RUTHLESS DEVOTION:THE EMPIRE BETWEEN US

Amilah stood in the center of her bedroom, her bare feet sinking into the carpet, surrounded by a graveyard of silk and chiffon.

Every dress she had tried on felt like a lie.

In less than an hour, the grand ballroom of the Royal Palace Hotel would fill with the city's apex predators, billionaires who bought and sold lives before breakfast, supermodels who breathed ice, and elite designers who held the keys to the Fashion kingdom.

And then there was her. A girl who had crawled out of obscurity six months ago to open a boutique out of a tiny spare room. Her only ticket into the den was a single dress she had designed in the dead of night, bleeding over the fabric until it unexpectedly went viral on social media.

The harsh ring of her phone shattered the silence. She didn't want to answer it, but her fingers moved on instinct.

"Boss!" Beryl's voice cut through the line, breathless and dizzy with excitement. "Are you ready for your big night?"

Amilah closed her eyes, a cold sweat breaking out across her collarbone. "I don't think I should go, Beryl."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I don't belong there," Amilah whispered, the truth tearing out of her chest, raw and fragile. "I'm going to walk into that room, and they are going to look right through me. I'm a startup designer, Beryl. I'm a nobody."

"Amilah, listen to me," Beryl said, her tone shifting from excited to fiercely protective. "They didn't invite you out of charity. That means something. And you know how many calls we've gotten today alone asking about that dress? Wear it to the gala. Let them see it on the person who made it."

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll talk to you after."

The line went dead, leaving Amilah alone with the quiet thrum of her own racing heart.

Slowly, she walked into her dim studio. In the center of the room, bathed in the pale moonlight spilling through the window, stood the mannequin.

It wore the white gown.

Amilah approached it, unzipped the heavy silk, and slid into it.

The fabric didn't just fit; it claimed her. It clung desperately to the hourglass curves of her petite body, tracing the slope of her hips with agonizing perfection. Every time she inhaled, the deep V-neckline dipped, offering a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. It felt too bold. Too exposing.

But then she took a step.

The high slit on the right side parted from her mid-thigh down to her toes, revealing a breathtaking flash of fair skin against the pooling white silk. It was a masterpiece of tension, subtle when she stood still and scandalous when she moved.

She twisted her dark hair into a loose, messy bun, letting a few stray strands frame her face to soften the look. A touch of minimal makeup, a pair of matching heels that made her stride feel deliberate, and when she was satisfied with her look ,she picked her clutch and her invitation card and left for the gala.

---

A few miles away, an armored black Maybach cut through the neon-lit streets like a shadow.

Inside the rear cabin, the silence was absolute.

In the back seat, Lowin Vance sat with two fingers pressed to his right temple, jaw set in that particular way it always was when he was somewhere his mind had not entirely agreed to be. He radiated a cold, lethal authority, the kind born from a lifetime of being the most powerful man in any room he ever entered. The Vance Empire didn't just rule the city's skyline; it ruled its economy.

Beside him, the frantic, rhythmic tapping of long acrylic nails against a glass screen was grating on his nerves.

Victoria Jackson was checking her phone. Again and Again.

"Why do you keep checking your phone, Victoria?" Lowin's voice wasn't loud, but it possessed a low, dangerous rumble that immediately froze the air inside the car.

Victoria flinched, quickly sliding the device into her designer purse. "No, it's nothing, Lowin. Just checking some messages."

Victoria was his secret, kept entirely behind closed doors. For nearly a year, their relationship had been confined to the dark, hidden away because she was the lead model for the Vance Empire's fashion department. He couldn't afford the PR circus of publicizing them, at least, not yet. Tonight was a transaction, a calculated peace offering to quiet her complaints after he had casually skipped her biggest milestones. His schedule didn't have room for a woman, and his empire always came first. He appreciated her elegance. He liked her sharpness. But love? Love was a vulnerability, a weakness he had buried a long time ago.

"You know the rules for tonight," Lowin murmured, his tone flat, unreadable. "We cannot be seen arriving together. The driver will drop you at the front. I'll use the underground VIP entrance and find you inside."

"Okay, no problem," she muttered, offering a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

The Maybach slowed to a crawl in front of the Royal Palace Hotel. Outside, a wall of paparazzi erupted into a frenzy, their camera flashes exploding like lightning strikes against the dark sky. The driver stepped out, opening the door for Victoria, and she glided into the spotlight, instantly transforming into the untouchable supermodel the world adored.

The door clicked shut, plunging the back of the car back into darkness. As the Maybach began to roll toward the underground ramp, Lowin casually glanced out the window.

And then, his universe narrowed. Across the street, completely isolated from the crowd, stood a woman. She was staring up at the towering, opulent hotel as if she were looking at a executioner's block. She wasn't moving. Her small hands were white, clutching a silver purse against her chest like a shield. She looked so soft. So remarkably fragile amidst the harsh neon and concrete of the city.

Then, she took a single, hesitant step forward.

The movement caused the white silk of her gown to part. The high slit sliced open, revealing a flawless, pale thigh that caught the dim streetlights.

