I lay frozen under the sheets, too afraid to move, my heart pounding so violently it felt like it might crack my ribs open. Slowly, I lifted my gaze—and there he was.
My boss.
Adrian Blackwell.
Standing with his back to me in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the presidential suite, smoking like this was just another ordinary morning.
Meanwhile, I felt like my entire soul had left my body.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I had booked a standard room.
So how had I ended up in the most expensive suite in the hotel, high above the city, in the same bed as the most intimidating man in the entire company?
I shifted slightly under the blanket.
He heard me.
Slowly, he turned.
“Awake already?” he asked, his voice calm, controlled—the same voice that made entire meeting rooms fall silent.
My face burned.
“S-sir…” I whispered.
Why was he so calm?
Why was he acting like this wasn’t insane?
I was on the verge of a breakdown, and he just flicked ash into a crystal tray and said, casually:
“You should eat. I ordered breakfast.”
Breakfast?
I stared at him in disbelief.
This was Adrian Blackwell—the man everyone secretly called the Ice King. The man who barely smiled, barely spoke, and could make executives nervous just by walking into a room.
And now he was standing there in a robe, telling me to eat… after I woke up naked in his bed.
He tossed something toward me.
A robe.
I caught it, and that’s when I noticed—he was wearing one too.
I glanced around the room.
Our clothes were everywhere.
On the floor. Near the bed. By the couch.
Like whatever had happened last night wasn’t small or accidental—it looked like chaos.
I immediately stopped looking.
Without a word, I threw on the robe and rushed into the bathroom.
“I—I need to wash my face,” I blurted.
The second I got inside, I locked the door and gripped the sink like I was trying to steady myself in an earthquake. I splashed cold water over my face again and again.
It didn’t help.
My reflection was a mess.
Flushed cheeks. Tangled hair.
And faint red marks along my neck and collarbone.
Real ones.
My knees nearly gave out.
“This is real…” I whispered.
Fragments of last night flickered in my mind.
The business dinner. The drinks I kept accepting—for him. The elevator. His hand at my waist. The way he looked at me.
Then… nothing.
Had I started something?
Had he?
How did I end up here?
And what had we done?
I pressed my hands to my face.
I was finished.
My career—gone.