The Unwanted Wife And Her Billionaire Protector

"I was thinking," Dallas said, cutting into his filet mignon, "we should do something spontaneous tonight." He looked at her with an expression of such profound guilt it was almost believable. "There's a boutique hotel in SoHo. Let's get a room. Try to... reconnect."

Katrina's grip on her fork tightened. The thought of being in a hotel room with him, of continuing this charade, was nauseating. But she saw the trap in his eyes. If she said no, she was the cold, unwilling wife.

"Okay," she said, her voice a soft murmur.

The drive to SoHo was silent, the air in his Porsche thick with unspoken things. At the hotel, a valet took the car, and Dallas draped an arm around her waist, guiding her into the lobby.

The front desk manager, a man who prided himself on absolute discretion at this notoriously private, unlisted establishment, gave Dallas a curt nod. "Welcome back, Mr. Vance," he said, using the alias Dallas had clearly established here. "The penthouse suite is ready for you."

Again. The word echoed in Katrina's mind. The manager's knowing look was a confirmation. Dallas was a regular here.

The suite was a cliché of seduction-rose petals scattered on the bed, lights dimmed to a sultry amber. Dallas took off his jacket and went to the minibar.

"Champagne?" he asked, his back to her.

"Please."

Katrina stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, pretending to admire the view. But her eyes were fixed on his reflection in the dark glass.

She watched the reflection as he popped the cork on a bottle of Dom Pérignon. She watched as his hand slipped into his pocket and came out with a small paper packet. She watched, her blood turning to ice, as he tipped a fine white powder into one of the champagne flutes.

Her breath hitched. He was drugging her.

He turned, his face a mask of loving concern, and handed her the tainted glass. "To us," he said, raising his own.

Her mind raced. She couldn't refuse the drink. That would expose her. She smiled, took the glass, and let her fingers brush against his.

"To our future," she said, her voice steady.

She lifted the glass to her lips. Just as the rim touched her mouth, she let her ankle twist, stumbling forward with a small cry.

"Oh, clumsy me!"

The champagne sloshed over the side, drenching the front of her silk dress. But she'd made sure to swallow a small mouthful before the spill. Enough to make him think his plan had worked.

"Damn," Dallas said, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face before being replaced by concern. "Go clean up in the bathroom, honey."

She nodded and walked into the lavish marble bathroom. She turned on the faucet, shoved her fingers down her throat, and tried to vomit, but nothing came up. A wave of dizziness washed over her. The drug was fast-acting.

She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white. She heard his phone ring in the other room.

"Hello?" he said, his voice tight with fake urgency. "What? The main server is down? I'll be right there."

He knocked on the bathroom door. "Katrina? I'm so sorry, baby. It's an emergency at work. I have to go. You just stay here and relax. I'll be back as soon as I can."

The suite door clicked shut. He was gone.

She stumbled out of the bathroom, her vision blurring at the edges. A strange heat was spreading through her veins.

She stumbled to the door and leaned against it. It was Dallas's voice, cold and clinical. "The drug will make her compliant. The guy will be there in ten minutes. Just get the video of her with him, and the fidelity clause in the prenup is void. She'll walk away with nothing."

A setup. A honey trap. The full, monstrous scope of his plan crashed down on her.

She heard a heavy footstep in the hallway outside. Then another. Getting closer.

The escort was here.

Primal fear cut through the drug-induced haze. She grabbed her handbag from the chair, her legs feeling like lead, and lunged for the door.

She wrenched it open just as the footsteps stopped right outside. She didn't look. She bolted down the hallway in the opposite direction, toward the red glow of an exit sign.

Her legs buckled. She fell forward, her body crashing against a door that wasn't fully latched.

It swung open, and she tumbled into a dark, unfamiliar hotel room. The door clicked shut behind her, plunging her into near-total darkness and silencing the sound of the approaching man in the hall.