Lowin's head tilted slowly. His dark eyes darkened further as a slow, predatory smirk curled the corner of his lips. He had spent his entire life studying prey, and he could read her in a heartbeat. She doesn't belong here. She was a lamb walking willingly into a den of wolves.

And suddenly, the boring, predictable gala tonight became infinitely more interesting.

Amilah felt like she was suffocating. The noise of the crowd outside the hotel was a physical weight against her chest. Her heart was beating so violently against her ribs she was terrified it would bruise her skin. Turn around, a voice inside her head screamed. Go home.

Before she could retreat, a reporter broke through the velvet ropes, a microphone thrust into her space.

"Your gown is absolutely breathtaking," the reporter said, microphone extended, clearly meaning it. "Are you comfortable sharing who you're wearing tonight?"

Amilah blinked and straightened. "Thank you so much," she said, and her voice came out steadier than she'd expected. "I designed it myself. It's from my latest collection."

The reporter's eyebrows climbed. "You designed this?" A genuine beat of surprise. "That's extraordinary. What's the name of your label?"

"Amizee Trends." She said it clearly. Planted it like a flag.

"Well, this might just be the most talked-about look of the evening. Enjoy the gala."

Amilah let out a long, shaky breath and used the momentum to push through the heavy glass doors of the hotel. Inside, the opulence was blinding. Gigantic crystal chandeliers hung from the ceilings, casting a golden glow over a sea of tuxedos and haute couture. A live orchestra played a slow, haunting waltz that seemed to pulse through the marble floor. People were laughing, sharp, aristocratic laughs as they clinked crystal glasses, trading millions of dollars in whispers.

Amilah felt entirely invisible. Needing air, needing a pocket of silence, she turned away from the grand ballroom, slipping into a dimly lit, quiet VIP corridor.

She walked blindly, her head down, her mind spinning.

Thud.

She didn't just walk into someone; she crashed into them. It was like hitting a wall of solid marble clad in expensive wool.

"Ouch!" Amilah hissed, a sharp intake of air tearing from her throat as she recoiled from the impact. Her foot slipped on her heel, her balance failing her.

Before she could fall, a large, warm hand shot out of the shadows. It clamped around her waist with terrifying speed and absolute, unyielding strength, pulling her flush against a broad chest.

"Careful, little bird," a deep, velvety voice rumbled above her. The tone was smooth, laced with a dangerous amusement that made the hairs on the back of Amilah's neck stand up. "You look lost."

Amilah snapped her head up, her breath dying completely in her throat. The man towering over her was devastatingly handsome but it was a cruel, sharp kind of beauty. His dark curls fell perfectly across his forehead, casting shadows over a pair of piercing, predatory eyes. He wore a tailored Armani suit that framed his broad, imposing shoulders, and the top two buttons of his shirt were casually undone, revealing the hard, shadowed muscle of his chest. He radiated a quiet, suffocating authority. A man who didn't ask for permission for anything.

Amilah stared, entirely paralyzed, her lips slightly parted as she felt the heat of his palm burning through the thin silk of her gown.

Amused by her utter silence, Lowin raised his free hand and snapped his fingers twice, right in front of her eyes. The sharp sound broke the spell. Amilah gasped, her cheeks flushing a deep, furious crimson as she scrambled to find her footing.

"Aah-I-I'm so sorry, sir," she stammered, her voice shaking as she tried to pull back. "I wasn't looking... I didn't mean to..."

Lowin didn't let go immediately. His dark eyes slowly, deliberately swept down her face, tracing the frantic pulse point in her neck, before mapping the dangerous, plunging neckline of her white dress. A rare, dark smile crept onto his lips, a smile that would have terrified his competitors, because it meant he had found something he wanted to break.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that vibrated straight through her core. His hand finally slid off her waist, his fingers lingering just long enough to feel her shiver. "Just make sure you watch your step from now on."

Without waiting for her reply, he stepped around her, his towering silhouette melting effortlessly back into the bright, crowded ballroom.

Amilah stood frozen in the dim corridor, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Her skin was tingling where he had touched her, a terrifying sensation of having just been hunted.

Deep in the shadows of the corridor, hidden behind the thick base of a marble pillar, Victoria Jackson stepped out. She had seen everything. Her eyes were wide, burning with a toxic, venomous rage as she stared at the back of Amilah's head. Lowin never smiled. Lowin never touched strangers.

With trembling, furious fingers, Victoria ripped her phone from her clutch. She aggressively typed a message, her eyes locked on Amilah's white dress, before hitting send.

Sliding the phone away, she wore a mask of pure malice as she slipped silently back into the gala, leaving a trap waiting to be sprung.

The heavy gold doors of the grand ballroom didn't just open; they seemed to part for him.

The moment Lowin Vance stepped inside, the room's collective pulse stuttered. A suffocating silence rippled through the crowd of elite guests, every conversation dying on the tongues of billionaires and high-profile icons. He stood at the threshold, a striking figure of absolute, lethal authority. His sharp gray eyes slowly scanned the sea of faces, utterly unmoved by the sudden hush.

