His Obsession: Bound to the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 1

Adrianna's POV

"I want to apologize for what I did to you. We were young and I was reckless."

I should have known something was wrong when I received the text message from my sister. I mean Amelia wasn't the most friendly to me, none of my family was, but like the gullible unlearned girl I am, I believed and now, I'm in a hackle that I can't get myself out of.

"Amelia, Hi." I smiled genuinely, thankful that my sister was willing to apologize for all the maltreatment I had received from her over the years, but instead of hearing sorry come from her mouth, she slid a cup of amber liquid my way.

"Peace offering." she said with a tight smile. "After that, go to room 306, Grant too has something to say to you in there."

"Grant? He's here?" the excitement in my voice could not be mistaken.

She nodded, then pulled me into her, "Let's celebrate reconciliation!" she screamed in my ears and kept the drinks coming.

When I felt tingles in my finger, I tried to tell her I've had enough, but she replied, "One more, then you can find your beloved."

I eagerly drank the liquor and went searching for room 306 as a struggled to get my footing. That should have alerted my brain into going home, but I did otherwise, I kept looking and what I met was unexpected.

Helpless moans filled the room, the pleasure was intense, so much than I could handle, but did I want him to stop? No.

For God's sake, this is the man that I've been in love with for half of my life, we grew up together and when he finally asked me out, it was like Christmas came early.

And yes, he cheated on me with Amelia multiple times, but he's a good guy.

He looked like a god who was silently taking a rest, he was slightly shaking, from arousal, which I could tell. But, I thought nothing of it. Grant took off his suit. He laid on the bed, stubbornly refusing to fall into the temptation of touching himself. But, I wanted to touch him.

No. I needed to. At that realization, my body started heating up and the feeling I've never had to experience came rushing in.

Lust.

"H-help?" I begged helplessly. The man lying on the bed wanted to kick me out but when he tried to, intense desires washed over the both of us.

Without a word, he grabbed and tossed me on the middle of the bed and towered over me. Both our eyes were hazy and our desires had taken over.

"It h-hurts, please do something." I moaned and curled into his body, enduring the pain of want that I was experiencing.

The man, acting on his instinct took my small build into his arms. Both of our breaths were labored and lust had driven us to start kissing. And as the kiss deepened, I began to cling against the man's arms as we continued to indulge in our passion, like the lovers we were.

Moans escaped from my mouth whenever the man would suckle and nibble on my sensitive skin and later pinch his nipples. My clothes had already been discarded and I was completely naked, so was he.

Suddenly, something in me reminded me this was my first time and I really shouldn't be indulging in this kind of pleasure, especially with foggy eyes and mind, but the drug I ingested was too potent, there was nothing I could do.

I wanted to say stop, but another word came out, "H-hurry..." I tried to touch his erection as I begged, I felt tears pooling at my eyes, threatening to fall if I didn't get what I want.

I could feel that he too was holding back, but something was pushing him over the edge as well. He looked at me and I tried to smile through the pain, through the screaming at the back of my head, but my tears must have snapped his last thread of self-control, because the next thing I knew, he aggressively flipped me, lifting my trembling hips higher.

Cool air made me recoil, but he kissed me at my coccyx and my stiffness relaxed.

"Ready?" I heard his muffled voice and I nodded eagerly. I was like a sick patient and being intimate with this man was the only thing that could heal me.

Slowly and carefully, he pierced my entrance, causing moans to escape me. Waiting a few minutes for me to adjust before he picked up the pace and I was grateful. First thrust in and I feel so stretched, I wanted to crawl away but the connection was too deep and he took it slow.

Thankfully, I calmed down moments later and he took it as a sign. Pulling out, he thrust back in and the pleasure that washed over me sent me into frenzied state. I wanted more, and obviously he too wanted the same thing.

"Harder..." I didn't have to ask twice, because he gave me exactly what I wanted. Minutes later, I felt myself being flipped over so he was directly on top of me.

After what seemed like few minutes, I felt a warm liquid oozing into me, "Ohhh..." I moaned in a sing-song voice as I felt my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I felt so full.

I whimpered, but that only seemed to intensify his desires because despite having came, he still continued moving. I was exhausted at this point, I felt dry and wet at the same time. But, he was persistent and took control effortlessly. I let him, not like there was nothing I could do anyway.

After more warmth filled my insides, he finally pulled out, but because I was hazy from too much pleasure and the room wasn't well lit, I couldn't make out what he did after.

I felt him left the room into what I felt was the adjoining bathroom, then came back out and I felt him cleaning my body.

I giggled, "Oh, that's nice. Thank you G." I said and sleep soon took over.

