half an hour. Bring medication."

On the other end of the line, the exasperated voice of Xavier Hathaway-director of Havenbrook's largest private hospital and Fraser's longtime friend-erupted.

"For God's sake, Fraser! Even if I were a professional race car driver, it would take me two hours to get from Havenbrook to Westhaven! What do you want me to do, teleport?"

A faint smile touched Fraser's lips.

"You have a private jet for a reason, don't you?"

Xavier was left speechless.

Who the hell was important enough for Fraser to have him fly out there?

He felt like one of those on-call doctors in the movies, serving some rich, mysterious tycoon at a moment's notice.

Fraser hung up without another word.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

The Porsche surged forward, its roar tearing through the night.

A few minutes later, they arrived at a luxurious white villa by the sea.

The moment the car was parked, something soft and burning pressed against him.

In the confined space of the Porsche, the air grew thick with tension.

Fraser's Adam's apple bobbed. He caught her waist with one hand, his other gripping her delicate chin.

He forced her to meet his dark, searing gaze. His voice was a hoarse growl.

"Summer, do you even know who I am?"

Summer's mind was a fog, but a flicker of recognition remained.

She laughed, a slow, sultry smile that made the corners of her eyes lift in an irresistibly seductive way.

She seemed eager for intimacy.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she nestled against him, her soft face rubbing against his skin.

"Fraser Graham... I'm so hot. I can't take it anymore. Help me... Please..."

With that, her lips brushed against his Adam's apple, trailed upward, and then pressed against his.

Her kisses were messy and unpracticed, but they turned him on. Fraser's eyes darkened as he looked at the flushed woman in his arms. Desire stormed in his gaze, a tempest churning just beneath the surface.

His warm palm slid along her smooth back, his touch slow and deliberate, sending a dangerous shiver through her.

"Summer," he said, his voice low and measured. "Are you sure you won't regret this?"

Summer shook her head, her voice trembling.

"No regrets... I just want to make Trevor regret this."

Fraser's brows arched.

"Oh? You're still thinking about him?"

His hands stilled.

Summer whimpered at the sudden loss of contact, her body aching with a desperate need.

She looked at him with tear-filled eyes, her lips pressed together in an expression of heartbreaking fragility.

"No... no one else. There's no one else anymore."

Trevor was gone from her heart.

Fraser's fingers resumed their slow, teasing caress. His voice dropped to a dark murmur.

"Beg me."

Summer didn't know how. She only knew she needed his body.

Her eyes pleaded with him, her whole body trembling with want.

"Fraser, I beg you... help me."

Fraser's lips curved into a devilish smile. As a reward, he gave her a teasing kiss, murmuring against her lips, "So sweet."

Summer instinctively licked her dry lips. His warm breath drew closer as she whispered in his ear, "I want my first time to be with you."

Something unreadable flickered in Fraser's eyes before a low laugh rumbled in his chest.

"Okay. I accept."

With that, he reversed their positions, taking complete control. His powerful hand settled on the back of her neck as he crushed his lips against hers. This kiss was nothing like the first-it was deep, urgent, and utterly devouring.

He tore every last bit of sweetness from her, leaving her breathless and dizzy.

Dazed.

Summer felt like she was drowning, sinking into an endless wave.

Her body instinctively pressed closer to his, demanding more.

And through the fogged windows, shadows intertwined in a passionate chaos.

...

Hours later, Fraser sat staring at the faint traces of blood on his trousers, his eyes deep and inscrutable.

He lifted Summer into his arms and draped his suit jacket over her, covering her completely.

Carrying her inside, he headed straight for the bedroom.

Having been thoroughly satisfied, Fraser was in a rare, patient mood. He carefully cleaned her, dried her hair, and tucked her between the silk sheets.

In the living room, Xavier was lounging on the couch, idly flipping through a magazine. When Fraser finally emerged, he had changed into a patterned shirt, the top two buttons undone. Xavier's gaze immediately landed on the lipstick stain near his collarbone. Bright red and unmistakable.

He checked the time. It was already 10 p.m.

