The Billionaire’s Hidden Son

Chapter2: Night with A Stranger

My heart stopped. I dropped the phone onto the leather seat like it was a deadly snake. I couldn't breathe, my vision blurring with dark spots as panic choked me.

"What is wrong?" Ethan asked, his deep voice laced with immediate concern.

I couldn't speak. My mouth felt completely dry. I just pointed a trembling finger at the glowing screen between us.

Ethan reached out with his broad hand and picked up the phone. As his sharp blue eyes read the cruel words, his handsome face turned into cold, unyielding stone.

A dangerous, icy shadow passed over his features. He locked the screen and set the phone down gently in his lap.

"Who sent this to you?" he asked softly, looking directly into my eyes.

"My... my family," I choked out, a hot tear spilling down my cheek. "They hate me. They will never let me go."

"They will not find you tonight," Ethan said calmly. He reached out and touched my ice-cold hand, his large palm wrapping around my fingers. "My hotel has high-level security. Nobody can get near you."

I looked at his strong jawline and his piercing blue eyes. "Why are you being so nice to me?”

"You were hurt and terrified," Ethan said softly, his voice a low, smooth baritone that vibrated right through my chest. "I will never stand by and watch someone be hunted."

A few minutes later, the car stopped in a quiet underground garage beneath a towering skyscraper. Ethan stepped out first, holding a large umbrella over my head as he guided me into a private elevator. His warm, heavy hand stayed gently on the small of my back, giving me a feeling of total protection.

The elevator took us straight to the top floor penthouse. It was massive and beautiful, with soft warm lighting and floor-to-ceiling glass windows looking out at the glowing city lights below.

"Marcus, bring up warm soup and a medical kit," Ethan ordered quietly as we walked inside. "Then prepare my morning flight to Europe."

"Yes, Mr. Ethan," the driver bowed slightly and left.

Ethan turned to me, his gaze softening. "The bathroom is through those doors. Take a warm shower and change into clean clothes."

I nodded numbly and walked into the grand marble bathroom. I took off my soaked, ruined clothes and turned on the hot water.

As the steam filled the room and the warm water washed over my bruised body, I sank to the floor and cried my eyes out. I cried for all the years of hits, the screaming, the insults, and the dark house I had left behind.

When I finally finished, I put on a thick, soft white robe from the wardrobe. It was way too big, swallowing my small frame, but it felt safe and warm.

I stepped back into the living room. Ethan was standing near the window. He had taken off his dark suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, revealing strong, muscular forearms.

"Do you feel warmer?" he asked, turning around.

"Yes. Thank you, Ethan," I said, my voice trembling with deep emotion. "I don't know how I will ever repay you."

"You don't need to repay me," he said, handing me a bowl of hot soup. "Eat first."

I sat down and ate quickly, realizing how starving my body was. Ethan sat across from me, watching over me like a silent guardian.

"You said you have a flight in the morning?" I asked softly when I finished.

"Yes," Ethan said, checking his silver wristwatch. "An urgent corporate deal in Europe. I have to leave at five in the morning."

Panic instantly hit my chest again, making my breathing fast and shallow. "You're leaving?"

“My security team will stay right outside," he promised gently. "You can stay here as long as you want. You are completely safe."

“No, please!" I cried, standing up as fresh 5tears flooded my eyes. My trauma took over my mind, making me feel helpless. "If you leave, I will be all alone! When I am alone, I feel like my abuser is right outside the door waiting for me!"

Ethan stood up immediately. He stepped close and put his big, warm hands on my cheeks, tilting my face up.

"Look at me," he said softly.

"Nobody is going to hurt you ever again," he whispered, his thumbs softly wiping away my tears. "You are safe."

I looked at his lips, his dark blue eyes, and felt the overwhelming heat radiating from his broad chest. I was so tired of living in terror. I wanted to feel alive. I wanted to feel wanted.

Driven by pure vulnerability and emotional overload, I reached up, gripped the collar of his shirt, and pulled his face down to mine.

