The lock on the storage room door clicked open.

Alton stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light. He tossed a piece of fabric at Amalia. It landed on her face. It was a flimsy, black silk slip dress, the material so thin it was practically transparent.

"Put it on," Alton ordered coldly. "Go to the master bedroom and serve the boss. This is your last chance to breathe."

Amalia pulled the silk from her face. Her hands gripped the delicate fabric tightly. A wave of intense humiliation washed over her, making her face burn, but she bit her tongue and kept her head down. She couldn't fight Alton.

Alton reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, bright pink pill. He held it out to her. It was the standard compliance protocol for any woman sent into the master suite, a chemical guarantee to maintain the boss's flawless, aggressive public facade, regardless of what actually happened behind closed doors.

"Take this," he said, his eyes narrowing with cold detachment. "It's a party favor. Don't lay there like a dead fish and ruin his mood."

Amalia's heart pounded against her ribs. She reached out with a trembling hand and took the pink pill. She brought it to her mouth, pretending to place it on her tongue, but quickly pushed it deep into the pocket of her cheek with her finger.

She tilted her head back and swallowed loudly, making a show of gulping it down.

Alton watched her neck muscles move. Satisfied, he nodded once and turned away, closing the door behind him.

The second the latch clicked, Amalia spat the pink pill into her palm. She grabbed a piece of tissue from a nearby shelf, wrapped the pill tightly, and shoved it into the pocket of her jeans.

She quickly stripped off her dirty clothes and pulled the black silk dress over her head. The cold air in the room hit her bare skin, making her shiver violently. She pulled the bag of sleeping pills from her jeans. Placing the white tablets on her palm, she used the edge of a heavy coin from her pocket to crush them into a fine, chalky powder.

She took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She pushed open the heavy door to the master bedroom.

The room was massive, lit only by the dim, warm glow of a bedside lamp. From the attached bathroom, the loud, steady sound of a running shower echoed through the space. Chadwick was inside.

Amalia walked on her tiptoes, the thick carpet swallowing the sound of her footsteps. Her heart beat so fast she felt dizzy. She approached the nightstand.

A crystal glass filled with ice and clear water sat next to the lamp.

Her hands shook uncontrollably as she hovered her palm over the glass. She tipped her hand, letting the crushed white powder fall into the water.

The powder hit the ice and began to dissolve, leaving a cloudy swirl in the clear liquid.

Amalia grabbed the small silver stirring rod resting on a napkin. She stirred the water frantically, the metal clinking softly against the glass, until the liquid turned completely transparent again.

Suddenly, the sound of the shower stopped.

Amalia gasped. Her hand jerked, and the silver stirring rod slipped from her fingers, dropping onto the thick carpet with a muffled thud.

She yanked her hands behind her back, standing frozen next to the bed. Her lungs seized up. She couldn't draw a breath.

The bathroom door swung open. A cloud of hot steam rolled into the bedroom.

Chadwick stepped out. He wore nothing but a white towel slung low around his waist. Drops of water clung to his broad shoulders and ran down the hard ridges of his stomach. The overwhelming scent of expensive soap and raw, aggressive male heat filled the room.

He ran a hand through his wet hair and stopped. His sharp, predatory eyes locked onto Amalia standing by the bed.

He recognized the girl who had fought him in the hallway. A dark, mocking smirk curled the corner of his mouth.

Chadwick walked slowly toward her. Every step he took felt like a hammer striking Amalia's tightly wound nerves. She wanted to run, but her feet were glued to the floor.

He stopped right in front of her. He reached out and picked up the glass of ice water from the nightstand.

Amalia stopped breathing. Her fingernails dug so hard into her palms they almost broke the skin.

Chadwick brought the rim of the glass to his lips. He paused. His dark eyes flicked over the rim, staring directly into Amalia's terrified face.

Amalia quickly looked down at the floor, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest. Drink it. Please, just drink it.

Chadwick tilted his head back. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed the entire glass of spiked water in three long gulps.

A massive wave of relief crashed over Amalia. Her shoulders dropped a fraction of an inch.

Chadwick slammed the empty glass onto the nightstand. Before Amalia could react, his large hand shot out and clamped around her jaw, forcing her to look up at him.

He leaned in close. The coldness of the ice water lingered on his breath, mixing with his intense heat.

"Take off this useless dress," he ordered, his voice a low, rough rasp.

