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."

Chapter 4

Adrianna's POV

(6 weeks after that night)

The first thing I heard was a steady, rhythmic beeping. When I pried my eyes open, the white ceiling told me everything I needed to know.

Hospital.

I tried to sit up, but a gentle hand pressed my shoulder back down. "Easy there," a soft voice said. I turned my head to see a nurse, her kind eyes framed by a navy blue hijab. "You gave everyone a scare. You collapsed at work."

Work. Oh God. My mind scrambled through the haze. One second I had been restocking files behind the reception desk at the design firm, the next the room had tilted like a Ferris wheel ride. Then... black.

The nurse adjusted the IV line taped to my arm. "You've been having fainting spells, yes?"

I frowned. "I... I've been dizzy. But I thought it was just exhaustion."

"Well, exhaustion doesn't usually drop you to the floor without warning," she said lightly, though her gaze was assessing. "The doctor will want to run some tests."

I opened my mouth to respond, only to hear a voice that made my stomach drop.

"Well, well," Amelia drawled, her silhouette filling the doorway like a shadow you couldn't shake. "If it isn't my delicate little sister, living up to her flair for drama."

The nurse glanced between us, clearly picking up on the shift in temperature. "Family?"

"Yes," Amelia said before I could answer, pasting on a sugary smile. "I'm her older sister. I rushed over as soon as I heard."

I wanted to laugh. The performance was flawless. Concern in her voice, pity in her eyes, anyone who didn't know her would think she had left a charity gala to come cradle me back to health.

I forced my voice to stay even. "You didn't have to come."

"Oh, but I did." She stepped inside, heels clicking against the linoleum, designer handbag swinging on her arm. "Someone has to make sure you're not spending your nights... unwisely."

My jaw clenched. The nurse busied herself with checking the monitors, but her ears were clearly working.

"Amelia," I warned.

"What?" She perched delicately on the visitor's chair, crossing her legs with all the grace of someone sitting for a Vogue shoot. "I'm just saying, if you keep having... wild nights, you're bound to end up in places like this. Or worse."

I could feel my pulse picking up, not from illness, but from the slow boil of anger rising under my skin.

"That's rich," I shot back, my voice sharp enough to make the nurse glance up in surprise. "You hand me a drink, disappear without a word, and now you want to play Florence Nightingale?"

Her smirk faltered for half a second. "You're upset. I understand. But I..."

"No," I cut her off, struggling to sit up despite the nurse's attempt to steady me. "You don't get to come in here and pretend to care. You've always treated me like a prop in your little game. I'm not playing anymore. Leave."

Amelia's eyes, the same shade as mine, narrowed just slightly, an unspoken reminder that she didn't like being told what to do.

But then her smile returned, cool and practiced. "Fine. Rest up, darling. We'll talk soon." She stood, leaned over to brush an unnecessary kiss against my cheek, and whispered so low only I could hear, "You'll regret speaking to me like that."

Then she was gone. I exhaled slowly, my hands trembling. The nurse gave me a small, approving nod. "Good for you."

I almost smiled. Almost.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, this time to a tall man in a white coat, glasses perched low on his nose. "Miss Adrianna?" he asked.

"That's me."

He gave the nurse a nod, and she slipped out quietly, leaving us alone.

The doctor stepped closer to my bed, flipping through a chart. "I've reviewed your vitals and some preliminary test results. I would like to discuss them with you privately."

A faint unease curled in my stomach. "Alright... is it serious?"

He hesitated, not a pause to gather words, but the kind of silence that told me whatever was coming would rearrange my entire world.

Finally, he looked up from the chart, meeting my eyes.

"Miss Adrianna," he said carefully, "you're pregnant."

Pregnant.

The word hit me like a slap, sharp, stinging, leaving me stunned beyond reasoning. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I could only stare at the doctor, my mind scrambling for an explanation that didn't exist.

"There must be a mistake," I finally whispered. "That's not... possible."

His expression was gentle, but unyielding. "The tests are accurate, Miss Adrianna. You're about five to six weeks along."

Five to six weeks. The number seemed to echo in my skull. I gripped the thin hospital blanket tighter, trying to remember every detail of the past month, every night, every...

I pressed a hand to my stomach instinctively, not protectively, but in disbelief, as if I could somehow feel the truth or disprove it just by touching.

The doctor hesitated. "I know this is a lot to process. We'll need to run more tests to make sure both you and the baby are healthy. Is there someone you would like me to call?"

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. "No. I..."

The door swung open with a force that startled even the doctor.

A tall figure filled the doorway, the kind of presence that commanded attention before a single word was spoken. His black suit stretched across broad shoulders, his steps deliberate, as though he owned the ground beneath him.

And then his eyes, dark and intense, found me.

The air shifted instantly, heavy and charged. The steady beeping of the heart monitor seemed too loud in the silence that followed.

It's him.

Xavier.

He closed the distance between us in three long strides, the room suddenly feeling much smaller. The doctor stepped back instinctively, looking from me to him as if uncertain whether to intervene.

Xavier's gaze flicked briefly to my hand, still pressed against my stomach, then returned to my face.