He despised these gatherings. Every smile was a calculated lie, every handshake a transaction, and the sheer fakeness of it always stirred a dark, simmering irritation deep in his chest. If Victoria hadn't begged him, he would be in his private study right now, running his empire.

With heavy, deliberate strides that commanded the room without trying, Lowin walked toward an isolated table in the VIP section. A waitress appeared almost instantly, her hands trembling slightly as she set down a crystal glass of deep red wine.

Around the perimeter, the murmurs began. Actresses and heiresses huddled together, their eyes glued to his silhouette, whispering shamelessly.

"He is so freaking handsome. Why is he still single?"

"He's terrifying, but I'd give anything to spend a single night with him."

Lowin ignored them all, staring coldly into his glass.

Then, Victoria entered. She glided across the marble floor, her posture radiating pride as she made her way directly to his table. Sitting down beside him, she cast a possessive glance at the whispering women, relishing the visible waves of jealousy washing over the room.

"What took you so long?" Victoria asked, her voice hushed but demanding.

Lowin didn't look at her, his voice a flat, unreadable rumble. "I didn't notice it took me long."

A flicker of anger crossed Victoria's face as his words cut through her. Her mind flashed back to the corridor to the memory of Lowin looking down at that fragile woman in the white dress. She swallowed the bitterness, forcing her supermodel mask back into place.

Before she could speak, a group of prominent CEOs approached the table, eager to capitalize on the rare public appearance of the Vance Empire's head. One of them cleared his throat, offering a practiced smile. "Mr. Vance, I was hoping we could discuss the logistics of the new shipping contract-"

"No."

The single word fell like an iron curtain. Lowin didn't even look up from his drink. The brutal finality in his tone sent a shockwave through the men, and they scrambled away like frightened mice, not daring to press further.

Lowin clicked his tongue, lazily swirling the dark liquid in his glass. Suddenly, the phone in his breast pocket buzzed against his chest. He pulled it out, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "Excuse me. I have to take this."

Victoria tightened her grip on her clutch, nodding smoothly. "Sure, go ahead. I need to use the restroom anyway."

Lowin gave her a brief nod and stepped away into the private executive lounge.

The moment the table was empty, a shadow broke away from the crowd. A figure slipped through the dim lighting, approaching Lowin's untouched glass with practiced ease. With a swift, imperceptible movement, a small capsule was dropped into the red wine. It dissolved instantly, leaving the liquid perfectly still.

The figure vanished back into the masses, pulling out a burner phone.

[Unknown]: It's done.

A response popped up a second later.

[Unknown]: Good. I'll handle the rest.

When Lowin returned minutes later, the air around him had grown even colder. Whatever call he had just taken had left him visibly furious, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack. Needing to dull the irritation burning in his veins, he sat down, grabbed his glass, and gulped down the wine in one long swallow.

Setting the empty glass down, his eyes began to sweep the room, looking for Victoria. Instead, his gaze caught on a completely different target.

It was her. The woman from the corridor.

She was sitting quietly at a corner table, looking small and intensely beautiful against the sprawling opulence of the room. Lowin watched as a handsome young heir approached her, offering his hand for a dance. She turned him down with a polite, soft shake of her head. Moments later, a famous actor tried his luck. She rejected him too, her expression entirely detached.

Interesting, Lowin thought, a low murmur vibrating in his chest.

He was used to women clawing over each other to get the attention of men like that, desperate for a sliver of public status. But this girl wasn't looking for a spotlight. He could tell she was a runner. And for the first time in his life, Lowin felt the primal urge to chase.

His eyes narrowed as another figure approached her table. He recognized the woman instantly. It was his sister, Annah Vance. He couldn't hear their voices over the roar of the crowd, but seeing his notoriously difficult sister throwing her head back in genuine laughter caught him completely out of height.

---

At Amilah's table, the atmosphere was entirely different.

"You know, it has to be illegal for a woman this beautiful to hide in a dark corner all night. Mind if I sit? "Annah smiled down at her, gesturing toward the empty chair.

Amilah blinked, surprised by the warmth radiating from the stranger. "Oh, please, go ahead."

"I'm Annah," she said, sliding into the seat and resting her chin on her hand. "And yes, I've been watching you for the last twenty minutes. These high-society gatherings can be absolutely exhausting, can't they?"

Amilah let out a breath she felt like she'd been holding since she arrived. "Tell me about it. I feel like I'm underwater."

Annah's eyes traveled down the perfect tailoring of Amilah's gown, her eyes shining with genuine envy.

"I am absolutely obsessed with your dress. I need one in my closet immediately. Would you mind sharing your designer's name? I'll pay whatever they ask."

A soft, genuine smile broke across Amilah's face. "Thank you. I actually designed and made it myself."

Annah's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? Tell me you take private clients. I'm an actress and I do some modeling on the side. Next week I have a major editorial shoot, and this exact aesthetic aligns perfectly with the theme."

Amilah's heart leaped. A shoot? an actress wearing her design? This was exactly the break she had been praying for. "Really? If you want it, I can work day and night to ensure it's completely tailored and delivered before your week starts."