He had been waiting for five hours.

Xavier clicked his tongue.

"Good thing this villa is private. Because with the way your car was shaking earlier, anyone would've thought it was an earthquake."

Fraser's glacial look cut right through Xavier.

Without a word, he strode to the bar, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured a generous amount into a glass. He downed it in one long swallow. The liquor's burn finally scoured away the suffocating heat still clinging to him from the night.

Xavier clicked his tongue.

"Well, well," he drawled. "Looks like our man finally got lucky. Guess my little stash isn't needed anymore, huh? So, who's the woman that managed to snare our untouchable big boss?"

Xavier leaned forward, his curiosity practically buzzing in the air.

Fraser was known in business circles as ruthless and cold. Decisive. Merciless. Always in control. But even in their private circle, Fraser was a world apart from men like Xavier.

Xavier, on the other hand, liked to unwind with alcohol and actresses. When a woman caught his interest, a little money was usually enough for a night of pleasure.

Fraser played, too, but on his own terms. Auto racing, surfing, skydiving, boxing... What drew him was the adrenaline. Women? Too many complications.

Just as Xavier assumed he wouldn't get an answer, Fraser calmly set his empty glass on the counter.

He spun the glass with his fingertips, the reflected light dancing across its surface. His deep eyes remained impassive when he finally spoke.

"Summer Stewart."

Xavier froze. He hadn't expected that.

Lately, Summer's name had been all over high society.

Not because the Stewart family was influential, but because she was Trevor Larson's fiancée.

Trevor and Fraser had always been business rivals.

Both were among Havenbrook's elite, but they moved in different worlds.

Recently, Trevor had made headlines by throwing a lavish wedding ceremony for his first love, Peyton. The whole city was talking about it. Naturally, his actual fiancée, Summer, had become the city's laughingstock.

Even Xavier had heard the gossip.

"Don't tell me you did it just to mess with Trevor?" he asked. "If you really wanted to get to him, Peyton would have been the better choice. Summer's a nobody now."

Fraser's cutting gaze landed on him, and the air in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

A shiver ran down Xavier's spine.

Fraser sneered.

"You really think Trevor is worth my time?"

Xavier managed an awkward smile.

"Sure, Trevor isn't worth your attention. But Summer... she's still his fiancée. You two... let's just say it's a delicate situation."

He didn't dare say what he was really thinking: technically, that made Fraser... a homewrecker.

Fraser's eyes narrowed.

"You have a remarkable talent for saying the wrong thing."

Xavier shut his mouth instantly. For a moment, he genuinely wondered if Fraser might have his tongue cut out.

"Get out before I make sure you never speak again."

"Alright, alright, I'm going," Xavier muttered, raising his hands in surrender.

He'd clearly hit a nerve, and he knew better than to stick around. He didn't need to be told twice and quickly made himself scarce.

A few moments later, a private jet lifted off into the night sky.

Summer, meanwhile, was surfacing from a grueling few hours.

When the effects of the drug finally wore off, all that remained was a crushing exhaustion, as if every bone and muscle had been taken apart and pieced back together incorrectly.

Suddenly, the deafening roar of a plane engine shook the villa.

She stirred, her body still feeling numb, and slowly opened her eyes.

When she sat up, the silk sheet slid from her body, revealing skin littered with the faint marks of the night's passion. The memories came crashing back. She'd slept with Fraser.

Worse-she'd been the one to seduce him.

Her face burned with humiliation. The realization left her reeling.

Suddenly, the bedroom door creaked open.

On pure reflex, Summer dropped back onto the mattress, pulling the blanket up to her chin and clutching it with all her strength.

Slow, steady footsteps approached the bed. She held her breath. Her lashes trembled, her toes curled.

Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she could feel Fraser's burning gaze slide over her.

And just as the tension became unbearable-

"Miss Stewart. We've already slept together. Surely you're not going to pretend it didn't happen?"

His deep, lazy voice echoed through the room.

Summer's heart hammered against her ribs. Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Fraser stood near the bed, tall and broad-shouldered, his arms crossed over his chest. His dark, calm gaze was so piercing it felt like it could see right through her.