Whatever this was, I'm sure we will deal with in the morning.

Chapter 2

Adrianna's POV

My eyes fluttered open to a blur of gold and cream decorations around the room I was in.

For a moment, I thought I was still dreaming. The bed beneath me was far too soft, the silk sheets far too smooth against my skin. The faint smell of expensive cologne lingered in the air, masculine, and nothing like the scent Grant wore.

I shifted under the covers, wincing when a dull ache radiated through my hips and thighs. My skin felt sensitive, my mouth dry. Fragments of last night flickered in my mind, my sister's tight smile, the liquor, the way my body had burned from the inside out, and the man in the bed whose touch had been... overwhelming.

Grant. It had to be Grant.

I licked my lips, trying to find my voice. "Grant?"

For a moment, silence answered me. Then...

"Grant?" I tried again, this time with a tentative laugh.

A deep, unfamiliar voice cut through the air. "Try again."

I froze.

That voice... it was rich, smooth, and utterly cold, carrying a weight that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I pushed myself up on my elbows, clutching the sheets to my chest as if they could shield me from the sudden tightness in my chest.

The bathroom door opened, and my breath caught.

It wasn't Grant.

The man who stepped out was tall, impossibly tall, with broad shoulders that filled the doorway. A towel was slung low around his hips, droplets of water sliding down sculpted abs and disappearing beneath the piece of cloth. His skin was warm-toned, his hair damp and slightly tousled, as if he had just stepped out of the shower.

But it was his face that rooted me to the spot. Sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes... God, those eyes. Dark, piercing, and colder than winter rain.

Recognition struck me like a slap.

Xavier Palmer.

I've seen him before, on magazine covers, in glossy business spreads, in whispered gossip over champagne. Billionaire hotel magnate. Untouchable. Dangerous, if the rumors were to be believed.

"What..." My voice wavered. "What are you doing here?"

His gaze swept over me, slow and deliberate, starting from my messy hair down to where the silk clung to my bare skin. There was no softness in his expression... only calculation, as though I were a puzzle he had no patience for.

"I think," he said, his tone clipped, "the question is what you're doing here."

My stomach flipped. "I... I was with Grant last night. We... I thought..."

"You thought wrong."

The words landed like ice water, snapping me out of the haze. My hands gripped the sheet tighter. "Wait... what do you mean? Where's Grant?"

Xavier's jaw tightened, and he took a step into the room, closing the distance between us. Even with the towel wrapped around him, he carried himself with the kind of confidence that made the air feel thinner.

"I have never met your Grant," he said flatly. "And before you ask, no, I don't make a habit of waking up with strange women in my bed."

Heat rushed to my cheeks, part humiliation, part defensiveness. "Strange women? I didn't plan this! My sister... she gave me something to drink... and she told me..."

His brow arched, the only sign he was even listening. "Your sister brought you here?"

"Yes... I mean, no... I don't know!" My thoughts were a jumble, my pulse pounding in my ears. "All I remember is the club, then the drink, then..."

I trailed off, unable to finish. Images from that night slipped into my mind uninvited, his hands, his mouth, the heat of his body pressed against mine. Only now, in the clear light of morning, those moments felt less like desire and more like a wildfire I stumbled into blindfolded.

Xavier's gaze sharpened. "You were drugged?"

"I..." I swallowed. "I think so. I felt... different. Not myself. But I swear, I thought you were Grant."

That earned me a dry, humorless chuckle. "You confuse me with your boyfriend? That's rich."

My spine stiffened. "It was dark. And I wasn't exactly... in my right mind."

His eyes narrowed slightly, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw something flicker in them, doubt, maybe, or something darker. But it was gone as quickly as it came.

"You expect me to believe this was an accident?" he asked, voice dropping lower, each word deliberate.

"I'm telling you the truth," I insisted, my voice breaking on the last word. "Why would I lie?"

He stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me. I could see every detail of his face now, the hard set of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows, the faint scar cutting through his left eyebrow. Up close, he was even more intimidating.

"Because," he said slowly, his gaze locking onto mine, "people lie to me all the time. They use me. They set me up. And somehow, they always think I won't notice."

The words settled heavily between us.

My pulse spiked. "I'm not..."

"You're telling me," he interrupted, "that you just happened to end up in my bed, naked, after being conveniently drugged by your sister, and it's all just a big misunderstanding?"

I swallowed hard. "Yes."

His lips curved, not into a smile, but into something far more dangerous.

"I don't believe in coincidences, Adrianna."

Hearing my name from his mouth made my skin prickle. "How do you even know my name?"