Ethan drew a sharp breath of surprise, but he did not pull away.

A low, rough groan rolled from his chest as his massive arms locked around my waist and dragged me hard against him.

His mouth claimed mine with an intensity that was almost violent—hungry, consuming, nothing gentle about it. His tongue pushed past my lips, tasting me deeply, and I answered with equal urgency, my hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as if I might drown without him.

He walked me backward without breaking the kiss until the backs of my thighs hit the edge of a wide leather sofa. One powerful arm stayed locked around me while the other swept the robe from my shoulders. The soft white fabric pooled at my feet. Cool air touched my bare skin for only a second before his hands replaced it—large, warm, and possessive. He cupped my breasts, thumbs brushing over the tight peaks, and a broken sound escaped me.

“Tell me to stop.”

“Don’t,” I whispered, already tugging at the buttons of his shirt. “Please don’t stop.”

He tore the rest of the buttons open himself.

The shirt fell away, revealing the hard planes of his chest and the ridged muscles of his stomach. I ran my palms over him, feeling the heat and the controlled power beneath the skin.

Ethan’s hands slid lower, gripping the backs of my thighs. In one smooth motion he lifted me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me toward the bedroom.

He laid me on the massive bed and followed me down, his body covering mine. The weight of him was overwhelming and perfect. His mouth left mine to travel down my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, then lower still. He took one n****e between his lips, sucking hard enough to make my back arch off the mattress.

His free hand slid between my legs, fingers finding me already slick and aching. He stroked me slowly at first, then deeper, two thick fingers curling inside me while his thumb circled the swollen bud above. I cried out, hips lifting to meet every thrust of his hand.

“f**k,” he muttered against my breast, the word rough with restraint. “You’re so wet for me.”

I reached between us and freed him from his trousers. He was heavy and thick in my palm, the skin hot and smooth. Ethan groaned as I stroked him once, twice, and then he was pulling my hand away, shoving the rest of his clothes off in a few impatient movements.

He settled between my thighs, the broad head of his c**k pressing against my entrance. His blue eyes locked on mine—dark with hunger, yet still searching for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he pushed forward in one long, relentless thrust that stretched me open and stole the breath from my lungs.

I gasped at the sudden fullness, nails digging into his shoulders. He held still for a heartbeat, letting me adjust, then began to move.

There was nothing careful about the way he took me. His hips drove hard and deep, each stroke forcing a broken sound from my throat.

The bed creaked beneath us. Sweat slicked our skin. His mouth found mine again, swallowing every cry as he f****d me with the same raw intensity that had been in his kiss—claiming, protecting, almost punishing in its need. One of his hands pinned my wrists above my head; the other gripped my hip, angling me so he could bury himself even deeper.

Pleasure coiled tight and sharp inside me. When it finally snapped, I came with a shattered moan, walls clenching hard around him. Ethan’s rhythm faltered.

He buried his face in my neck, a guttural groan tearing from his chest as he followed me over the edge, pulsing hot and deep inside me.

For a long time neither of us moved. His weight pressed me into the mattress, his heartbeat thundering against my own.

Eventually he rolled to the side, gathering me against his chest. One large hand stroked slowly down my back while the other stayed tangled in my hair. I listened to the steady rhythm of his breathing and, for the first time in years, felt no fear.

I fell asleep like that—wrapped in his arms, safe, wanted, and completely alive.

When morning came, soft sunlight filled the room.

I stretched out my arm. The space beside me on the massive bed was cold and empty.

I sat up quickly, clutching the sheets to my chest as my heart sank.

Ethan was gone.

On the nightstand lay a black envelope and a short note written in neat handwriting

I had to catch my flight. Inside this envelope is a card with enough funds for you to buy a small home and begin a quiet life. There is also a phone with my private number.

Please go build a happy life where no one can ever hurt you again.

— Ethan

I held the note tightly against my chest. Tears of deep relief fell onto the paper. He had given me my life back.