THE BILLIONAIRE'S MISSING PIECE (ENGLISH)

CHAPTER 1: THE GIRL ON THE DANCE FLOOR

Naime had never been one for parties. The thrum of loud music, the crush of bodies, the heat of neon lights—none of it appealed to her. Yet tonight she moved with reckless abandon in the center of the dance floor, her body shaking off fear and pain she could no longer contain. She had almost married Clifford after three years together, believing in the perfect life they had built. That illusion shattered the moment she found him in her bed with Shelly, her best friend.

The crowd’s cheers hit her ears, sharp and mocking.

“Yeah! Baby, you’re killing it!”

The words felt like fire against her skin, a reminder of everything she had lost. Instead of faltering, she let the sting fuel her. Her grin widened as she danced with even more abandon, letting the music pull every raw emotion into her movements. The beat thumped against her chest as she made her way to the pole.

She gripped it tightly, letting her body flow with the rhythm. Every twist and grind was precise, sensual, mesmerizing. The sultry track that replaced the previous one seemed to follow her, the music bending around her as if it existed solely for this moment. The crowd roared, their voices swelling in tandem with her rising heat.

“More! More! More!”

Her blouse hit the floor. Short denim shorts clung to her as she twisted and arched, the air thick with desire. Every movement, every flash of skin, pulled the audience deeper into the spell she wove with her body. Their excitement was tangible, a living thing that surged around her.

In the corner, Drake watched quietly, his gaze tracing every curve and sway. A fire sparked in his chest with each movement. He had seen many women, many dancers, but Naime commanded him in a way he had never known. Desire and awe mingled in his eyes, and he knew he wanted her now.

As the music finally fell silent, Drake stood, muscles coiled, his steps purposeful. Their eyes met across the floor. A mischievous smile curled her lips, daring him to act.

He closed the distance and drew her in, his lips pressing against hers in a kiss that burned hotter than the lights around them. The crowd erupted, whistles and cheers filling the air as they witnessed the electricity between them.

“Wanna come with me?” he murmured against her lips, voice rough with need.

“Anywhere you want,” she said, sliding her arms around his neck, every ounce of hesitation gone.

Their lips met again, fierce and unrelenting. Drake guided her out of the bar, the city night swallowing them in shadows. He glanced at the Ferrari 458 Italia parked outside, anticipating awe, but she stepped into the car with a detached elegance, eyes gleaming with a fire he hadn’t yet tamed.

Naime gazed out the car window as the city lights blurred past, the hum of the engine filling the silence between her and Drake. They were headed to his bachelor pad in Greenhills, a place she had only heard whispers about until tonight. When the car finally pulled up, and they stepped inside, the door clicked shut behind them with quiet finality.

She turned to him without a word. Her lips found his in a deep, urgent kiss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers pressing firmly into the nape to pull him closer. Drake let out a low moan against her mouth, the sound vibrating through her. Desire surged through him. He scooped her up effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom.

Naime guided him past the bed and into the adjoining shower room. Steam began to rise as she twisted the faucet. She peeled off her clothes with swift, deliberate movements, letting them drop to the tile floor. Drake's gaze traced her bare skin. Her body was a study in perfect curves: full breasts that rose with each breath, a narrow waist flaring into generous hips that swayed slightly as she stepped under the warm spray.

She met his eyes with an intensity that made his pulse race. Her face held an almost angelic softness, yet something raw flickered behind it. He wondered what had fueled her wild energy on the dance floor earlier, whether it was mere escape or a hunger that ran much deeper. Was this moment just her way of chasing connection through touch?

Drake began to undress, moving slowly so he could watch every shift in her expression. Water cascaded over them both now, warm and steady. Naime reached out, her palm gliding across his chest. Droplets clung to her fingers as she traced the lines of muscle there. She leaned in and took his n****e between her lips, sucking gently while her tongue circled in lazy swirls. A soft moan escaped her.

Her hand drifted lower, fingers wrapping around his hardening length. Drake groaned, the pleasure sharp and immediate. She stroked him with expert rhythm, slow then firm, drawing him to the edge of control. He felt himself unraveling under her touch; she seemed to know exactly how to drive him wild without letting him take the lead.

When she sank to her knees and took him into her mouth, heat enveloped him completely. Her tongue moved like velvet, swirling and teasing as though savoring something rich and forbidden. To her, he tasted deep and addictive, like dark chocolate warmed by fire. She drew him deeper, lips tight, tongue pressing along the underside in rhythmic strokes.

"Damn, you're incredible," he groaned, voice rough.