"Oh, you are an absolute angel," Annah gasped, pulling a sleek, embossed business card from her bag and sliding it across the table. "Here is my personal card. Call me the second it's ready."

"Thank you so much," Amilah whispered, clutching the card like a lifeline. "I will."

Before Annah could reply, Amilah's phone began to vibrate in her clutch. Seeing the caller ID, she offered an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, I have to take this. It's my mom."

"Go ahead, sweetie. I'll find you later," Annah waved her off with a warm smile.

---

Back at the VIP table, the temperature in Lowin's body was skyrocketing.

A sudden, aggressive wave of heat crashed over him, making his skin feel entirely too tight. He gritted his teeth, pulling off his tailored suit jacket and throwing it over the chair, but the relief never came. A second wave hit him, harder this time, a thick, heavy pulse settling deep in his lower abdomen.

His phone buzzed on the table.

[Victoria]: I'm waiting for you in the VIP suite upstairs. Join me when you're done.

Lowin stared at the screen, his breathing turning ragged. As he forced himself to stand, a third wave of heat ripped through his system, dragging his senses into a dark, hazy fog.

He hurriedly walked out ,without anyone noticing and slipped into the dimly lit corridor. The increased uncontrollable heat in his lower abdomen instantly made him realize what was going on. He was drugged. He cursed under his breathe fuck.

The realization hit him with the force of a freight train. He clenched his jaw so hard, his fist flying out to punch the concrete wall beside the exit corridor. The pain barely registered through the haze.

Going to the suite was a trap. It would create a massive public scandal, and he was not going to let whoever did this see him weak, let alone force him into a public narrative with Victoria. He had to get out of the hotel. Now.

Using the last remaining threads of his iron discipline, he stumbled into the quiet, dimly lit VIP corridor, his vision blurring at the edges.

A few feet away, Amilah was leaning against the wall, her phone held up in a FaceTime call.

"Mom, the gala is going so well," Amilah said, her voice giddy with excitement. "I literally just landed a major client for my collection. I'm going to fly out to see you tomorrow, but I have to get back as soon as possible to start working."

"That's incredible, sweetheart! I'm so proud of you," her mother's voice echoed softly from the speaker. "What time is your flight tomorrow?"

"Ten in the morning. I'll call you before I board-"

A low, painful groan echoed from behind her, shattering the quiet of the hallway.

Amilah flinched, pulling the phone back. She turned around, her breath catching in her throat. It was him. The man from earlier. But the quiet authority he had radiated was gone, replaced by something wild and dangerous. He looked incredibly sick, his skin flushed and slick with sweat, and his right fist was dripping blood onto the pristine floor.

"Mom, I have to call you right back," Amilah whispered frantically, hanging up before her mother could answer. She rushed to his side, her instincts taking over. "Sir? Sir, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?"

Lowin forced his heavy eyelids open, his dark eyes instantly locking onto her face. Even through the drug-induced fog, her features were terrifyingly clear.

"It's fine," he growled, his voice a gravelly, broken shell of its former self. "I'm fine. Just leave."

"You don't look fine," Amilah pressed, stepping closer. "You can barely stand. Let me help you."

Without waiting for his permission, she wrapped her small hands around his waist, trying to brace his weight. The moment her skin made contact, Lowin shoved her away with a sudden burst of panicked force.

"Please... leave," he ground out through shattered teeth. "I can take care of myself."

"It doesn't look that way to me," Amilah said, her stubbornness flaring as she stepped right back into his space. "You're clearly not well, and you're burning up."

Lowin leaned his head against the wall, his chest heaving as the toxin demanded his surrender. "Stop being fucking stubborn and walk away."

"Well, sir, my conscience won't let me leave you in a hallway, so I'm not going anywhere."

Amilah stepped in close again, determined, and firmly wrapped her hands back around his waist.

The moment she pressed against him, her soft, sweet scent hit his nostrils. It was like pouring gasoline on an open flame. The fever tearing through his blood surged to the absolute edge, threatening to break his control completely. He bit his inner cheek until the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, using the physical pain to fight the feral thoughts screaming in his head.

"The underground parking lot," Lowin commanded, his voice dark and strained. "My driver... is there."

Amilah nodded quickly, guiding his heavy frame toward the private elevator.

The ride down felt like an eternity. Inside the enclosed metal box, the silence was suffocating. Amilah was pressed right against his side, her warmth seeping into him, and Lowin's primal instincts were screaming at him to pin her against the elevator wall and devour her. He fought his own mind with everything he had. But when the lift gave a sudden, sharp shudder, Amilah instinctively gasped and shifted against his side, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight to his core.

The doors finally slid open. Lowin stumbled out onto the concrete of the underground garage, Amilah rushing to support his weight.

His sharp gray eyes scanned the dimly lit parking lot, but the black Maybach was nowhere to be seen. His driver wasn't there.

"You need a doctor," Amilah insisted, pulling out her phone. Before he could stop her, her processing lines flew across the screen, requesting a private cab to their location.

