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.