Before she could pull back, he threaded his fingers through her wet hair and guided her closer. A wicked grin curved his mouth as he took control. He lifted her to her feet, spun her around, and pressed her palms flat against the cool tiles. Her back arched instinctively, water streaming down the elegant line of her spine. Her body was flawless in the dim light, every curve sculpted with precision.

He gripped her waist and entered her from behind in one smooth motion. The heat of her surrounded him, tight and slick, sending strange, electric waves through his core. He began to move, slow at first, savoring the drag and pull, then faster, deeper, until the rhythm built to something frantic. Her breaths came in sharp gasps matching his thrusts. Just as the pressure coiled unbearably tight inside him, he pulled out and spilled across the small of her back. Naime trembled, breathless from the intensity, her body still humming.

They lingered under the water afterward in companionable silence, letting the steam wash away the urgency. Yet the night was far from finished. When they stepped out, Drake took her hand and led her to the bed with quiet determination.

He dried her skin with slow kisses, trailing from her collarbone down to her stomach. With gentle pressure from his knees, he parted her thighs. He rubbed himself against her slick folds until she grew wetter still, her warmth drawing him in like a tide. He thrust inside her hungrily, deep and unyielding, the sensation overwhelming in its heat and closeness.

His arousal swelled harder, the pleasure sharpening into something almost too intense to bear. Naime began to move her hips in counterpoint, rolling against him with a rhythm that pulled him deeper. Something inside her clenched and fluttered around him, milking every inch until he nearly lost himself without warning. He held back through sheer will, hands roaming her body: kneading her breasts, tracing her stomach, gripping her thighs as he drove into her with relentless force.

Her n*****s peaked under his palms, sensitive and taut. A flicker of discomfort crossed her face at the roughness, but he held her wrists pinned above her head with one strong hand.

"Shh, relax," he murmured against her ear. "Just listen to your body. It's okay, I promise."

She exhaled slowly and nodded. "Okay." She gestured toward a pillow on the bed.

He understood immediately. He slid it beneath her hips, lifting her just enough to change the angle. The shift brought them impossibly closer, every thrust gliding deeper, her wetness making the slide effortless and exquisite. He pounded harder now, lost in the rhythm, their bodies moving as one through waves of raw, consuming pleasure.

When release finally claimed him, he pulled out and let himself spill across her belly in hot pulses. Naime sighed, spent and glowing.

Drake collapsed beside her, chest heaving. Naime turned onto her side, drawing the blanket over herself for warmth.

After a long moment, he broke the quiet. "Who are you?"

"Naime," she answered softly.

"I'm Drake. Where do you live?"

She offered no reply, only curled tighter into the covers. Drake listened to the gentle rhythm of her breathing as it deepened into sleep. A small smile touched his lips at the sound of her soft snores. Exhaustion pulled him under soon after, the night wrapping around them like a shared secret.

Drake stirred as the shrill ring of his telephone sliced through the quiet of his bedroom. Sunlight slanted across the sheets in sharp golden bars. He fumbled for the phone on the nightstand, voice thick with sleep.

“Uhm, hello?”

“Drake, where are you?” His father’s voice crackled with impatience. “Did you forget our meeting with the Walton family today? Get moving. I need you here in fifteen minutes.”

The words hit like cold water. Drake sat up fast, heart kicking. The bed beside him was empty, the pillow still holding the faint hollow where Naime’s head had rested. He scanned the room—no trace of her except the lingering scent of her shampoo on the sheets. Then his gaze caught on a small yellow sticky note clinging to the lampshade. He reached over, peeled it free, and felt the corner of his mouth lift.

A phone number, neatly written in black ink. No name, no message. Just the digits and the unspoken understanding that passed between them last night. He pressed the note into his chest for a second before tucking it into the pocket of yesterday’s jeans.

He showered in record time, the hot water pounding against his shoulders as he replayed fragments of the night: her laugh against his throat, the way her body had arched under him, the quiet way she’d turned away afterward as though guarding something fragile. By the time he knotted his tie and slipped into a charcoal blazer, the memory felt dangerously close to obsession.

Bayview Park Hotel Manila rose sleek and modern against the morning sky. The security guard greeted him by name; the concierge nodded as he crossed the marble lobby. A host led him through the softly lit restaurant to a private alcove where floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the manicured gardens.

His father, Ricardo Sy, sat at the head of the table, posture straight as always, silver threading through his dark hair. Beside him was Natally, his stepmother, radiant in a soft lavender dress that made her look closer to thirty-five than forty-three. Across from them sat James and Emarie Walton, both polished and poised, and between them their daughter, Zhinkee. She wore a long-sleeved V-neck dress the color of ripe mangoes, the fabric skimming her figure without clinging. Her dark hair fell in loose waves over one shoulder. When she laughed at something her father said, the sound was light and unguarded.