Amalia stared into his wide, alert eyes. He wasn't sleepy at all. Panic seized her throat. The pills needed time to work. She had to stall.

Chadwick's fingers tightened around Amalia's jaw, the pressure bruising her skin. His eyes were dark, demanding immediate obedience.

Amalia's brain raced. She reached up with trembling hands and grabbed the thin silk straps of the dress. She pulled them down, moving with agonizing slowness, dragging out every second she could.

Chadwick let out a sharp hiss of impatience. He didn't wait. He grabbed the front of the dress and ripped it downward.

The sound of tearing silk was loud in the quiet room. The dress fell away.

Amalia gasped, instantly crossing her arms tightly over her chest to cover herself. Her skin broke out in goosebumps from the cold air and pure terror. Tears of deep humiliation welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

Chadwick stared at her defensive posture. His brow furrowed deeply. Suddenly, a strange, intense heat flared in his lower abdomen.

He thought the room was too hot. He reached down and roughly loosened the edge of the towel around his waist, his breathing growing noticeably heavier.

Amalia watched his chest rise and fall with rapid breaths. Hope flared in her chest. The drugs were working. He was getting weak.

She took a tiny step backward. "Are you... are you feeling tired?" she asked, her voice shaking.

Chadwick's head snapped up. His eyes locked onto hers, and Amalia's blood ran cold.

His eyes were bloodshot, burning with a dangerous, feral intensity. There was no sleepiness in them. Only pure, unadulterated hunger.

He lunged forward. His large hand wrapped around her wrist like an iron shackle, yanking her hard against his chest.

The moment their bare skin collided, Chadwick let out a deep, guttural groan.

A violent shockwave tore through his body. For years, he had been completely numb, suffering from severe psychogenic ED. No woman could make him feel anything. But the second this trembling, terrified girl touched him, his body reacted with explosive, uncontrollable force.

The raw, primal urge bypassed his brain entirely. It consumed him like a wildfire.

Amalia felt the undeniable, hard evidence of his arousal pressing against her. Her face drained of all color. She pushed her hands against his rock-hard chest, thrashing wildly.

"Let me go!" she screamed, pure panic tearing at her vocal cords.

Chadwick didn't let go. He wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing her against him so tightly she could barely breathe. He buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breath was scorching hot against her skin, making her shudder violently.

Amalia realized with absolute horror that the sleeping pills hadn't put him to sleep. His mind was entirely consumed, registering only an unprecedented, alien fire burning through his veins. It had absolutely nothing to do with any chemical reaction or drug. The sole, undeniable source of this raging inferno was the terrified girl trembling against his chest-the softness of her skin, the frantic beat of her pulse, and the panicked, desperate look in her eyes that shattered his decades of numbness.

"Help!" she shrieked, her voice echoing off the walls of the massive bedroom. But the soundproofing was absolute. No one was coming.

The noise irritated Chadwick. He pulled his head back, grabbed the back of her hair, and smashed his mouth against hers to silence the screaming.

The kiss was brutal. It tasted of whiskey and violence. He devoured her mouth, driven by a starvation he couldn't control.

Amalia squeezed her eyes shut. The sheer physical dominance of the man overwhelmed her. In a burst of desperate defiance, she opened her jaw and bit down hard on his tongue.

The metallic taste of blood instantly flooded their mouths.

Chadwick grunted in pain. He tore his mouth away, stumbling half a step back.

He wiped his thumb across his lower lip, smearing the blood. The haze of lust in his eyes shifted into something lethal.

He reached out and grabbed both her cheeks, squeezing hard enough to force her mouth open. He leaned in, inspecting the inside of her mouth.

"Where is the pill?" he demanded, his voice a terrifying growl.

Amalia whimpered, saliva dripping down her chin as she struggled against his grip.

He let go of her face. "What did you put in the water?" he roared, the sound vibrating in his chest.

Amalia collapsed onto her knees, her legs completely giving out. "Sleeping pills!" she sobbed, wrapping her arms around herself. "I just wanted my passport! I just wanted to go home!"

Chadwick froze.

He looked down at the sobbing girl on the floor, then at his own body, which was still raging with an erection he hadn't experienced in years.

It wasn't a party drug. It wasn't an aphrodisiac.

The realization hit him like a freight train. The only thing that had broken through his psychological barrier, the only thing that cured his impotence, was this cheap, terrified girl crying on his floor.

