Seductive Mr.Billionaire

3

I should’ve called off this job when I found out who I’d been tailing, who was in that house this morning. Although, it is inevitable the news of their marriage will come out sooner or later I understood why Amir Alec would want to keep it a secret. Apart from being extremely beautiful and a high achiever, Amir Alec’s new wife was quite regular, no ties to politician, except being voted to be principal for a day in secondary school, she was not a celebrity, model, actress, influencer, nor even a child of a very high profile family, in fact an orphan with no ties to any underground crime syndicates, I did not understand why Amir Alec had picked this bride. Was that perhaps the information my employer was looking for?

I watched from a distant as Sabrina Lowry paced in the parking lot while checking her phone, she looked up and scanned the perimeters looking for something and her eyes seem to have settled on the other car which was following her this morning. Attentive, she walks towards the car and I immediately took that initial thought back, not as smart — my thoughts were immediately caught off as like a scene from a movie Sabrina was quickly knocked out and stashed inside a small car by a questionable looking man. This was not good that happened so quickly, too quickly. As I rev up my engine to immediately follow the car. This was turning out to be quite an interesting day, everyone knows you don’t play with a king’s new toy.

•••

The fluorescent lights above were blinding, stabbing right into my skull with their harsh, white glare. I blinked a few times, trying to focus through the haze. Everything smelled clean, but somehow... off. Hospital? No. Not quite. But I definitely didn’t feel at home either.

A warm hand clasped over mine, gentle and sure.

“Sabrina, can you hear me?”

The voice was low, steady, and unmistakable. I turned, finding him already leaning close, his expression shadowed with worry.

“Amir?” I asked, my eyes still adjusting, slowly letting the room come into focus.

“Yes, I’m here.” He didn’t let go of my hand, his thumb moving softly over my knuckles. “How are you feeling? I’ll call the doctor.”

“I’m fine,” I murmured, attempting to sit up, more out of reflex than anything.

“No, no, you shouldn’t be moving yet.” He eased me back, his touch gentle but firm. “You took a pretty hard hit to the head.”

With a quick press of a button, he summoned the doctor, who arrived promptly and ran through a series of checks. Amir stayed silent, watching me carefully, barely moving a muscle until he was certain I’d passed the doctor’s questions without any signs of lasting damage. Only when the doctor left did he exhale, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly.

“Sabrina, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice heavy, almost breaking. “If I’d thought for a second that news of… us would get out this fast, I would’ve taken precautions. I would’ve done more to keep you safe.”

I shook my head, reaching up to touch his hand, still resting over mine. “Amir, you couldn’t have known. It’s not your fault.”

He gave a small, rueful smile. “Don’t try to make me feel better. I know the risks of being who I am. And by being with me, you took those risks too. It’s on me that you were put in danger.”

“Amir, he didn’t even know about us,” I whispered. “Not until I told him. He had no idea.”

His brows drew together, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. “Are you sure? He might’ve been playing you, waiting for you to confirm it.”

I shook my head slowly, memories flooding back. “It didn’t seem that way. He was genuinely confused. Panicked, even. What happened after I passed out? Is he… is he hurt?”

A shadow darkened his eyes. “When I saw the car, my men blocked the road. I think they got a little… overzealous.” He looked down. “But none of that matters now. What matters is that you’re here, safe.”

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, his hand still firmly wrapped around mine. The warmth of his touch was comforting, grounding.

“But what about him? That man didn’t seem like he knew what he was doing. He looked terrified, Amir,” I murmured. “I don’t think he’s the mastermind here. Please, don’t… don’t hurt him. Let the police handle it.”

Amir’s jaw clenched, and he gently pulled his hand back, his other hand curling into a fist. He took a long, steadying breath before nodding, his expression softening just a bit. “Alright,” he said finally, looking down at me. “If that’s what you want… I should’ve expected as much from you. I married a woman with a heart bigger than my own.” His lips curved into a small smile, and I felt myself smile back, faint but real.

“Where am I?” I asked, looking around.