Drake felt the familiar weight of expectation settle over him as he approached. He knew why he was here. Arranged meetings like this were not uncommon in their circle—old money seeking to stay old money through careful alliances. Yet when Zhinkee lifted her gaze and met his eyes, he felt no dread, only mild curiosity. She was beautiful in an effortless way, her smile warm rather than calculated.

“Oh, there he is,” Ricardo announced, rising with the easy authority that came from decades at the top. “This is my eldest, Drake Sy. He recently opened his own restaurant in Makati—built it from nothing, no help from me. I’m proud of him.”

James stood and extended a firm hand. “Really? That’s impressive. Nice to meet you, Drake.”

“Nice to meet you too, Sir.” Drake shook his hand, then turned to Emarie. “Ma’am Emarie.”

“You look wonderful, dear,” Emarie said, eyes flicking to her daughter. “Don’t you think so, honey?”

“Yes, Mom.” Zhinkee rose gracefully and offered her hand. “Hi, I’m Zhinkee. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine.” Drake took her hand, noting the softness of her palm, the light pressure of her fingers. He settled into the chair opposite her.

“Sorry for being late,” he said.

“That’s fine,” James replied with a chuckle. “You’re right on time. We just arrived early.”

Natally leaned close and whispered, “You look exceptionally handsome today.”

He grinned and whispered back, “Thank you. You look lovely in that dress.”

The waiter arrived with chilled white wine, pouring with practiced silence. Drake caught Zhinkee watching him again—open, curious, a faint flush rising along her cheekbones when he held her gaze.

“I might just melt if you keep looking at me like that,” he teased quietly.

She laughed, the sound bright and surprised, and their parents joined in, the tension in the air dissolving into easy conversation.

The meal passed pleasantly. Ricardo and James reminisced about old deals and shared golf scores. Emarie asked about Drake’s restaurant; he answered with genuine pride, describing the opening night, the first review that called his adobo “transcendent.” Zhinkee listened attentively, asking thoughtful questions about the menu and the suppliers he’d chosen. She had just returned from two years in New York working in finance, she explained, but missed Manila’s chaos and warmth.

When the Waltons finally stood to leave, James clapped Drake on the shoulder. “We should do this again soon, without the parents next time.”

Zhinkee smiled at him one last time before following her parents out. “It was really nice meeting you, Drake.”

“Likewise,” he said, meaning it.

Once the car pulled away, Ricardo turned to him.

“So, what do you think of her, son?”

“She seems nice. Decent. Easy to talk to.”

“Do you think you could marry her?”

Drake exhaled through his nose. “Dad, is this a suggestion or a requirement?”

Ricardo laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “You’re not getting any younger. I’m not opposed to whoever you choose, but I want you to end up with someone who’s truly right for you. Someone who will care for you, where money isn’t the only thing holding it together. You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

“We’ll see, Dad. Thanks for the advice. I’ll keep it in mind. Take care.”

Drake turned to head toward the exit, already reaching for his phone. That was when he saw them. Drevin striding across the lobby in a sharp navy suit, briefcase in hand, and beside him, Naime.

She wore a tailored black blazer over a cream blouse, pencil skirt hugging her hips, heels clicking softly against the marble. Her hair was pulled into a sleek low bun, exposing the graceful line of her neck. Professional, composed, nothing like the woman who had come undone beneath him only hours ago.

Drevin spotted him first. “Hey, bro! How’s the date going?”

Drake and Naime locked eyes. For a split second, the air between them crackled with shared memory—his hands on her waist, her breath against his throat, the sticky note still warm in his pocket.

“It went well, bro,” Drake answered, keeping his voice even. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, we’re meeting some clients. You know I’ve still got work to do.”

Drake felt a quiet swell of pride. Drevin had carved his own path in consulting instead of stepping straight into the family’s appliance empire or the food factory or the beer imports. All four siblings had, in their own ways.

“I see,” Drake said, his gaze sliding back to Naime.

Drevin grinned. “Bro, meet my beautiful personal secretary, Naime. Naime, this is my brother, Drake Sy.”

She inclined her head with perfect politeness. “Nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Nice to meet you too.” A faint, private smile tugged at the corner of Drake’s mouth.

“See you around, bro,” Drevin said, already turning. “We need to head out.”

“Sure. Take care.”

They walked away, Naime’s posture straight, steps measured. Drake watched until they disappeared around the corner. Then he pulled out his phone, opened his contacts, and scrolled to the new number he’d added that morning.

Got’cha, he thought, thumb hovering over the screen.