Bound by the Billionaire's Revenge

​Aplastic anemia. ​The diagnosis on the paper kept replaying in her mind, heavy and suffocating. Rose’s shoulders slowly slumped as the last of her energy drained away. She bit her lower lip hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill right there at work. ​"Rose, is Noel back in the hospital?" ​Sarah’s question snapped her out of it. Her friend was busy wiping down the wet bar next to her. Rose flinched slightly, then quickly squared her shoulders, hiding the residual panic in her eyes before giving a faint nod. ​"It’s been two days," Rose replied, her voice flat and slightly raspy. "He’s getting worse." ​"Oh my god, Rose. I’m so sorry." ​”At least I still have a job." ​Being a waitress at Adrian’s nightclub was far from her dream, but the flexible hours allowed her to care for Noel and chip away at the mounting hospital bills. The luxury of her past life—living like royalty before that devastating night seven years ago—had been buried deep the day she fled to this city. ​"Rose, take this to VIP Room 1." ​Adrian’s voice cut through her thoughts. Her manager pointed to a crystal decanter he had just finished cleaning. ​"Tonight’s guests are high-profile clients. Don't mess up," Adrian added, his tone warning. ​Rose nodded quickly. She carefully lifted the crystal bottle and started down the long, thickly carpeted hallway. The heavy bass from the dance floor faded, replaced by silence as she reached the large wooden door at the end of the corridor. ​Taking a deep breath, Rose turned the knob and stepped inside, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. ​The room was dimly lit, illuminated only by the warm glow of a crystal chandelier. The air was thick with expensive cologne and cigar smoke. Inside, a group of men in luxury suits were drinking and laughing loudly. ​Rose approached the main table. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached out to place the decanter on the marble surface. ​"Just leave it there," one of the middle-aged men ordered, his tone sneering and arrogant. ​Rose set the bottle down as fast as she could, preparing to dismiss herself immediately. But before she could turn around, the man suddenly grabbed her wrist in a tight grip. His eyes traveled up and down, scanning her. "I need another girl in here.” ​Rose instinctively took a step back, maintaining her composure. "Of course, sir. I’ll call one of the hostesses for you." ​As Rose tried to turn, a rough hand clamped down hard on her arm. ​"Don't bother going to the front. You’ll be the one staying," the man said again. ​Rose gasped. She yanked her arm back with a sharp jerk, breaking his grip. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm just here to deliver drinks." ​The man scoffed loudly and stood up from the sofa, closing the distance until Rose could smell the heavy stench of alcohol on his breath. "Don't act pure with me. You work in a nightclub, your uniform is tight enough as it is. What’s your rate for the night? Name it, I can pay ten times what you make here!" Rose's breath caught. Her fingers reflexively gripped the edge of her uniform as she tried to pull away, but his hold was too tight. ​Adrian, realizing the situation was escalating, stepped forward and bowed slightly with a forced politeness. "Gentlemen, I apologize, but Rose is not a hostess. She's part of the bottle service staff. She doesn't entertain guests personally." ​The heavy-set man grunted. He pulled a thick stack of cash from his suit pocket and slammed it onto the table. "A waitress is still a waitress, Adrian. Her job is to provide whatever a paying guest wants. What’s the difference between pouring a drink and serving me in bed?" ​His friends burst into laughter again, enjoying the show. "Oh, come on, Adrian. Why block it? You’ll get a huge cut, won’t you? She has nothing to lose for one night." ​Adrian turned to look at Rose. Cold sweat began to bead on his forehead. His lips pressed into a tight line as his gaze shifted between Rose and the stack of money on the table. ​Just as the tension reached its peak, the large door to the VIP room swung open from the outside. ​Firm, heavy footsteps echoed into the room, instantly cutting off the laughter of the wealthy men. Rose turned reflexively. In that exact second, her world stopped. ​The man who had just entered froze at the threshold. A pair of sharp, ice-cold eyes locked onto Rose. His shoulders tensed completely, his grip tightening on the overcoat he held. ​Victor Halston. ​Rose’s heart raced so violently it felt painful against her chest. Her body began to shake. He was here, standing right in front of her after seven long years. The shock in Victor's eyes vanished. His jaw tightened. His fingers tightened a fraction more around his coat. ​The freezing silence broke when the man holding Rose suddenly let go of her arm. He stood up in a hurry, plastering on his most welcoming smile. ​"Mr. Halston, you’re finally here!" the man said smoothly, bowing respectfully. ​The other men in the room stood up as well, instantly losing their arrogance in Victor's presence. ​Victor didn't acknowledge the greeting. His presence alone silenced the room. His eyes remained locked on Rose, stripping away her defenses. ​"Does Mr. Halston want her too?" one of them asked, breaking the silence with a cautious, curious tone. ​Another man chimed in immediately, "Well, if Mr. Halston wants her, we know better than to get in the way." Their low laughter returned faintly, trying to ease the stiff atmosphere. ​Rose bit her lower lip so hard it stung. Her hands gripped the hem of her uniform against her thighs, hiding the violent trembling racking her entire body. ​As for Victor, he calmly sat down in the main armchair, buttoning his suit jacket with a slow, elegant motion. He glanced at his associates, and his cold look silenced the laughter in the room instantly. The entire space went dead quiet. ​Victor looked back up, straight at Rose. The corner of his mouth tilted up slightly into a faint, freezing smile. ​"Why not," Victor said shortly. ​He then raised his hand, gesturing toward the door. A second later, Mark stepped into the room. ​Rose’s heart sank as she saw the personal assistant who had always been by Victor's side walk closer. Mark bowed respectfully, waiting for orders with an expressionless face. ​Victor's gaze pierced through her again, sharp and leaving no room for argument. ​"Go with him," Victor commanded coldly. His calm voice sounded far more terrifying than a shout.