"I'll call my driver," Lowin growled. He pulled out his phone with a shaking hand, dialing the direct line. It rang continuously until it went to voicemail. He cursed under his breath, a dark, lethal sound. something was definitely not right, this had to be a scheme and he was going to find out who the players were.

He was trapped in an empty garage, the poison in his blood was reaching a boiling point, and the paparazzi could find the entrance at any moment.

He looked down at the girl beside him. "You can go back inside now. I'll take it from here."

"Sir, I already told you, I'm not leaving you until I get you to a hospital," Amilah said, her eyes wide with stubborn determination.

A cold, dangerous anger flared in Lowin's chest. Why wouldn't this girl just run? Didn't she realize what she was standing next to?

He took a sudden, predatory step toward her. Startled by the sheer menace in his eyes, Amilah instinctively backed up, her heels clicking against the concrete until her spine collided with a massive concrete pillar.

Lowin closed the distance in a heartbeat, trapping her. His bloody fist flew out, slamming into the concrete just inches from her head with a terrifying crack.

"I told you," he whispered, his face hovering just inches from hers, his breath hot against her skin, "to leave."

The space between them vanished. Amilah could smell the expensive, smoky scent of his cologne mixed with the raw heat of his skin. He was sweating profusely, his chest rising and falling violently. Looking at his strained collar, Amilah's hand moved on pure, unthinking instinct, her fingers reaching up to gently undo the other few buttons of his shirt to give him air.

At the touch of her soft fingers against his bare skin, Lowin felt the last of his iron restraint dissolve. His eyes went entirely pitch-black with a dark, consuming desire. Her soft, pink lips were parted, completely inviting, and his own hand rose against his will, his thumb gently tracing the contour of her bottom lip.

Amilah's heart was hammering so wildly she felt dizzy. It was a sensation she had never experienced in her life, a terrifying, intoxicating pull that made her knees weak.

"S-Sir..." she whispered, her voice trembling violently as she pressed a hand over her own chest, trying to quiet her heart. "Is your illness contagious? Because... I think I'm coming down with it."

Lowin let out a low, rough chuckle, the sound dark and intimate. "So innocent," he murmured.

Thankfully, the headlights of the cab cut through the garage, pulling up beside them. Lowin pulled back, the sudden loss of her touch making him groan. Amilah quickly helped him into the backseat, sliding in right after him and closing the door.

"Sir, please take us to the nearest hospital," Amilah told the driver immediately.

Before the driver could shift gears, Lowin's hand shot out, his fingers clamping around Amilah's wrist with unyielding force. "No. Take me to my penthouse."

"You need a medical professional-"

Lowin's grip tightened just enough to make her gasp, his dark eyes locking onto hers with absolute authority. Amilah hissed, her skin burning under his touch.

"Okay, okay," she relented, turning back to the driver. "What's the address?"

"Apex Heights Estate," Lowin ground out, leaning his head back against the seat.

The cab rolled out of the parking lot and into the night. For Lowin, the drive was pure torture. Every bump in the road made his blood burn hotter. He needed a cold shower, but the woman sitting mere inches away was making everything infinitely worse. The high slit of her gown had ridden up, exposing her pale, flawless thigh in the dim light of the cab. He let out a low groan, curling his hands into tight fists to keep from reaching out and tearing the silk away.

"Sir, I really think a hospital is the better option right now," Amilah whispered, looking at him with genuine worry.

Lowin turned his head, a fierce, predatory glare cutting through the darkness of the car. Amilah quickly clamped her mouth shut, looking away.

Minutes later, the cab pulled up to the heavy security gates of the exclusive estate. Since commercial cabs weren't permitted past the perimeter, Lowin had to roll down the window, his voice harsh and strained as he commanded the guard to open the gates. The car drove down the private, tree-lined avenue for another five minutes before finally stopping in front of a massive, ultra-modern penthouse.

Amilah helped him out of the backseat, paying the driver before the cab sped away, leaving them in the quiet dark.

Lowin leaned heavily against her, his breathing ragged. "How are you going to get back?"

"I'll just request another one once you're inside," Amilah said, her voice shaking slightly from the exertion.

"Okay. Thank you," he muttered, trying to steady himself on his own feet. "Leave now."

"No. I have to make sure you're safely on a couch first."

Lowin had never met a woman this incredibly stubborn in his entire life. Left with no choice, he let her guide him through the grand entrance and into the sprawling, minimalist penthouse, sinking heavily into the deep leather couch.

Amilah didn't waste a second. "Where is your kitchen?"

Lowin lazily pointed a finger toward the dark marble island in the distance. Amilah ran into the room, returning moments later with a glass basin filled with ice-cold water and a small towel she had found on the counter.

She knelt on the floor directly between his knees. Soaking the towel in the freezing water, she wrung it out and lifted her hands to press it against his burning forehead but her wrists were caught mid-air.

Lowin's grip was like iron, his dark eyes boring into hers. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Wiping off your sweat," Amilah said softly, trying to pull her hands free but failing. "The cold water will help bring down your temperature. You're burning up."