It was the first time she'd seen him this close, this clearly.

He wore a patterned shirt, the top buttons undone, revealing the sharp line of his collarbone. His posture was relaxed, but a quiet intensity radiated from him.

His features were strikingly beautiful- deep-set eyes, a straight nose, and a clean-cut jaw, as if chiselled from marble. Trevor, by contrast, had always possessed a distant coldness. Fraser? There was something sharp and almost mischievous at the corners of his eyes. And when he smiled, a subtle but very real note of danger slipped through.

Summer clutched the blanket tighter.

"Fraser, I... I didn't mean to," she stammered. "I was drugged-that's the only reason I..."

She broke off, flustered.

"What... what do you want from me?"

She'd never imagined sleeping with the most powerful man in Havenbrook.

There was no way to explain this.

Fraser arched a brow.

Her wavy hair framed a delicate face, her light eyes shining with genuine confusion. She had a fragile kind of beauty, her pale skin still faintly bruised from his touch.

Fraser's gaze darkened. He leaned nonchalantly against the wall, his tone slow and mocking.

"And how, exactly, do you plan to make it up to me?"

Summer hesitated.

"I... I could take you to dinner?"

Fraser let out a short, sharp laugh.

"You think I need you to buy me dinner?"

Right. That was stupid.

Money, then? Impossible. The Graham family was the richest in Havenbrook, worth tens of billions. He wouldn't even glance at her modest bank account.

She lifted her eyes timidly.

"Then... can you at least give me a hint?"

It had been her first time. With anyone.

And now... what was she supposed to do?

If it had been any other man, she would have felt dirty and ashamed. But this was Fraser Graham. And she'd been the one to pounce on him. Technically... didn't that make her the victor?

Fraser suddenly leaned in, sliding two fingers under her chin to tilt her face up to his. Their gazes locked.

A faint smile curved his lips.

"Summer, I made sure you were satisfied."

He paused, his deep voice laced with provocation.

"As for compensation... now it's your turn to satisfy me."

Summer's mind went blank.

Under the influence of the drug, she'd been bold, reckless, completely out of control.

But now, she was lucid. And she knew she couldn't handle it.

Fraser didn't give her time to think. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her effortlessly onto his lap.

Without hesitation, he lowered his head and captured her lips.

His breath, his touch, his gaze... everything about him screamed desire.

Until a memory surfaced in her mind.

Trevor's birthday.

She had put her whole heart into it, spending hours baking a chocolate cake from scratch. That night, she had planned to give him the most precious thing she had-herself. She had chosen a bold black dress, short and with a plunging neckline. She had waited.

But, as always, Peyton had suddenly fallen "ill." And, as always, Trevor never showed up.

She'd spent the night alone, her eyes glassy, staring at a cake she no longer had any desire to taste.

The dress she'd meant to wear for him had become a bitter memory, shoved to the back of her closet, where she never had to look at it again.

A knot of shame and pain tightened in her chest- for all the love she had wasted.

Suddenly, a sharp nip to her earlobe yanked her back to reality.

Her eyes flew open.

Fraser had straightened, braced on one arm, looming over her.

His dark gaze held hers.

"Distracted?"

An icy shiver traveled down her spine. She'd been thinking about Trevor.

While she was with Fraser.

Any man would fly into a rage.

Fraser's voice remained calm, but each word carried a veiled threat.

"Miss Stewart, it seems I'm not fascinating enough to hold your attention."

Summer's heart lurched with panic.

She'd heard the rumors about Fraser Graham, the king of Havenbrook.

Cold, ruthless, and merciless to anyone who crossed him.

If she angered him, he wouldn't let her get away with it.

"I... I didn't mean to," she stammered.

A smile curved Fraser's lips.

A slow, dangerous smile.

"It's nothing."

Summer exhaled quietly, a wave of relief washing over her.

For now.

Then, in one fluid motion, he flipped her over and pulled her flush against him. His husky voice slid into her ear, commanding and hot.

"This time, you take the lead."