Betrayed Into His Arms

2.

The heavy gold-trimmed doors of the hotel elevator slid shut with a soft, mechanical hiss, sealing Ophelia inside.

She collapsed against the mirrored wall, her chest heaving as she sucked in desperate, jagged breaths. In the reflection, she barely recognized herself. Her hair was a tangled dark cloud, her swollen lips bore the faint smudge of a kiss, and her bare feet were now resting on the cold metal floor because she had been too terrified to stop and put on her heels were trembling.

“Charles Montgomery.” The name spun in her head like a terrifying carousel. She had spent the night with the one man her stepsister coveted above all else. A man who could crush her father’s crumbling company with a single phone call.

The elevator chimed, announcing the ground floor.

Ophelia forced her trembling feet back into Helen’s old heels, smoothed down the wrinkled fabric of her navy-blue dress, and stepped out into the lobby. The morning sun was pouring through the massive glass.

"Ophelia!" The sharp hiss cut through the quiet hum of the lobby. Ophelia stiffened, her stomach turning to lead.

Veronica Black stepped out from behind a towering marble column, her face twisted in anger. Behind her stood Helen, looking pristine in a fresh designer outfit, though her eyes glinted with a cruel, satisfied anticipation.

"There she is," Helen sneered, crossing her arms. "Look at her. She looks like a stray cat that got dragged through the mud."

Veronica marched over, grabbing Ophelia by the upper arm so tightly her manicured nails dug deep into her skin. "Where have you been?!" she demanded under her breath, mindful of the staff nearby. "Do you have any idea of the disaster you've caused? Your father has been up all night apologizing to Edmund Hawthorne's people!"

"I... I can explain," Ophelia whispered, her voice cracking. Her mind raced. She couldn't tell them the truth. If they found out she had slept with Charles Montgomery, Helen would tear her apart, and Marcus would find a way to exploit it, destroying whatever shred of dignity she had left.

"Explain?" Helen laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. "What's to explain? You chickened out, didn't you? You got scared of the old man and hid in some storage closet like a pathetic coward."

Veronica shoved Ophelia toward the exit. "Get in the car. Your father is waiting at the estate, and heaven help you, Ophelia, because he is absolutely livid."

Back in Suite 2806, the morning sun had fully conquered the room, casting long, bright beams across the rumpled sheets.

Charles Montgomery opened his eyes.

The heavy, feverish fog that had clouded his mind the night before had finally cleared, leaving behind a sharp, crystalline focus. His body felt lighter, the unnatural heat completely gone. But as he reached out, expecting to touch the soft skin of the woman from last night, his hand met only cold, empty linen.

He sat up abruptly, his gray eyes sweeping the room.

She was gone.

"Sir?"

A quiet knock sounded at the door before Alex slipped into the suite, holding a tablet and a fresh change of clothes. He stopped in his tracks, noting the rumpled bed and the empty space beside his boss.

Charles didn't say a word. He stood up, pulling a silk robe over his shoulders, his expression turning back into the cold, unreadable mask the business world feared.

"Where is she?" Charles's voice was low.

Alex blinked, confused. "Where is... who, sir?"

Charles’s eyes narrowed. "The woman you sent to my room last night."

Alex’s jaw dropped slightly. "Sir, I didn't send anyone to your room. You explicitly told me you wanted to rest alone, and I spent the entire night finalizing the Fox Eyes contract in the business center."

Charles’s mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the previous night. The strange warmth in his body... the sudden dizziness... the open door. He hadn't been exhausted. He had been drugged. Someone had slipped something into his drink at the gala, intending to compromise him.

But then... who was she?

She hadn't tried to take photos of him. She hadn't stolen his wallet, which still sat untouched on the desk. She had simply sat on his bed, looking entirely broken, holding a…Charles's gaze drifting to the nightstand.

Resting right was a floral ear ring.

"Why is her face blurry in my head?" Charles murmured, rolling off his tongue. He remembered the lavender scent of her hair, the quiet innocence in her eyes, and the way she had leaned into his touch as if he were her only lifeline in a cruel world.

"Alex," Charles commanded, his voice cold as ice.

"Yes, Boss?"

"Find out everything about the people who came in this room."

“Sir?"

The study of the Black estate was suffocatingly quiet.

Marcus Black stood by the window, his back to Ophelia. The silence stretched, heavy and terrifying, until Marcus slowly turned around. The expression on his face made Ophelia want to shrink into the floorboards.

"You had one job," Marcus said, his voice deceptively quiet. "To go to Suite 2808. To sign the contract. To secure our family's future."

"Dad, I…"

Smack.

The force of the slap sent Ophelia sprawling onto the Persian rug. The corner of her lip split, a copper taste of blood filling her mouth.

"Do not speak!" Marcus roared, his calm facade shattering. "Edmund Hawthorne waited for two hours! He thinks we are mocking him! He is threatening to call in our debts by the end of the week. Do you want to see us on the streets? Do you want to destroy this family?!"

Veronica stood by the door, watching with a cold, satisfied sneer. "I told you, baby. She's just like her mother. Stubborn, useless, and a parasite."

Ophelia pressed her hand to her bleeding lip, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. She looked at her father…the man who was supposed to protect her and felt a profound, hollow emptiness.

"I didn't run away," Ophelia lied, her voice trembling but steady. "I... I went to the room, but the door was locked. I couldn't get in. I panicked and spent the night in the hotel lobby's powder room."

Marcus glared down at her, trying to read her expression. Before he could raise his hand again, his phone buzzed loudly on the desk.

He snatched it up, his angry scowl instantly morphing into a sycophantic smile. "Mr. Hawthorne! Yes, yes, please forgive the delay... No, I assure you, she is ready. We have the contract right here. She will sign it today. Yes, of course. We will bring her to your estate personally."

Marcus hung up, his eyes turning back to Ophelia, cold and transactional.

"Get up," he barked, tossing a fresh copy of the contract onto the desk. "You're signing this right now. And tonight, you will be delivered to the Hawthorne estate. If you make one more mistake, Ophelia... I will make sure you never see a single dime for your tuition, and I will personally throw every memory of your dead mother into the incinerator."

Ophelia stared at the contract. Her hand shook as she reached for the pen.

She had no choice. She was trapped.

As she pressed the pen to the paper, signing her life away to a man she had never met, her mind drifted back to the quiet sanctuary of Suite 2806.

She thought of the warm, protective arms of the stranger who had held her in the dark..a man she knew she could never have, and a night she might have to spend the rest of her life trying to forget.