Billionaire's Forbidden Conquest

Vivia Frost could only feel her body as if it were on fire, her mind hazy and unclear about anything. She reached out to touch the figure beside her, whose muscular physique felt ice-cold. The more she clung to him, the more she craved his proximity, wrapping herself tightly around him. Unaware of her surroundings, Vivia Frost’s long black hair cascaded across the pristine white bedsheets like dark seaweed—seductive yet innocent. Scattered around the bed were pieces of women’s clothing. The entire room, aside from the white bedsheets, was decorated in black. Even the drawn curtains were black, edged with golden patterns. Under the dim bedside light, the soft curves of a woman and the hardened lines of a man’s body intertwined on the bed. The next morning, Vivia Frost opened her eyes, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. She vaguely recalled having an erotic dream the night before. Her face flushed crimson. What’s wrong with me? How could I suddenly have such a shameless dream out of nowhere? Yet the dream felt unnervingly real—as if she’d truly been bold and reckless, bewitched into doing something so intimate with a stranger. A bitter smile crossed her lips. How could I…? After all, her heart belonged to him alone. But as she tried to push the thoughts away and get up to prepare for rehearsal, her body collapsed weakly back onto the bed. Every muscle felt drained, limp. Frowning, she turned her head—and froze. Beside her lay a man with strikingly handsome features. She clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. Her eyes widened, heart pounding, mind blank. The “dream”… combined with the scene before her… It hadn’t been a dream at all. It happened. Shock and terror flooded her. What on earth happened? Fragmented memories surfaced: last night was her sister’s engagement party to… him. She’d sat alone in a corner, drunk a glass of wine, and then… nothing. Now, her head throbbed. Struggling to move, she scrambled off the bed, desperate to escape. She didn’t even think about confronting the man. Trembling violently, she dressed in haste, her fingers fumbling. Once clothed, she fled the room in a panic, wishing none of this had occurred. Stumbling into the street, she glanced back—she’d emerged from a luxury hotel. I slept with a complete stranger… Passersby stared. She touched her face—tear-streaked, her features obscured by theatrical makeup. Her entire body shook with confusion and dread. What happened last night? Why… why did this happen? As she took another step, she tripped. Her phone clattered to the ground. The screen was dark. She tapped it—dead. When she powered it on, dozens of missed calls from her sister flooded in. The phone rang again: “Liana Frost.” Tears spilled as Vivia hesitated, then answered. “Vivia! Where were you all night? "You vanished from the party without a word—your phone was off!” Her sister’s gentle voice pierced her. Vivia choked back sobs. She doesn’t know… She couldn’t let Liana discover this. Not when her sister’s happiness was just beginning. Forcing calm, she lied: “I… ran into an old friend. We talked, lost track of time. I’m sorry for worrying you…” Liana sighed in relief. “It’s alright… But don’t disappear from my wedding next month! You’re my bridesmaid—no escaping then!” “Okay,” Vivia whispered, her voice cracking. The distance between her and him had grown insurmountable. She’d let go, blessing her sister and him. Yet when Liana hung up, her face momentarily twisted with frustration. Last night should’ve gone perfectly. What went wrong? In the hotel suite, Lucian Blackwood awoke, his aura icy. His bodyguard, Renault, stood rigid before him, sweating. The bed’s disarray—and the bloodstains—spoke volumes. Someone had dared seduce the CEO in his drunken state… and succeeded. Unthinkable. Lucian loathed physical contact, and deemed it filthy. Renault had long wondered if his boss, a 32-year-old virgin, preferred men. Yet here lay proof: a woman had claimed Lucian’s first time… and vanished. Lucian’s gaze burned into the crimson stains and lingering black hairs. She slept with me… then fled. “Find her,” he growled. “At all costs.” Renault bowed, dread coiling in his gut. The woman who’d defiled Lucian Blackwood’s