"Why are you here?" I managed, my voice shaky but defiant.

He didn't answer my question. Instead, his lips curved, not in a smile, but in something colder. "Five to six weeks?"

The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sir, I'm not sure..."

Xavier didn't even look at him. His attention was locked on me, his voice dropping low enough to make my skin prickle.

"That child..." He paused, as if making sure I heard every word. "It's mine."

The room went silent. The doctor stared at him, wide-eyed. I stared too with a blank mind, my heart pounding, because I had no idea what terrified me more.

The fact that I might be pregnant.

Or the fact that Xavier sounded absolutely certain it belonged to him.

Chapter 5

Adrianna's POV

Nothing made sense.

My head felt too full and too empty at the same time. Sounds came in slow, like they had to fight their way into my brain. The beeping machine. The doctor's stiff silence. The weight in my chest that made it hard to breathe.

Pregnant.

Xavier.

Mine.

The words crashed into each other.

I stared at the white wall across from me and tried to catch up with my own life. Just days ago, I had been a girl with a cheating boyfriend and a cruel sister. Now there was a baby inside me. Now the most dangerous man I had ever met was standing in front of my hospital bed like he owned the air I was breathing. My fingers curled into the blanket.

This was not real. This could not be real.

Xavier turned to the doctor, his face hard, his voice calm in a way that scared me more than shouting ever could. "I need a moment with you."

The doctor hesitated. "Sir, the patient..."

"I said I need a moment," Xavier repeated.

That was all it took. The doctor nodded quickly and stepped closer to Xavier. Xavier looked down at me then. His eyes were sharp and commanding.

"Stay in the bed," he said.

It was not a request.

"I'm not going anywhere," I muttered, even though my heart was racing.

His gaze lingered on me for a second longer, like he did not trust my words. Then he turned and walked out with the doctor, the door closing behind them.

The room went quiet. I lay there staring at the ceiling, my mind spinning. Stay in the bed. Like I was a child. Like I was something fragile he could order around.

What the hell was happening to my life?

I pressed my lips together, trying not to cry. My chest felt tight, like someone was sitting on it. My thoughts were everywhere.

A baby. Inside me.

I did the math again even though I already knew it added up. The night at the hotel. The drug. The confusion. The man who was not Grant.

Xavier. My stomach twisted.

I did not know anything about babies. I did not know what to eat or what not to eat. I did not know how to be careful or gentle or strong enough for another life. I barely knew how to protect myself.

My hands started to shake.

What if Amelia found out? What if my parents blamed me like they always do? What if the world laughed at me again? And what if Xavier did not let me go?

The thought made my skin crawl. I swung my legs slowly to the side of the bed, then stopped. My breathing came fast and shallow. My heart was beating too hard. I need air. I need space. I need out. I closed my eyes and forced myself to slow down.

Then, without thinking too much, my hand moved to my stomach. It was flat. Normal. Nothing had changed on the outside. But everything inside me had changed forever.

I swallowed. There was something there now, growing.

This baby was mine. I knew this. I would not let anyone take this from me. Not my sister. Not my parents. Not even Xavier Palmer. My fingers pressed lightly against my stomach, like I was afraid I would hurt it.

"I don't know what I'm doing," I whispered. "But you're mine." My eyes burned, but I did not let the tears fall.

That was when the panic hit.

Hard.

The room felt smaller. The walls felt closer. I could not breathe. I needed to leave before Xavier came back and decided something for me. I pushed myself off the bed, ignoring the dizziness, and grabbed my clothes. My hands fumbled as I dressed. I did not care how I looked. I did not care if anyone stared.

I needed to go now. I slipped out of the room, my heart pounding. The hallway smelled like disinfectant and fear. Nurses walked past me, but no one stopped me. I kept my head down, moving fast, like if I slowed down I would break.

At the front desk, I barely listened as they spoke. Forms were shoved at me. A pen pressed into my hand. I signed where they pointed, my name shaky and wrong.

My chest hurt. My head hurt. Everything hurt. I did not wait for discharge papers. I did not ask questions. I just left. I sucked in a breath and almost gagged. My legs felt weak, but I kept walking.

A cab was parked by the curb. I rushed toward it, my bag clutched to my chest.

"Please," I said to the driver, my voice thin. "Just drive."

I reached for the door handle. A hand grabbed my arm.

Hard. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" Xavier's voice cut through me like a blade.

I gasped and spun around, my heart slamming into my ribs. His face was dark with fury, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack. He stood too close, his presence heavy and overwhelming.

"You can't just walk out," he snapped. "Do you have any idea..."

Something in me snapped back, not fear, it was pure protection.

My free hand flew up and shoved against his chest as hard as I could. The impact surprised both of us. He stumbled half a step back.

"Stay the fuck away from me!" I screamed.

The words tore out of my throat, loud and raw. People nearby froze. The cab driver stared. I did not care.

Xavier's eyes widened, not with anger, but with shock. I did not wait. I yanked open the cab door, threw myself inside, and slammed it shut.

"Drive," I shouted, my whole body shaking.

The cab pulled away. I did not look back.

"Stay the fuck away from me." I repeated to no one.