Claimed By The Arrogant Billionaire

Eva's POV Saturday morning sunlight seeped through the open window and landed on my face. My head pounded as I woke. When I moved my right hand, my fingers brushed against someone lying beside me. "What? Who are you?" I gasped, sitting up. The man had a sharp jawline, full brows, and thin lips. I looked down at my body and froze. I lay naked in bed with him. "Who the hell are you?" I yelled, before the events of the previous night slammed into me. Layla Parker had invited me to celebrate her birthday at the hotel. Layla came from a rich family; she was twenty-four, fair, and my best friend from college. Though I knew Layla was wealthy, I came from a struggling home. She promised I’d have fun at her party, even when I didn’t want to go. I agreed, and now I was in bed with a stranger. "I should be the one asking what the hell you're doing in my bed. This is a VIP suite. How did you get in here, miss?" the handsome man asked, shifting away. His masculine physique stopped my breath—broad chest, chiseled abs, six-pack. "Don't drool at me like that. Get up and get out!" he barked. I didn’t move. "I’m a virgin. I’m not a prostitute, and you slept with me. Is this how you take responsibility for your actions? How did we get entangled in this bed?" I sobbed, unable to believe I’d had s*x with a stranger. He ignored me, yanked the bedsheet from my body, and wrapped it around his own. He went into the bathroom. Water ran, flooding my ears. The entrance door swung open, and Layla came in with Jacob Stone, my boyfriend. "So this is what you do now, Eva? You hook up, after everything I did to support you," Jacob accused, standing at the door with Layla. "No, Jacob. I don’t know what happened. Layla, you invited me to your party. How did I end up with that stranger in the bathroom?" I begged my best friend for help. Layla wore a short blue dress paired with black shoes and clung to Jacob’s arm as if she were his girlfriend. "Jacob, I don’t know what Eva is saying. She came to my party and told me she was looking forward to meeting a rich guy at this luxury five-star hotel—The Owen's Hotel. I honestly don’t know how she got here. I had to ask the security man," Layla lied, and Jacob believed her. "I can’t believe you would do this, Eva. After everything I did to feed you, sponsor you, and this is how you repay me. It’s over between us," Jacob said, glaring. "You never let me touch you, and now you gave your body willingly to another man. I want back all the money I spent on feeding and clothing you during the five years we dated. If you don’t, I’ll have you arrested. Trust me," Jacob said, snatching his hand from Layla and walking out. Layla glanced at me and smiled. "Do you think you deserve a rich man like Jacob? Look at you, Eva. A poor girl like you can’t climb the ladder of wealth and power in Dominic City. You belong back in the slums. Don’t worry about Jacob; I’ll take care of him." She smirked, walked out, and slammed the door with a deafening boom. Tears flooded my cheeks. I sat speechless. Where would I get the money to pay Jacob now? Jacob had promised to marry me after graduation, and now Layla had ruined everything, just after I’d graduated this year. I wiped the tears from my face. Crying solved nothing. But I wouldn’t leave. I needed an explanation from the man in the bathroom. How dare he use me, knowing I was intoxicated, and then act like I’d taken advantage of him. I waited for the man to come out, grabbing my clothes from last night, sprawled on the floor. A green dress—the one I’d worn to Layla’s birthday party. A knock at the entrance door startled me, and I pressed the green dress to my chest to cover myself. A tall man in a black suit entered. Seeing me clutching the dress, he lowered his head and apologized, "I’m sorry, miss. Where’s Mr. Owen?" "Mr. Owen? Who?" I asked, confused. The bathroom door opened, and the handsome man—the one who’d taken me—stepped out. "Leave, Pete. I’ll call for you later," he said. "Okay, boss," the tall man replied. My eyes widened. The handsome stranger was a boss? Who was he, and why was he called boss? The man ignored me and went to get dressed. "Mr. Owen, you can’t take advantage of me without an explanation. I was drunk last night, and I bet you were drunk too," I accused as he buttoned his shirt and buckled his belt. Turning to face me, sharp green eyes fixed on mine, he replied, "I wasn’t drunk. But how do I know you were drunk when you came into my room, offered yourself, and kissed me first? Do you need me to replay the footage?" "No, I…" I was at a loss for words. "I would never do that. You’re accusing me wrongly," I said, voice quivering. I didn’t remember any of it. "I see." Mr. Owen smirked, picked up his phone. "Have a look." He played a video from the night before. I couldn’t believe my eyes. In the footage, I barged into his room, rushed to the bed, mounted him, and started kissing his lips. "I don’t remember that. That’s not me. How do you have this video on your phone?" I demanded. He smirked. "Don’t play dumb with me, young lady. I own this hotel and the Owen’s Group in Dominic City. If anyone needs compensation, it’s me. You took advantage of me, and I helped you when I sensed you’d been drugged. If I hadn’t slept with you, who knows what damage would’ve been done to your body. So you should compensate me." "What?" My jaw dropped.