The Billionaire's Secret Heir

Chapter 4

ADRIAN'S POV

“Danger…” I murmured under my breath, rubbing my temple slowly as though the name itself carried a memory too heavy to hold. I still could not understand why anyone would choose such a name for herself, yet for six years it had remained the only trace of her that I possessed.

Six years since that reckless night that altered more than just my control, it altered the way I trusted.

That evening had begun ordinarily. I was in my office reviewing documents when my phone rang, and to my surprise it was Dylan. My cousin. The one person I had never questioned. His voice was unusually bright as he invited me out to a nightclub, insisting it was a small celebration for the official transfer of my father’s company into my hands.

I almost declined.

He knew I disliked late-night clubs, the noise, the unnecessary indulgence. It was never my environment. But the moment he mentioned it concerned company matters, expansion discussions, strategic positioning for upcoming acquisitions, I listened. Business was the one language I never ignored, and Dylan had stood beside me since I first stepped into leadership. When I assumed my position three years prior, he had been appointed head of operations. Together, we elevated the company beyond what my father had built.

At least, that was what I believed, so I went on.

The club irritated me the moment I stepped inside. The lights were too aggressive, the music intrusive, and the atmosphere thick with excess. Still, the private room gave some distance from the chaos. We discussed projections, exchanged figures, drank moderately. Everything appeared normal.

Until he excused himself to take a call.

Minutes later, something felt… wrong.

At first I attributed it to alcohol, but I have never misjudged my limits. The sensation spreading through my body was not simple intoxication. It was invasive. My vision blurred around the edges, heat surged unnaturally through my veins, and my pulse began pounding in a way that had nothing to do with music.

I attempted to steady myself, but the room tilted slightly beneath me, the air growing heavier with each breath I forced into my lungs. That was when realization struck.

I had been drugged.

The betrayal burned more sharply than the substance itself.

My muscles weakened, yet at the same time my body reacted in ways that disgusted me. I started to feel horny, and raw hunger for s*x, an uncontrollable, primal surge I could neither rationalize nor suppress. I tried to reach the door exit, tried to gather enough clarity to call for help, but my limbs felt distant from my own command. The effect had already claimed all over my body, and I fell back. I tried several times but it was no use.

After what felt like a deathly hour,

Then the door opened.

Through blurred vision and dim red lighting, I saw a woman step inside carrying a tray of expensive drinks.

“Here’s your order, sir,” she said softly.

I knew I hadn't ordered anything, let alone merely finished three sips from that drink.

She noticed something was wrong almost immediately. I remember the shift in her expression, the way her brows drew together in concern as she moved closer. She insisted on calling for help, but instinct or desperation made me catch her wrist.

I don’t remember what I told her exactly. Only that I knew if she left, Dylan would return before I could recover from help, and I was no longer certain what he intended to do with me.

Footsteps echoed outside again.

The door opened.

And this time it was him.

He spoke calmly, coldly. As though discussing an ordinary business adjustment rather than confessing to drugging his own cousin. He explained how easily control could shift, how instability at the top would create opportunity, how temporary “incapacitation” would allow emergency restructuring of the board.

I remember praying she would not make a sound.

She had slipped into the bathroom unnoticed before he entered, and when he finally left, satisfied that the drug would finish what he had begun, she emerged again.

I expected her to flee.

Instead, she stayed.

She hesitated, I could hear it in her breathing, but she did not abandon me. I warned her she could walk away, that she owed me nothing, that involvement in this situation could complicate her life.

Yet she remained.

The rest of the night blurred into fragments of sensation and fading consciousness. I recall her voice once, trembling yet steady enough to ask if I was certain. I recall nodding.

When I woke the following morning, weakness lingered in my limbs, but the drugs were finally dissolved from my system.

She was lying beside me, asleep.

Her hair partially concealed her face, and exhaustion was evident in the way her body rested so heavily against the sheets. She had given more than assistance. She had taken a risk she did not need to take.

Shame and pain settled in my chest. I knew it wasn't rape, but it felt like I had raped her and taken advantage of her.

I wasn't so sure about a lot of things; why she had suddenly appeared like an angel, claiming I ordered drinks which I didn't. However, one thing was sure: my cousin had actually drugged and orchestrated his plans against me. I dropped a letter beside her, in an attempt to pacify my conscience. Not merely money, that would have been insulting, but a promise. I would find her once I dismantled the betrayal that had nearly cost me everything.

That dismantling took years.

