The Billionaire's Hidden Son

Rose's POV “Rose, your son Noel is back in the hospital again?” Sarah, my coworker, asked as she wiped down the wet bar counter. ​I held my breath for a second before nodding. "He has been for two days. His asthma flared up again because of the weather change yesterday." ​"God, Rose. I’m so sorry." ​"At least... I still have this job," I replied quietly. ​I’ve been living like this for seven years. Being a waitress at Adrian’s club wasn’t exactly my first choice, but in New York, finding a job that is both flexible and pays enough to cover Noel’s medical bills is a luxury I don't have. ​Seven years ago, I took my stepsister Joana’s place at the altar to marry Victor Halston. She had fled just before the vows were exchanged. ​Victor knew it was me standing beside him, not Joana, and he despised me for it. He saw me as nothing more than a gold-digging slut. We lived like strangers under the same roof. The marriage was never real—just a cold formality. Until one night, when the walls between us finally crumbled. There were no clear words, no real resistance... just a decision born out of a situation neither of us wanted. ​The next day, everything returned to the same icy distance, as if nothing had ever happened. When Joana finally returned, I knew it was time to leave. I never expected that one night would give me Noel. And Victor... he never knew about our son. ​"Rose, take this to VIP Room 1," Adrian ordered, pointing to the crystal bottle I had just polished. "The guest tonight is someone important. Don't make a single mistake." ​I walked down the thick-carpeted hallway. The club's deafening noise faded as I reached the wooden door at the end of the corridor. I took a deep breath, turned the knob, and stepped inside with my head bowed, as per protocol. ​The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of a crystal chandelier. The air was heavy with the scent of expensive perfume and cigars. I walked toward the main table, my hands trembling slightly as I moved to set the bottle down. ​"Just leave it there," a cold baritone voice commanded. ​My hand froze in mid-air. That voice. I knew it all too well, even after seven years of not hearing it in person. I slowly looked up at the man sitting in the leather chair behind the desk. Victor Halston. ​He was sipping his drink calmly, his eyes locked onto mine. No smile, just a flat, piercing gaze that made my skin crawl. He didn't even glance at Adrian or the other guests in the room. Victor set his glass down on the marble table with a sharp click and pointed directly at me. ​"I want her." ​Adrian stepped forward, bowing slightly before Victor. "Mr. Halston, my apologies, but Rose isn't that kind of server. She’s special staff—she only handles drinks and room service. She doesn't serve guests personally." ​Victor didn't answer immediately. He swirled the glass in his hand, watching the amber liquid as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. After a few seconds, he lifted his gaze straight to mine. ​"A server is a server, Adrian," his voice was flat, leaving no room for argument. "Her job is to provide what the guest wants. What’s the difference between serving a drink and serving my needs?" ​The room fell deathly silent. The thumping bass from the dance floor outside sounded like a distant hum. I gripped the tray until my knuckles turned white. As my eyes locked with Victor’s, I could feel my heart hammering against my ribs. There was a boiling rage trapped in my chest, warring with a fear I was desperately trying to suppress. ​"Come on, Adrian," a man beside Victor chuckled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Victor just wants her. Why are you getting in the way? You’ll get a huge payout, won't you? Victor isn't known for paying cheap for a night." ​Adrian turned to me. Sweat beaded on his forehead, his eyes showing a mix of guilt and the dilemma between his business interests and his need to protect me. ​I set the tray on a side table with slow, deliberate movements. I straightened my back and met Victor’s gaze without blinking. "I agree," I said, my voice steady. "But not in this room. I don't serve guests in front of others. It has to be private." ​Laughter erupted from the man next to Victor. They exchanged knowing, leering grins. Adrian hung his head, his breathing ragged. Meanwhile, Victor remained in his seat, but the corners of his lips curled into a cold, faint smirk. ​Victor stood up slowly. He walked toward me, stopping so close that I could smell the scent of cinnamon and tobacco on his suit. ​"Private, is it?" he whispered, loud enough for his friends to hear. "You hear that? She thinks she has the right to set terms." ​Victor let out a short, hollow laugh that didn't reach his eyes. He glanced at his friends, then turned back to me with a look of pure disdain. "Fine. Take her to my room upstairs. I want to see just how valuable a server who dares to boss around her superior really is." ​Victor ignored Adrian’s still-protesting look. Instead, he signaled his guards at the door to step aside. He turned and walked out of the room without a second glance, as if he were certain I would follow him like an obedient dog. ​I took a long breath, trying to steady my still-trembling hands. Adrian caught up to me just before I reached the threshold, grabbing my arm gently. His face was pale, his eyes wide with genuine panic. ​"Rose, are you insane?" he whispered, barely audible. "That’s Victor Halston. If you do anything to offend him in that room, I can't guarantee your safety. Just go out the back exit now. I’ll handle the rest." ​I looked at Adrian, then over to Victor, who was already standing at the end of the hall, waiting with his arms crossed over his chest. "Noel’s medical bills are due tomorrow, Adrian. You know I don't have a choice—and besides, I’m not running away this time." ​Adrian fell silent. He slowly released my arm. I didn't wait for a reply; I walked past him, heading toward the private elevator that would take us straight to the top floor—to the place where the nightmare of seven years ago was about to begin all over again. ​As the elevator doors closed, we were alone. Victor didn't press a floor button; he simply leaned against the metal wall, studying me as if I were an item he had just purchased at an auction. ​"Seven years," he said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost a growl. "I almost forgot what it was like to watch you leave without an explanation... and then show up again as if nothing ever happened." ​I remained silent, watching the floor numbers change on the digital panel. ​"You're still the same," he continued, stepping forward until the distance between us was mere inches. "Still daring to defy me, and still just as cheap. Tell me, what is the price I have to pay so you can drop the act of being a woman of value tonight?" ​I turned to look him straight in the eye. "I'm not acting, Mr. Halston. And I won't be begging you." ​Victor let out a short laugh, then his fingers gripped my chin harshly, forcing me to look at him more closely. "We'll see how long that defiance lasts once that bedroom door closes."