Pregnant After One Night With the Ruthless Billionaire

Chapter 3 - Consequences

Aria’s escape from the main floor of The Obsidian Lounge was cut short before she could even reach the heavy glass exit doors.

"Miss," a deep, quiet voice called out from the shadows near the private elevator bay.

She turned, her defense mechanisms instantly flaring, expecting a team of security guards ready to throw her out for blinding a prominent shipping heir. Instead, she found a tall man in a tailored obsidian suit waiting beside a secure elevator doors. He held a silver keycard.

"Mr. Blackwood requests your presence upstairs," the man said smoothly, gesturing toward the open elevator cabin. "He suggests it is much safer than waiting for Julian Vance’s security to realize which exit you’re using."

Aria hesitated, her mind racing. She looked back toward the flashing lights where shouts were still echoing, then looked at the elevator. Blackwood. The name hit her like a lightning bolt. Damien Blackwood. The untouchable, ruthless king of high fashion.

She swallowed her panic, her jaw tightening. "Lead the way."

The penthouse suite was a masterpiece of cold luxury—all floor-to-ceiling glass, black marble, and sweeping views of the city drowned in rain. Damien Blackwood stood near a sleek bar, pouring two glasses of amber liquid. He had discarded his suit jacket, his white dress shirt fitting perfectly across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to expose strong, sculpted forearms.

"You have an interesting way of handling unwanted attention, Miss...?" Damien turned, his sharp, dark eyes locking onto hers as the elevator doors slid shut behind her.

"Bennett. Aria Bennett," she said, refusing to let her voice shake as she walked into the room. "And he wouldn't take no for an answer."

"Julian Vance is accustomed to getting whatever he wants," Damien murmured, walking over to hand her a glass. His fingers brushed against hers, a brief spark of electricity passing between them that made her breath hitch. "I must admit, watching his entitlement get shattered by a neat pour of whiskey was the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all year."

Aria took a sip, the burning liquid steadying her nerves. "I don't belong to this world, Mr. Blackwood. I don't let men pull me around."

Damien's lips curved into a microscopic, dangerous smile. He stepped closer, crowding her space, his powerful aura completely enveloping her. "Clearly. Most women in this room spend their entire night trying to catch my eye. You didn't even look up until you turned the floor into a warzone."

"Maybe I'm not like most women," Aria challenged, her eyes defiantly meeting his gaze. The tension between them was suffocating, thick with a sudden, unyielding magnetic pull. She was running from a betrayal that made her want to burn down her old life; he was a predator who had finally found something unpredictable.

"I want you to make love to me, Damien," Aria whispered suddenly, the sheer madness of the night taking over her senses. She wanted to erase Jason's cruel words. She wanted to feel alive, dangerous, and desired by a man who made the rest of the world look insignificant. "Just for tonight."

The way she said his name sent a fluttering feeling into his chest. These feelings, these emotions she drew out of him... maybe it was the gravity of his desire for her. The enticing curves of her body against his further aggravated the burning passion within him. Maybe all these emotions would disappear and fade away once he had her; maybe then this vulnerability would diminish. He was never planning to harbor any feelings for any woman other than for physical needs. This feral hunger for her... he would give in to it, just so he could destroy it. Just so he would never look at her and feel an ache for her tears again, never look at her and uncontrollably want her again.

"Just for tonight?" he asked to make sure, his voice extremely low and tinged with unbridled heat.

Aria nodded in agreement.

The kiss stretched on, slow and measured, savoring her lips inch by inch until his tongue softly coaxed her into opening up to him. Her knees went weak when his tongue entangled with her own, and it felt like her body wasn't in her control. She couldn't stop the small sounds that rose up her throat, nor could she stop her hands when they encircled his neck, gripping him tightly, her trembling fingers buried in his smooth, dark hair.

His mouth became urgent and hungrier, as if he would devour her, and her lungs couldn't seem to provide enough air. Just when she was on the brink of complete oxygen deprivation, he pulled away.

An intense crimson spread across her beautiful cheeks as her chest rose and fell with labored breaths. "Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?" his voice was thickened with the sensual allure of desire and forceful control.

She felt like he was the type of lover to rip a woman's clothes to pieces and take her roughly and dominantly, but for some reason, he was being very gentle with her. Kissing her tenderly, devouring her mouth with a fervent passion.