Dylan’s crimes unraveled slowly, but thoroughly. Fraud. Manipulation. Corporate sabotage. By the time the court delivered its final verdict six years after, there was nothing left of his influence to salvage.

Control had returned to me fully.

I walked back into my office holding my briefcase in one hand. As I walked into the main entrance of my company, all of my employees standing nearby quickly lowered their heads to greet me, making their way back to their respective job positions. With the corner of their eye, they were looking up at me as I approached farther to a worker who was sleeping on his duty. I stopped in my tracks, glancing at the stupid man who was snoring loudly,

In my building.

During operational hours.

I stepped closer and tapped lightly against his desk.

“I swear I wasn’t sleeping! I— I was just resting my eyes...” The man jolted upright, nearly knocking over his monitor.

His voice faltered the moment recognition set in.

“Sir… I—”

“There is no explanation required,” I said evenly.

His throat moved in a hard swallow. “Please, sir, it won’t happen again...”

“It won’t,” I agreed calmly. “Because you no longer work here.”

Silence spread outward like a ripple through water. I walked past him without even looking behind me. Ignoring the silent cries and pleas. Not this time. Not the same Adrian they knew years ago. By now, every worker should know how strict and professional I am in handling this company.

I opened the door to my office. Marcus, my assistant, was already standing there holding a tablet in hand, smiling like he just won some big award.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he greeted me politely. “Yesterday, in your absence from the court meeting, our investigators managed to uncover some information that connects to the woman from that night. Six years ago.”

My attention sharpened instantly.

“She worked at the club under a stage name—‘Danger.’ Temporary employment. No official documentation attached to that identity.”

The name again. I once asked a man standing in front of the bartending section if he knew the name of the woman who recently served at room 306. He had casually smiled, almost laughed, and greeted me for my coming as if he knew what happened, saying her name was Danger.

“And?” I asked Marcus, taking my seat beside him.

“The manager admitted she was deliberately redirected to your private suite. There was no order placed. He claims he was paid to send her there.”

“By whom?”

“He insists the instruction came from the club owner. According to him, women who entered those VVIP suites rarely came out the same way—untouched, and broken by powerful men. No consequences. He said he knew what would happen to her.”

My expression hardened.

“We currently have the manager in custody. But her true identity is still missing. The only name she ever used there was ‘Danger.’”

Six years, and she remained nothing more than a shadow and a name chosen for a stage.

“And the owner?” I asked repeatedly.

“He may know more. The manager claims the directive came from above.”

I leaned back slowly.

“Then bring me the owner.”

“Yes, sir,” Marcus inclined, heading towards the door, when he stopped as if he just remembered something.

“OH, Bos…” He hesitated, “There’s another matter. You have a checklist, Elixir Fashion Designers has submitted a cooperation proposal.”

My eyes dilated looking up at him. I wasn't done placing the piece of words I had just heard crawling in my chest, yet he reminded me of yet another failing proposal. This was probably the fifth company that had sent me a proposal. Several of them, when I visited, weren't what I looked for or expected. They didn't live up to the demand and satisfaction I wanted for introducing fashion designers’ affairs into my new city.

Now here comes another opportunist, wanting fame and a bigger name for themselves without having a clear goal of fashion sense.

"I'm not interested. Please stop this… if it's a joke or what," I replied, unlocking my briefcase on top of the table.

“Please, calm down, Boss…” he replied carefully, “I know how you feel when another checklist of proposals comes your way, but you haven't checked this one out.”

I looked at him.

“I promise, you will have a good taste when it comes to this one. It's totally worth the kind of brand you would want to introduce publicly.”

Marcus was always the type that had a sweet mouth right from time, even if he had tainted the word so cheeky and unique. I wasn't satisfied. Because I had heard them over and over again, and now for the fifth time. Part of me had partially given up on bringing the best designer's brand into my world, yet another part of me was clearly dissatisfied with not having a promising one yet.

“Well, if this is just another scrap, clearly consider yourself fired when I check it out,” I exclaimed sternly. “Drop the proposal documents on my desk, and quickly work on the task I gave you.”

“Yes, Boss,” Marcus swallowed hard, then dropped the folders on my desk before heading out. I was sure part of his mind was having a second choice of regret for bringing me such a letter, perhaps that's what I wanted him to feel, giving me contemplative thoughts too about second choices.

I scoffed, picking up the documents. The letters, bold and stark, stared at me:

“ELIXIR FASHION DESIGNERS INC.”