“In one of my safe houses just outside the city, don’t worry, you’re getting the best care here, I promise.” He says and I don’t doubt that I think looking around the large expanse of the room, with the arm chair next to the bed, there is a television opposite the bed and in front of it is a large cloud sofa just adjacent to a big fridge. The floor is covered in a plush rug that makes me just want to run my feet through it to feel the softness and place my face against the coldness if the floor to ceiling glass windows which knowing Amir are probably bulletproof.

“Hey, what time is it? Can I still make it to the show if I drive out now?” I ask.

He looks back at me incredulously and sternly says, “You shouldn’t bother yourself about that, it’s all taken care of, just focus on resting.” He comes close touching something on my I.V, “ the doctor says you need rest, you’ve been pulling all-nighters working I know you want to see the result, I know what it means to you, but I’m sorry, you need to recover so just focus only on that for now and don’t think of anything else. Everything is fine now.”

“Amir…” I start but I can’t remember the rest of the sentence, my eyes are heavy, as I feel so weightless and sleepy.

“I’m here,” I hear him say before I’m asleep.

•••

I’m in this weird half-asleep limbo, drifting between dreams and reality, and then the screams pierce through the fog like a horror movie soundtrack. It's like my body is having a tug-of-war with my mind. My brain’s screaming, “Wake up! This is bad!” while my body is all, “Nah, we’re good here, just let me snooze a bit longer.”

But those screams are bloodcurdling—raw, visceral pain that even my sleepy self can’t ignore. Finally, I yank myself into consciousness. It takes a second for everything to click into place. Hospital. I’m in a hospital. Right, got it.

I groggily sit up, and my hand catches on the I.V. It’s like a bad relationship—one minute, it’s fine, and the next, you're pulling it out like it’s a nasty weed. My legs are wobbly, and I feel like Bambi learning to walk. I throw on one of those lovely hospital gowns—because who doesn’t want to feel both exposed and awkward?—and shuffle toward the door.

The screams are louder now, echoing in the sterile hallway. Seriously, it sounds like I’ve stumbled onto a scene straight out of a war film, the kind you watch through your fingers. I can practically hear the soundtrack of despair.

I peek outside, trying to decide whether to turn left or right. Left looks dark and shadowy, while right… well, it’s slightly less ominous but not by much. I listen intently for the next scream and make my choice.

The hallway is dimly lit, like they’re trying to set an ambiance that’s somewhere between hospital chic and horror show. I glance into the rooms I pass—each one is an i********:-worthy set piece, cold and sterile like a museum exhibit. Kudos to whoever the interior decorator was; they really nailed the “unnatural and unsettling” vibe.

The farther I walk, the more the screams claw at my nerves, hitting higher frequencies, making my skin crawl. I feel a chill, goosebumps spreading like an unwanted rash. I know who Amir is—the blood collector, they call him. The name alone sends shivers down my spine. I’ve heard the whispers, the tales of his connections to the underworld. It’s one of the reasons I hesitated about the marriage in the first place.

But rumors about torture chambers? I’d pushed those thoughts away. I mean, who wants to entertain that kind of darkness? Not me, thank you very much. But now… well, reality is a tough pill to swallow.

I find myself standing in front of the door where the sounds are coming from, heart pounding, palms sweaty. Every scream sends shivers down my spine, prickling my skin. What in the world is happening in there? A sound of metal clashing sends a jolt through me, and then a shrill scream erupts—twenty seconds of pure terror, followed by a gut-wrenching silence. I know I should turn back, but curiosity and a rush of adrenaline push me forward.

Taking a deep breath, I burst through the door like I’m crashing a party I wasn’t invited to. The sight that greets me? Not what I expected.

Three men, one of whom is Amir, my husband, the charming “blood collector” I’ve been hearing about. Lohan, his right-hand man, stands over a figure I barely recognize as the homeless guy from before. His face is a mess, almost unrecognizable, blood coating him like a bad horror flick.

Amir is sitting at an interrogation table, all calm and collected, like he’s discussing the weather instead of whatever sick game is unfolding. His white shirt is immaculate, no stains, no sweat, nothing. He looks up at me, and if he’s surprised by my dramatic entrance, he hides it well.

“Sabrina, you shouldn’t be here,” he says slowly, as if we’re discussing something mundane, like dinner plans or the latest episode of a reality show.