Damien's hands strayed away from her waist as he turned her to face the large mirrors of the bedroom suite, his dark eyes darkening with heat as they studied the beauty of her curves in full display before him. Damn! She was beautiful—shy eyes lowered and averted, long dark hair cascading down her lovely shoulders, the prominent mounds of her breasts standing arousingly plump. He longed to explore them with his mouth and bring her to infinite heights of pleasure. Her little waist cinched inwards then flaring below into the enticing curves of her hips.

He could feel his arousal shoot up to its maximum level, but he didn't plan on rushing anything with her; he wanted to savor every second with her. He caught a slight flash of self-doubt in her eyes as she bashfully kept her gaze averted from his. He didn't know why that nervous sense of self-doubt in her brought a quiet sting to his chest; he didn't want her looking down on herself or doubting how alluring he found her.

Had another man seen her like this before?

Again, the thought enraged him, but he suppressed it by lowering his mouth to kiss her. Immediately their lips touched, his displeasure melted because she kissed him back with the same hunger he had for her. She couldn't focus on his kisses alone, not when his hands roamed everywhere on her body, cupping her breast in his large palm, toying with her n****e in a sensual way.

"Damien..." With her eyes closed, she didn't realize when she breathed his name as a sweet shiver engulfed her. Instinctively, she arched her back further, pressing herself into him. She could feel his arousal rock hard against her thigh, and she gasped when his mouth caught her n****e, slowly sucking it into his hot mouth.

The rest of the night dissolved into an absolute, intoxicating blur of silk sheets, low groans, and a desperate passion that left them both completely exhausted.

At 5:00 AM, the first pale light of dawn began to bleed through the rain-streaked windows.

Aria woke up, her mind clearing instantly as reality crashed over her like ice water. She looked at the hyper-luxury room, the discarded expensive clothes on the floor, and the powerful man sleeping deeply beside her. Panic seized her throat. What did I do? She was an aspiring designer trying to get a job at his company, and she had just spent a night of unbridled sin with the CEO himself. If anyone found out, her career was dead before it started.

Stealing away like a thief, she quietly gathered her clothes. Her hands shook so violently she couldn't even zip her boots properly. Desperate to leave without a sound, she spotted a block of premium hotel stationery and a charcoal pencil resting on the glass desk near the bed.

She didn't leave her name. She didn't leave her number.

Instead, her hand moved purely on artistic instinct, sketching furiously for three minutes, pouring all the chaotic, lingering energy of the billionaire's touch into the paper. Then, she vanished into the morning fog.

At 7:30 AM, Damien opened his eyes. The bed beside him was cold.

His jaw tightened instantly. He swept his gaze across the empty room, a dangerous, dark scowl settling on his features. No woman had ever walked out on him. No one left him first.

He stood up, throwing a silk robe over his shoulders, his ego thoroughly stung. He walked over to the desk, intending to call his head of security to track her down immediately.

Then, his eyes fell on the nightstand stationery.

He expected a desperate phone number, a generic "thank you," or a plea for money. Instead, his breath caught in his throat.

It was a brilliant, architectural charcoal sketch of a gown. It utilized a highly complex, completely unprecedented asymmetrical pleating technique along the bodice, tapering into a structural silhouette that looked incredibly avant-garde yet effortlessly elegant.

Damien was an absolute perfectionist when it comes to Blackwood Atelier. He had seen portfolios from Milan, Paris, and New York, but he stared at this raw piece of paper, his mind entirely blown by the structural imagination leaping off the page. This wasn't the work of a hobbyist. This level of design genius didn't exist in the amateur circuit.

Who the hell was she?

A dark, intense fire sparked in his eyes. He picked up the piece of stationery, his grip tightening around the edges. He wasn't just hunting for a missing woman anymore to satisfy his bruised pride; he was hunting for a visionary who belonged exclusively under his label.

His phone rang on the desk. It was Mark, his executive assistant.

"Mr. Blackwood, the finalist portfolios for the new design design initiative have been sorted. The interview panel will commence at 10:00 AM sharp

Damien stared down at the charcoal lines of the brilliant gown. "Mark, prepare my seat at the center of the boardroom. I will be personally conducting the interviews.