sanctum wouldn’t live to regret it. Two Days Later​​ The nightclub throbbed with music and screams. Vivia Frost ducked through the crowd, hands over her ears, heading backstage past the striptease act. She wasn’t there to party. Her friend Elva Hart needed costume repairs—urgently. Elva, her college roommate turned nightclub dancer, was drowning in her father’s gambling debts. Vivia had spent days mending torn sequins and frayed lace. Now, clutching the garments, she pushed into the chaotic dressing room. Dancers preened at mirrors. Vivia spotted Elva slumped at the vanity. “Elva! Your costumes—” The words died as she saw Elva’s pallor, the sweat on her brow. “Are you sick?” Vivia pressed a hand to Elva’s forehead. Elva shook her head weakly. “Stomach… flu…” A stagehand barged in, barking into a walkie-talkie: “Elva! You’re on NOW!” Elva’s fingers closed around Vivia’s wrist. “Please… cover for me. If I miss a show, I lose this month’s pay…” Vivia froze. “But I—” “You know my routines! You’ve watched me practice!” Elva pleaded. “Just this once!” Ten minutes later, a slender figure took the stage. The crowd roared as “Elva” emerged in a black fringe dress, porcelain skin glowing under spotlights. Vivia moved through the choreography—hips swaying, smile forced. The dance was alluring, yet her innocence amplified its provocation. “Take it off!” a man shouted. The chant spread: “Take it off! Take it off!” Vivia’s pulse raced. This wasn’t part of the act! Suddenly, black-suited men swarmed the venue. A gunshot rang out—a stage light exploded. Chaos erupted as the voice commanded: “Turn around! Leave NOW!” Vivia stood petrified, the dance forgotten. The mob fled. Silence fell. From the shadows, Lucian Blackwood emerged, his gaze scalding her frozen form. No one dared to look toward the stage anymore. Under the arrangement of men dressed in black suits, the crowd exited the venue in an orderly manner. Sensing the commotion, a terrified Vivia Frost realized something was wrong. She turned to flee from the extended stage toward the backstage dressing area of the bar. But the moment she moved, a cold, furious voice roared: "Run again, and I’ll break your legs!" Wait! Was he talking about her? Vivia Frost’s eyes widened in disbelief. An absurd thought struck her—could these dangerous men who had stormed the raucous bar actually be here for her? Vivia Frost found this thought utterly absurd. She’d lived an ordinary life, never doing anything outrageous. The only exception was... Just recalling the events of that night made her cheeks burn with shame. As the crowd dispersed, the floor below the stage now stood filled with black-suited men. Only one man ascended the stage. When Vivia Frost saw the man’s handsome face, she froze as if struck by lightning. This was the man she’d woken up beside in bed that morning! No way! Could this be a coincidence?! Now Vivia Frost was certain—this man had come for her. Lucian Blackwood’s gaze swept over her outfit. What was she wearing? The flimsy fabric over her chest barely concealed her pale skin, while the scandalously short skirt revealed her long legs. Dressed like this, gyrating seductively on stage—was she trying to entice every man in this damned bar? An inexplicable fury surged through Lucian. He seized her wrist, his voice glacial: "Is your hunger for men so desperate? First crawling into my bed, now flaunting yourself to others—" Vivia Frost winced as his grip bit into her flesh, humiliation and anger flaring at his words: "Let go! You’re... you’re spouting nonsense!" She’d decided—she would deny everything to death. After that night, she’d secretly gone to the hospital for examinations. Thankfully, the man had been "clean." She’d even hired investigators, but fate mocked her—the international hotel’s surveillance systems were under maintenance that day, erasing all traces of her presence. The masquerade party provided no clues either. Neon lights had pulsed through the darkness as revelers lost themselves, none noticing a woman with face paint slipping through the crowd. The dead ends piled up until Vivia Frost forced herself to forget everything, pretending she’d simply been bitten by a stray dog. Yet now, the man from her nightmare stood before her in flesh and blood.