Rain drummed relentlessly against the tall windows of the hotel lounge, a soothing rhythm that did nothing to calm the storm inside Rita's Thompson chest. She hugged her knees to her body, letting her eyes drift toward the half-empty glass of wine on the small table before her. She hadn't even touched it in minutes, her mind too consumed with thoughts she didn't want to face.
Two years. Two years of love, trust, and late-night laughter had ended with nothing more than a cold, impersonal text. The words had burned her, leaving her hollow, unmoored, and questioning everything she had ever believed about herself.
Being an orphan had taught Rita to rely on no one, to build walls so high no one could climb over them. But tonight, those walls felt fragile, cracked under the weight of grief and loneliness. She buried her face in her hands, soft tears slipping through her fingers, wishing she could disappear, wishing for someone to see her, really see her, and care.
She didn't notice the gaze at first. It was subtle, electric, the kind that made the skin on her arms prickle. When she finally looked up, her breath hitched.
He was standing there—Alexander Cole.The country's most richest man known for being ruthless and cold towards his enemies.
Even from across the lounge, he was impossibly striking. Dark, stormy eyes that seemed to see right through her, perfectly tailored suit, an aura of confidence so sharp it could cut glass. He held a glass of scotch in one hand, but his attention wasn't on the drink—it was on her. Every subtle tremor, every trembling breath, every tear-streaked cheek had caught his notice.
He didn't just look at her. He studied her.
Rita's chest tightened, and she quickly looked away, willing him to move on, to leave her alone. But Alexander didn't. He walked toward her, each step measured, deliberate, and impossible to ignore. His presence filled the room, drawing her attention whether she wanted it or not.
"Are you alright?" His voice was low, calm, and commanding, yet there was a softness under it that made her pulse race.
Rita startled, spinning to face him. "I… I'm fine," she said, trying to sound composed, though her voice betrayed her.
He tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You don't seem fine. Not from where I'm standing."
Her stomach knotted. There was something magnetic about him, a pull she couldn't resist. "I said I'm fine," she repeated, firmer this time.
He took another step closer, his gaze unwavering. "I don't think you are. And somehow… I think you want someone to notice."
Her breath caught. His words, his calm authority, the fire in his eyes—it was disarming. She didn't know why, but she felt drawn to him, compelled to answer.
"I… I just… life isn't going well right now," she admitted, almost in a whisper.
Alexander nodded slowly, his dark eyes intense, reading every flicker of emotion on her face. "I can help with that," he said simply, a statement rather than a question.
"You? Help me?" she laughed softly, bitterly, trying to mask the ache inside her. "I doubt a billionaire CEO has time for someone like me."
He shrugged, casual yet deliberate. "Maybe I do. Maybe I like a challenge. And when I want something, I don't let it go easily."
The words sent a thrill through her that she didn't understand. She wanted to argue, to push him away, but the honesty in his voice, the confidence in his presence—it pulled her closer instead.
For hours, they talked. Somehow, the time passed unnoticed. Alexander had a way of listening, teasing, and drawing her out without pressure, without judgment. His hand brushed hers occasionally, light but deliberate, each touch sending shivers through her body. He laughed at her sharp comebacks, raised an eyebrow at her sarcasm, and made her feel like she mattered, like she had always been seen and never noticed until now.
By the time the lounge was nearly empty, Rita felt lighter, warmer, a fragile hope beginning to flicker in her chest. Alexander extended his hand, a silent invitation wrapped in confidence.
"Come with me," he said, his voice calm, commanding.
Rita hesitated. Her instincts screamed to refuse, to run, to guard her heart. But something deeper—a yearning she hadn't acknowledged in years—made her nod. She followed him silently to his hotel room.
The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing across the walls as the rain continued its soft rhythm outside. Rita felt a mix of anticipation, fear, and longing swirl in her stomach. Alexander leaned casually against the doorframe, eyes fixed on her. "Relax," he murmured, his low voice both soothing and possessive. "Not with me. You won't get hurt."
She swallowed hard. His presence, calm authority, and the quiet intensity in his gaze drew her closer, until she was standing mere inches from him.
Then he moved. One hand found her waist, the other lifted a stray strand of hair from her face. His touch was firm but gentle, a promise of safety and ownership all at once.
"Alexander…" she whispered, uncertainty trembling in her voice.
"You're not going anywhere," he said, his voice low, dominant. "Not tonight."
And then he kissed her. Slow, deliberate, consuming. Rita's body responded instinctively, leaning into him, letting herself be drawn into the heat that radiated from him. His hands moved with careful confidence, exploring and guiding, every motion charged with intent. He was commanding, yet attentive, every touch leaving her trembling, shivering, desperate.
Time lost all meaning as their intimacy deepened. Each sigh, each shiver, each whispered name intensified the connection between them. Alexander was patient, controlling, dominant, obsessed—yet he read her reactions carefully, ensuring every moment left her craving more. She felt cherished, wanted, possessed, and utterly consumed by him in ways she had never imagined.
Hours later, they lay together in quiet exhaustion, skin pressed close, breaths mingling, hearts racing in tandem. Alexander's gaze was relentless, a dark promise in his eyes that she was his—completely and irrevocably.
Morning came slowly, sunlight filtering through the curtains. Rita dressed quickly, cheeks flushed, heart pounding. Alexander watched her quietly, an almost imperceptible, possessive smile on his lips.
"As you leave," he said softly, his voice deliberate, "remember this: you're mine now. Whether you like it or not."
Her chest tightened. She wanted to argue, to flee, to claim independence—but the fire he had ignited in her chest was undeniable. One night had changed everything.
As she stepped out into the rain, she didn't notice him standing by the window, eyes dark, unwavering, following her every step. The world outside felt distant, meaningless compared to the pull she now felt toward Alexander Cole, billionaire, dominant, and utterly captivated by her.
And Rita, orphaned and broken, realized with a start that she didn't mind being claimed.