Lowin stared at her, his gaze traveling from her wide, innocent eyes down to her soft lips. "That won't help." He paused, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. "But... maybe you can."

Amilah frowned, her innocence blinding her to the meaning behind his words. "But sir, I'm already helping you. And since you refuse to see a doctor, this is the only way."

Lowin felt a dark amusement stir within his chest, deeply intrigued by how completely unaware she was of the danger she was in. "I was drugged, little bird," he whispered, leaning his upper body forward until his face was inches from hers. "And I don't think cold water is going to cool down what's happening to me."

Amilah processed the words slowly. Her gaze involuntarily drifted down, and her eyes flew wide open as she noticed the heavy, undeniable bulge straining against the fabric of his suit trousers.

A gasp caught in her throat. The realization hit her all at once: she hadn't just helped a sick man. She had willingly walked straight into the tiger's den.

Instinctively, Amilah let go of the towel and tried to crawl backward on the floor, desperate to put distance between them.

But Lowin was already moving. He stood up slowly, his towering frame casting a massive shadow over her as he followed her movements.

"I told you to leave," Lowin murmured, his voice laced with a dark, possessive promise. He looked down into her eyes, watching the sudden, beautiful flash of fear take over her expression. "But you chose to stay. So tell me, little bird..."

Amilah's back hit the base of the kitchen island behind her, trapping her entirely. She couldn't find her words, her throat completely dry.

Suddenly, Lowin leaned down, his large hands clamping around her waist. With effortless strength, he lifted her off the floor, pinning her hips against the high marble counter.

Amilah gasped, her hands flying to his broad shoulders to push him away, but he didn't budge an inch. He was a wall of pure muscle and consuming heat. Lowin raised his hand, his long fingers slowly trailing over her trembling lower lip as he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear.

"Your stubbornness little bird....," he whispered, his dark breath sending a shiver straight down her spine, "has landed you in an awful lot of trouble tonight."

Amilah's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Looking up into the dark, shadowed hollows of his eyes, she realized she was no longer dealing with a man. This was a beast, driven entirely by a fever she didn't understand. Panic seized her throat. Before she could think, her tiny fist flew out, striking him hard across his broad chest, desperate to force a single step of distance between them.

The blow didn't even make him flinch.

Instead, a low, deep chuckle vibrated in Lowin's chest,a dark, rumbling sound that sent a cold shiver straight down her spine. With a swift, terrifyingly effortless movement of his left hand, he caught both of her small wrists, wrapping them in a grip of cold iron, and pinned them securely behind her back.

He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and uneven. "Why are you starting a fight you can't win, sweetheart?"

Amilah gasped as his free right hand came down to her waist. His long, slender fingers began to trace slow, deliberate circles against her soft skin, burning through the thin white silk of her gown. His gaze didn't just look at her; it bored straight into her, mapping the frantic panic written across her features. She could have sworn he was staring directly into her soul, stripping away every defense she had left.

"Let me go," she hissed, her voice shaking with an angry, volatile mix of fear and defiance. She twisted her body, straining against the unyielding lock of his arm. "You crazy psycho, let me go!"

But the movement backfired. As she struggled, the deep, plunging neckline of her gown shifted, forcing her full, round chest to heave up and down violently before his eyes. The sight of her flawless, fair skin glistening with a light sweat was the final blow to Lowin's fracturing sanity. The beast inside him, clawing frantically to get out, completely took the reins.

With a sudden, ruthless jerk, he pulled her by the waist flush against his massive, solid frame. Her arms were still locked helplessly behind her back, her chest crushed against his.

Before Amilah's mind could even register the shift in gravity, his shadow fell over her completely.

His lips captured hers.

It wasn't a request; it was a violent, intoxicating takeover. The kiss was hot, dangerous, and dripping with a possessive hunger that instantly turned Amilah's mind into a blank, spinning void. The sheer force of his mouth sent a jolt of pure fire rushing straight to her lower abdomen, paralyzing her.

She only snapped back to reality when she felt the heavy, burning weight of his right palm slide upward, cupping her left breast through the fabric.

A shockwave of adrenaline tore through her. Acting on pure survival instinct, Amilah clamped her teeth down hard, biting his lower lip until the metallic taste of blood burst between them.

Lowin pulled back sharply. He didn't yell. He didn't rage. Instead, he let out a low, breathless chuckle, his thumb wiping a drop of his own crimson blood from his lip. He leaned into the hollow of her ear, his voice dropping to a gravelly, dangerous whisper. "So wild."

"Have you gone completely crazy?" Amilah cried out, the dam finally breaking. Soft, hot tears began to spill over her eyelashes, tracing wet paths down her flushed cheeks. "What are you doing to me? Can't you just call a doctor or something? Just... please, let me go."

Seeing her tears, a flicker of panic pierced through Lowin's drug-induced haze. He didn't want to hurt her. But the primal beast was fully awake now, and it thrived on her beautiful torment, intoxicated by the way she trembled in his arms.