A twisted, possessive darkness ignited in his eyes. He stared down at Amalia not as a nuisance, but as the only cure in the world.

Chadwick stared at the crying girl on the floor. The muscles in his jaw ticked violently. He turned his back on her, walked over to the crystal decanter on the wet bar, and poured a heavy measure of scotch. He downed it in one burning swallow, praying the alcohol would kill the raging fire in his groin.

It didn't.

Amalia took advantage of the distance. She scrambled backward, her bare skin scraping against the carpet, and grabbed the torn pieces of the black silk dress, holding them desperately against her chest. Her breathing was rapid and shallow.

The alcohol hit Chadwick's stomach, but the heat only amplified his physical awareness of the girl behind him. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as he gripped the empty glass.

He turned around. His dark eyes swept over Amalia's trembling body, stripping away her pathetic attempts to cover herself. His gaze was heavy, physical, and completely violating.

Amalia felt the weight of his stare. It made her skin crawl. Desperation clawed at her throat. She reached into the pocket of her discarded jeans and pulled out the tissue paper.

Her hands shook violently as she unwrapped the bright pink party pill. She held it out toward him, her palm flat.

"I'll take it," she cried, tears streaming down her face. "I'll take it right now. Just... just let me go after."

Chadwick looked at the pink pill. A surge of violent, humiliated rage boiled in his chest. He didn't need a drug. The fact that she thought he needed a chemical to perform insulted his fragile, hyper-masculine ego.

He crossed the room in two strides. He kicked his foot out, striking her hand.

The pink pill flew across the room and bounced under the bed.

Amalia shrieked, throwing her arms over her head and curling into a tight ball on the floor, bracing for a brutal beating.

But the punch never came. Instead, two massive hands clamped around her waist. Chadwick lifted her off the floor as easily as if she weighed nothing.

He threw her onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.

The soft mattress absorbed her fall, making it impossible for her to find any leverage to push back. Before she could scramble away, Chadwick was over her. He planted his knees on either side of her hips, trapping her completely in his shadow.

"You had the guts to drug me," Chadwick said, his voice a low, terrifying rumble. "Now you face the consequences."

Amalia's tears flowed freely, soaking into the white sheets. "Please," she babbled, her voice breaking. "My grandmother is waiting for me. I need to go back to my country. Please."

The words "go back" triggered something dark in Chadwick. He hated losing control. He hated the idea that this girl-his only cure-wanted to leave him.

He grabbed the torn silk she was clutching to her chest and ripped it completely away. The sound of the fabric tearing was deafening in the quiet room.

Amalia's survival instinct flared. She screamed, throwing her fists wildly, striking his hard chest, trying to scratch his face.

Chadwick didn't even flinch. He caught both of her wrists in one massive hand and pinned them hard against the mattress above her head.

With his free hand, he traced the curve of her waist. His fingers were burning hot. Everywhere he touched her, her skin erupted in violent shivers. The contrast between her terror and his overwhelming heat drove his arousal higher.

Amalia felt the absolute, crushing weight of his dominance. Her struggles weakened. The fight drained out of her muscles. She went completely limp, turning her head to the side and squeezing her eyes shut.

She bit down on her lip. A single, cold tear slipped from the corner of her eye and dropped onto the pristine white sheet.

Chadwick felt her body go rigid and lifeless beneath him. The sudden deadness killed his momentum. A sharp spike of irritation pierced his chest.

He stopped moving. He released her wrists, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look at him.

"Open your eyes," he commanded.

Amalia opened them. Her eyes were red, filled with tears, but behind the water was a look of absolute, hollow hatred. There was no submission. Only disgust.

That look stabbed directly into Chadwick's immense pride. He was a billionaire. He didn't force women. They begged for him.

He let go of her chin and sat back slightly.

"A deal," Chadwick said coldly. "Please me tonight. Tomorrow morning, I hand you your passport."

Amalia stopped breathing. She stared at his hard, emotionless face. Her brain felt like it was tearing in two. The humiliation was suffocating, but the reality of her situation was absolute. If she refused, he could kill her here, and no one would ever know.

She took a slow, shuddering breath. The tears stopped falling. The light in her eyes slowly died, replaced by a cold, empty numbness.

She released her bitten lip.

"Okay," she whispered, the sound barely audible in the quiet room.