He leaned in slightly, his voice a low rumble. "Because if someone goes to this much trouble to drop a stranger into my bed... I make it my business to find out who she is."

The room suddenly felt too small. My instincts screamed at me to get up, to put distance between us, but my body refused to move.

"What do you want from me?" I whispered.

His eyes stayed locked on mine, cold and unblinking.

"I want to know," he said, each word like a blade, "exactly how much of last night was your idea... and how much of it was part of the setup."

Heat rushed to my face. I clutched the fabric tighter, curling my legs beneath me, but his expression didn't shift, still hard, still unreadable. Somehow, the lack of warmth in his eyes made me feel more exposed than my bare skin ever could.

Without letting me talk, "Get dressed," he said at last, the words clipped, like commands he expected to be followed without question.

I blinked at him. "What?"

"You heard me." He took a step back toward the wardrobe, opened it with a controlled flick of his wrist, and pulled out a crisp white shirt. He tossed it on the bed, the faint scent of his cologne clinging to it. "Put that on and leave."

My pulse spiked. "Wait... you don't understand. I don't even know how I got here..."

"I don't care." His voice was as cold as the floor under my bare feet. "I'm not interested in your excuses, your story, or whatever reason you think justifies this. You have two minutes."

Anger flickered inside me, battling my panic attack. "You think I planned this?"

He gave a slow, almost lazy shrug. "If you didn't, then whoever sent you did. Either way, you're in my bed, which means you're a problem."

My fingers trembled as I reached for the shirt, yanking it over my head. It was far too big, hanging loose around my thighs, but it was better than sitting there naked under his scrutiny. My clothes from last night were folded neatly on a chair, another detail that made my stomach twist.

I dressed quickly, keeping my eyes on the floor.

When I finally straightened, he was still watching me, arms crossed over his bare chest, towel still low on his hips.

"I didn't ask for this," I said quietly.

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there, doubt, maybe, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "That's your problem," he said, his tone final.

I slipped past him. My hand had just closed around the handle when his voice stopped me cold. "Tell your friends they failed." The words were low, dangerous, each one filled with warning.

"And if I see you again..." His gaze raked all over my body again. "You won't walk away."

A chill ran down my spine, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

Chapter 3

Xavier's POV

The first rule of survival in my world: trust no one.

The second: especially not beautiful women who appear in your bed after you've been drugged.

Weeks later, I sat in my office two floors below the suite, my head still throbbed faintly, a reminder of the poison, or whatever the hell it was, someone had slipped into my drink that night.

The knock came sharply against the door.

"Come in," I called, my voice still hoarse from too little sleep and too much anger.

Ethan Mercer, my head of security, stepped inside. Built like a wall, ex-military, the man didn't waste words or time. He carried a tablet under one arm.

"You have something for me?" I asked.

He nodded once and moved to the edge of my desk, laying the tablet flat. The screen lit up with the grainy footage from the hotel's security feed from that night.

"This is from the club floor," Ethan said. "Timeline starts twenty minutes before you were escorted back to your suite."

I leaned forward, scanning the scene. There I was, at the VIP table, shaking hands with three men in tailored suits. They had approached me earlier under the guise of wanting to discuss a hotel investment.

"Pause," I ordered. Ethan froze the frame.

Even on camera, I could see it, the slight flicker of a smile from the man on my right as I lifted my glass. It was too knowing. Too smug.

"That's when they spiked it," I muttered.

Ethan resumed the video. A few minutes later, I stood, my movements already sluggish, and one of my staff subtly guided me out of frame.

The footage switched to a hallway camera. Two security guards led me toward the private elevator. My stride was uneven. My jaw clenched as I watched, I hated being reminded of weakness.

"Next," I said.

The angle changed again, this time, the corridor outside my suite. A timestamp in the corner read 01:37 AM.

And there she was.

Adrianna. She appeared from the far end of the hall, one hand against the wall as if steadying herself. She was still in that night's dress, hair slightly mussed, her walk hesitant.

Ethan's finger tapped the screen. "That's thirty minutes after you entered your suite. She comes alone."

"Alone?" I repeated, my voice edged with disbelief. "No sign of her with them?"

He shook his head. "I cross checked the club floor footage. She wasn't at their table, didn't speak to them, didn't even cross paths."

I frowned, studying the screen. Adrianna reached my door, hesitated for several seconds, then slipped inside. No one else followed.

"Rewind," I said. Ethan complied. I watched her approach again, frame by frame. Her steps were unsteady, almost clumsy. Not the stride of someone on a mission.

"She looks... off," Ethan commented, his tone carefully neutral. "Eyes a little unfocused. Could be drunk. Could be something else."