"No, baby," Lowin murmured, his eyes turning entirely pitch-black as he leaned over her. "You can't just walk into my kingdom and leave as you wish. I'll decide when you leave, little bird. Now behave yourself."

His long fingers trailed slowly down the slope of her cleavage, a torturous, agonizingly slow burn. He leaned his head down, burying his face in the soft crook of her neck. He kissed his way up to her jawline, his teeth gently nibbling on her sensitive skin.

An involuntary, breathless moan slipped past Amilah's lips when his lips brushed the shell of her ear.

"Good girl," he growled against her skin, his hand tracing the soft, hourglass curves of her hips, causing her entire body to shudder violently beneath his touch.

Amilah's mind and heart were locked in a vicious, agonizing war. Her mind screamed at her to run, to fight, to remember that this man was a stranger. But her heart and the thick, heavy ache spreading deep in her lower abdomen wanted nothing more than to dissolve into this terrifying new feeling. Her body was entering a state of total, helpless surrender.

In one swift, seamless motion, Lowin scooped her petite body into his arms. He strode through the dimly lit penthouse and into the expansive master bedroom, tossing her gently onto the sprawling, plush mattress. Turning away for a fraction of a second, his shaking fingers ripped open the remaining buttons of his dress shirt, tearing the expensive fabric off and throwing it carelessly across the room, exposing the hard, shadowed expanse of his chest.

Amilah saw her window to escape. Desperate, she scrambled across the silk sheets, her feet reaching for the edge of the bed.

She didn't even make it to the floor.

A large, heavy arm snared her waist from behind, dragging her back into the center of the bed with terrifying ease. In a heartbeat, Lowin pinned her beneath his massive frame, his large hands clamping her wrists together and securing them firmly over her head.

"Please," Amilah whispered, her voice cracking as she stared up at him. "I don't want to. Let's just call a doctor for you."

"Sshh... shshh," Lowin murmured, silencing her with a low, hypnotic tone.

Slowly, deliberately, his right hand snaked underneath the white silk of her gown, his palm gliding up the smooth skin of her inner thigh until it reached her most sensitive core. Amilah's eyes squeezed shut on pure instinct, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow pants.

Lowin let out a low chuckle at the sight of her reaction. "Are you sure you don't want this, baby girl? Your body is so obedient under my touch."

Amilah bit her own lower lip, a soft gasp escaping her as his long, slender fingers began to tease her inner core through the thin barrier of her panties.

That simple gesture tore away the last remaining thread of Lowin's control. He had intended to tease her, to stretch the agony out, but his own shaft was throbbing in a tight, painful ache that demanded instant release. He couldn't tolerate the barrier of his clothes for another second.

With rough, frantic movements, he unbuckled his belt and stripped out of his tailored suit trousers and boxers, throwing them blindly to the floor in a desperate hurry.

He captured her lips again, this time violently, his ragged breathing filling the quiet room. His fingers shifted her lace panties to the side, sliding a single finger directly into her safe haven. It was already dripping wet, slick and hot.

Amilah let out a loud, broken moan that drove him completely over the edge.

"Fuck," Lowin growled against her mouth. He trailed a path of biting kisses down her throat to her cleavage, his finger working inside her core at a rhythmic, demanding pace that drove her absolutely wild. A minute ago, she wanted him to stop but now, the fire consuming her blood needed to be quenched at all costs.

When Lowin added a second finger, deep and unyielding, Amilah's mind went entirely blank. Her body shuddered violently beneath him, her hips lifting off the bed in a pure, involuntary reflex.

To Lowin, she was the most intoxicating sight on earth. He freed her arms, and in one swift, aggressive motion, he pulled the white silk gown completely over her head, throwing it to the floor. Amilah was left in nothing but her bra, her twin cherry blossoms full and round, packed tightly inside the lace.

Embarrassment washed over her, her face turning a deep, furious crimson as she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest to hide herself.

Lowin flashed her a devilish, predatory smirk. "Drop them, sweetheart."

Slowly, as if under a spell, Amilah's hands dropped helplessly to her sides. Her body was listening to his voice more than her own mind. Lowin reached behind her, unhooking her bra with a practiced flick and discarding it. The sight of her bare, perfect breasts made him let out a ragged groan from the depths of his throat. His primal instincts completely took over.

He slid her panties down her long legs, towering over her completely naked form. His mouth trailed hot, branding kisses down her stomach, before he blew a warm, heavy breath over her left nipple, which stood firm and hard under his gaze. He teased the peak with his tongue while his other hand cupped her right breast, squeezing the soft flesh gently.

Amilah arched her back off the mattress with every touch, soft, needy moans breaking from her throat. And when his fingers returned to tease her sensitive bud, she completely lost it.

"Pl-please... aah, please..." she begged, her lower abdomen throbbing so hard it was a physical ache. To her own absolute shock, she was begging him to put out the fire.

Lowin couldn't hold back for another second. His long, thick manhood was fully rigid, throbbing in a tight, desperate ache for release. He positioned his long manhood at the opening of her safe haven, his breath hiking as he felt her incredible heat.

Slowly, deliberately, he deepened inside her. The fever had completely eroded his rational mind; he didn't even notice her eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears.

The moment he entered her, a sharp, tearing pain made Amilah gasp, her body stiffening. The deeper he pushed, the more intense the pain became. She placed her tiny hands against his broad shoulders, trying to push him away, but he simply pinned them back over her head, his gray eyes consumed by a dark, feral desire.

He drove himself all the way in with one deep, heavy thrust, letting out a guttural groan. Her tight muscles grasped his length so fiercely it nearly brought him to his knees right then and there.

He began to move, his thrusts powerful and deliberate. Slowly, the sharp pain Amilah felt began to melt away, replaced by a crashing, overwhelming wave of pure pleasure. Lowin let out soft, ragged groans as his free hand trailed all over her trembling body, marking every inch of her skin as his.

"Oh... ooooh," Lowin groaned, his pace quickening.

"Aah-uuh..." Amilah cried out, her fingers tangling in the sheets.

On the nightstand, Lowin's phone was ringing endlessly, the screen flashing bright in the dark room, but neither of them heard it. The bedroom was entirely filled with the heavy symphony of their gasps, moans, and deep groans.

Finally, a sharp, golden wave of completion crashed over Amilah, her body shuddering as she hit her release. Lowin followed a moment later, his body stiffening as he poured himself into her with a deep, breathless growl.

Thinking it was finally over, Amilah let her eyes close but Lowin wasn't done. Gripped by the lingering aftershocks of the drug, he rolled her onto her side, pulling her hips back against him, and entered her from behind. Amilah went completely crazy, riding one crashing wave of release after another until her limbs felt heavy and entirely numb.

When the storm finally passed, she couldn't even force her eyelids open. Exhaustion dragged her down, and a deep, dreamless sleep carried her away. Lowin pulled her flush against his chest, catching his breath in the dark before drifting off minutes later, his arm locked securely around her waist.

---

Back at the gala, Victoria Jackson paced the hallway outside the presidential suite like a caged animal.

She had been waiting for Lowin Vance for almost three hours. The clock had already struck midnight, and the silence from his end was deafening. She had tried calling his direct line at least a hundred times, but it went straight to voicemail every single time.

Frantic, she pulled out her phone and fired off a text.

[Victoria]: Is he still inside?

A response from her contact popped up a second later.

[Unknown]:No, he is not here.

Victoria stamped her high heel against the marble floor, her jaw clenching. Where could he be? Did he go home? No, Lowin wouldn't just leave without telling her, and besides, she had explicitly told the driver to leave early to force Lowin to stay with her.

She immediately dialed the driver's number.

"Hello, ma'am," the driver answered on the second ring.

"Did you send your boss home?" Victoria demanded, her voice sharp and laced with venom.

"Ma'am, you told me he was staying the night at the hotel, so-"

"I asked you a simple question," Victoria snapped, cutting him off. "Did you take him home or not?"

"No, ma'am. I left the premises immediately after you asked me to."

Victoria slammed her thumb against the screen, abruptly ending the call. A cold, heavy weight of disappointment settled deep in her chest. This gala was supposed to be her perfect opportunity, the moment she could use a controlled hotel scandal to force their relationship into the public eye. And now, it was slipping right through her fingers.

He was out there somewhere, heavily drugged. What if he meets another woman?

The thought made her blood run cold. Suddenly, the image of the fragile woman in the white dress from the VIP corridor flashed in her mind. Victoria spun on her heel and rushed back into the grand ballroom.

The party was clearing out, the elite guests leaving one by one under the dimming chandeliers. She scanned every corner, her eyes wild, but the white dress was nowhere to be found.

"Victoria? Are you okay?"

Annah Vance stepped into her path, her brow furrowed in confusion at Victoria's frantic expression.

Victoria instantly masked her face, forcing a tight, practiced smile onto her lips. "I'm fine, Annah. Just looking for someone... it's nothing."

"Oh, okay. Enjoy your night, then," Annah said smoothly, waving her off as she walked toward the exit. Annah had been waiting around to see if Amilah would come back to say goodbye, but assuming the young designer had left early, she decided to head home herself.

The moment Annah was out of sight, Victoria stormed back into the presidential suite. Blind with rage, she grabbed a heavy crystal vase from the glass table and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall with a loud, violent crash.

She slammed herself down onto the sofa, her thoughts spinning out of control.

He isn't with that woman... right?

No. Lowin was cold, clinical, and completely untouchable. He wouldn't do something like that. But as she recalled the dark, heavy way Lowin had looked down at the girl in the hallway, her confidence fractured. He must have gone to a private hospital, she told herself, desperately clawing at the only explanation that kept her sane.

The mere mental image of Lowin in another woman's arms fueled a toxic, burning rage in her chest.

"If she dares to touch him," Victoria whispered into the empty, ruined suite, her eyes narrowing into slits, "I'll break her hands myself."

She vowed the threat to the empty room, completely blind to the truth.

Miles away, in the quiet darkness of the penthouse, her man was already fast asleep, with a beautiful stranger tucked securely in his arms.