I leaned back in my chair, my gaze narrowing. "She said her sister gave her a drink."

"And do you believe that?"

My first instinct was to say no. Women like her didn't just stumble into situations, they were placed there. I had been in enough power games to know the tactic: tempt the mark when he's most vulnerable, then collect the fallout.

But there was something about the footage that didn't match the script.

Ethan switched to another angle, the one inside the suite's living area. The camera caught her stepping in, glancing around like she didn't recognize where she was. She clutched her bag tightly, shoulders drawn in.

"You see that?" Ethan said. "She's not scanning the room for cameras, she's not looking for valuables. She's... lost."

I didn't answer immediately.

Instead, I watched the moment she disappeared toward the bedroom, towards me.

Ethan cleared his throat. "We've already ID'd the three men from the club. Two have criminal records for fraud and extortion. One's clean on paper, but I'll bet my pension he's dirtier than both. Adrianna..." He tapped another file on the tablet. "She's clean. No priors, no debt flags, no history with any of the men involved."

"That proves nothing," I said, though my voice lacked its earlier conviction. "She could still be working for someone."

"She could," Ethan agreed. "But so far, there's nothing tying her to that night except being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

I stared at the paused frame of her on the screen, frozen mid-step, hair falling into her face, one hand brushing the doorframe like she was steadying herself.

I remembered the way she looked at me the following morning. Wide eyed. Defiant. And something else I tried to ignore, confused.

"Sir," Ethan said, breaking my thoughts, "if she was part of the plan, she's either the best actress I've ever seen... or she's telling the truth."

I didn't answer.

Because since I had woken up with her in my bed, I wasn't entirely sure which it was.

***

I didn't take my eyes off the frozen frame of her on the screen. In my world, innocence was a myth. Everyone wanted something.

And I had seen this play before... different actors, same ending.

"Ethan," I said, leaning back in my chair, "this wouldn't be the first time someone's tried to get to me in a bed instead of a boardroom."

His brow lifted slightly.

I went on, my voice low. "Five years ago, it was a call girl with a hidden camera. Two years after that, a journalist pretending to be a PR consultant. Both walked in smiling. Both walked out thinking they'd won."

"They didn't," Ethan said, more statement than question.

"They didn't." My tone was flat steel. "One lost her job. The other... doesn't write anymore."

Ethan didn't flinch. He has heard worse from me.

The truth was, enemies came in every form, rival hotel chains, politicians I wouldn't bribe, even disgruntled ex-associates who thought they could bury me with scandal. They had all tried. And they had all learned the same lesson: Xavier Palmer doesn't break.

But still...

I tapped a knuckle against the desk, my gaze cutting back to Adrianna's still frame. "This one is different. Either she's the most convincing plant I've seen, or she's just collateral damage. I'm not gambling on either possibility."

Ethan straightened. "What do you want done?"

"Everything," I said. "I want every piece of her life on my desk, where she grew up, who she talks to, where she's worked, who she's dated. Bank accounts. Travel history. The last coffee shop she set foot in, if you can find it."

"You think she's connected to the three men?"

"I think..." I exhaled slowly, "...if she isn't, then someone went to a lot of trouble to make her look like she is. Which means either she's a pawn... or she's bait."

Ethan nodded once. "Understood."

"Also," I added, my tone sharpening, "find out everything about this sister she mentioned. Amelia. If Adrianna's telling the truth, Amelia handed her the drink. That's not a coincidence."

"Already working on it."

"Good." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk. "And Ethan?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Discretion. I don't want this hitting the press. If anyone finds out I was drugged in my own club, it's an open invitation for every vulture in this city to circle."

"You'll have what you need by tonight."

I gave him a brief nod. "Go."

He left without another word, the door shutting softly behind him.

The club was supposed to be my territory. Instead, I had woken up in my own suite with a stranger in my bed and a drug burning through my veins.

It wasn't just an attack. It was a message.

By the time the sky began to darken, I had gone over the footage three more times, looking for details Ethan might have missed, a shadow in the corner, a face that lingered too long, a handoff that looked casual until you slowed it down. Nothing linked her directly to the men who had spiked my drink.

That irritated me more than finding proof would have.

She was still an unknown. And I hated unknowns.

At precisely nine o'clock, a sharp knock broke my thoughts.

"Enter," I called.

Ethan stepped inside, holding a slim black file. His expression was unreadable, but I worked with him long enough to recognize the shift in his posture, a slight stiffness that meant he had found something worth my attention.

He crossed the room and placed the file on my desk.

"Sir..." His voice was quieter than usual. "You'll want to see this."