The lover of Antoine Bourdeu

When Elena Harvey opened her eyes in a hotel suite, the very first thing that met her eyes was the man stretched out beside her. He was absurdly hot.

A look of embarrassment crossed her face, mixed with something much harder to name.

At the gathering the night before, she had only taken a few sips before sensing that something was terribly off. She had gotten away as quickly as she could, light-headed and losing strength with each step, until she somehow ended up on one of the guest-room levels. One of the doors had been left a crack open, and in her muddled state, she had stumbled inside.

A tall, striking man had come into view.

"Leave."

Those were the first words he had said to her—icy, curt, and clearly laced with anger.

But then, she had felt far too terrible to think clearly about anything. The only thing that had stayed with her was how striking he was—and how, despite the frost in him, she had still been unable to resist drifting closer, wanting to lean into him...

Elena drew her brows together and forced the memory to stop before it went any further.

The man at her side stirred all at once. Her heart gave a violent jolt. She yanked herself back to the moment and fixed her gaze on his beautifully chiseled face, a thread of unease passing over her features.

Several seconds slipped by. Luckily, he stayed asleep.

Only then did she release a soft breath of relief. As carefully as possible, she eased herself out from beneath the blanket, rose from the bed, and ignored the ache running through her body as she hurriedly collected the clothes lying all over the floor.

She had to admit, slipping off without a word after a night together wasn't quite fair.

After getting dressed, Elena remained beside the bed and looked at the man still sleeping there. He truly was outrageously hot. She had seen many good-looking men in her life, but never one who had struck her so sharply at first sight.

There was only one issue—he hadn't been gentle in bed.

A few broken fragments from the night before suddenly flickered through her mind. Warmth rushed straight to her face, and she shut the thought down at once.

After hesitating briefly, she pulled a check from her bag and laid it softly on the bedside table. Then, still feeling as though that was not enough, she found a pen, wrote a short note, and placed it next to the check.

Only after that did she turn and walk away.

The moment she stepped into the elevator, her phone started ringing. She pulled it out and answered. "Hello."

"Uh... what happened to you?" the woman on the other end asked right away, sharp as ever. "Why do you sound utterly drained early in the morning?"

Elena cleared her throat softly and lowered her voice. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"You didn't sleep well? Why?"

"It's nothing." Elena rubbed the bridge of her nose, obviously not wanting to linger on that topic. "Why are you even calling me now?"

"Oh, right. Henry Watson's men showed up at the gallery again. They said they were willing to pay ten times your painting's listed value. Are you planning to think it over again?"

Elena gave no reply right away.

As though terrified she would reject it, the woman quickly kept going. "Sweetheart, do you have any idea who Henry Watson is? He's the one in charge of Genesis Group. That man has power, a vicious streak, and the kind of reputation no one dares challenge. The moment his people walked in, I could tell—he wanted that painting badly. I already turned him down once. If I say no again… I really think my life might be in danger."

People said Henry had taken hold of his family at sixteen and forced the family's internal feud into submission. By the age of eighteen, he was already the true power controlling Genesis from behind the scenes. Now, at only twenty-six, he had driven the company's market value up several times over. His ascent had been so rapid and ruthless that it had turned him into an almost legendary figure in the business world.

No one outside the people closest to him knew what he really looked like, yet the stories surrounding him had never once died down.

After thinking for a brief moment, Elena said yes. "Fine, let him have it."

That painting had been prepared in the first place as a present for the Barnes family. There was no point in that now.

That family had always looked down on her for being ordinary. They'd never meant to keep their promise to her father, either. And Elena? She had no interest in marrying some spoiled rich kid from that family.

The woman on the other end breathed out deeply in relief, her excitement nearly spilling over. "Perfect. Once the sale is completed, I'll send the money over to you."

"You don't need to ask for ten times the price," Elena said. "The original amount is enough."

The woman let out a laugh. "I know. Even if he really was willing to pay that much, I still wouldn't be brave enough to accept it."

Because it was Saturday, Elena's roommates were all gone.

The instant she returned to her dorm at Bramville University, she hurried into the bathroom. She kept her eyes nearly closed through most of the shower, refusing to examine her body too carefully.

Once dressed, she sat down at her desk and quickly broke into the hotel's surveillance system.

As it turned out, the camera inside the private room where the party had taken place had failed the night before and captured nothing whatsoever.

Elena never trusted coincidences that fell into place so cleanly. After reflecting for a moment, her delicate fingers returned to the keyboard. A few minutes later, she stilled. Her gaze, pinned to the screen, went ice-cold.

So the one pulling the strings was exactly who she'd thought it was.

After a short pause, Elena brought up the surveillance from the hotel corridor outside the guest rooms. As she watched herself enter a suite, her brows drew together faintly, but she left the recording intact. The check she had left carried her signature. Deleting the video now would only make the matter look even more suspicious.

She wasn't trying to avoid what had happened. She had only bolted because the entire situation had been painfully embarrassing. If that man was displeased with how she had dealt with it, they could discuss it.

Even so, she hoped he would take the check and leave the matter buried.

Back in the hotel suite, Henry stood beside the bed, looking down at the note in his hand, his eyes impossible to read.

"I'm sorry. I was set up last night. Thank you for helping me. Here's a check. Let's pretend none of this happened."

His face turned frigid. He clenched the note in his fist, then looked at the check, his expression growing even darker.

If the toxin in his body hadn't surged so abruptly and stripped away his self-control, he would never have ended up sleeping with that woman.

She had slept with him, then left as though it meant absolutely nothing—and to make it worse, she had actually dared to leave him a check, as if he were someone she could toss money at and dismiss. The nerve.

He hurled the crushed note aside. As he reached for his phone to call his assistant, his eyes landed on a streak of blood on the bedsheet.

An hour later, Henry's assistant, Ashton Campbell, walked up to him with obvious care. "We've located her."

Henry sat on the sofa with his eyes shut, his striking features hard as carved stone. Even without saying a word, he carried the sort of crushing authority that made people lower their voices without thinking. "Speak."

"Her name is Elena Watson. She's twenty years old, a junior in the computer science department at Bramville University. Top grades. Not well-off. Her father is dead, and her mother remarried. She's living alone in Bramville for college now, and she attended last night's gathering with her classmates."

Ashton hesitated, then went on, "Going by the surveillance footage, she really was out of it at the time. Your door hadn't fully shut, and she wandered in by mistake."

"Not well-off?" Henry opened his eyes at once, doubt flashing through them. "Then what's with the check?"

A seven-figure check was nothing in his eyes, but for an ordinary college student, it was hardly a trivial sum.

"There's a story going around the campus," Ashton said cautiously. "Apparently, her father once did a wealthy family a favor. Before he passed away, he placed his daughter in their care and hoped she would marry into that family. They turned it down, but it seems they gave her a sum of money instead."

Henry turned his gaze to the check on the coffee table, his eyes narrowing a fraction. His face gave away nothing, making it impossible to guess what was on his mind.

Ashton looked at the check. For a man like Henry Watson, that amount was practically pocket change. After spending the night with him, she still had the audacity to slight him like this. She was done for.

"Mr. Watson, should I go to that university and bring her here?"

After a short silence, Henry said, "Not at the school. Bring her to Hartwell Mansion."

"Yes, sir." Then Ashton recalled something else. "Also, sir, the gallery owner agreed to sell Drift's painting. Would you like it delivered to Hartwell or the family estate?"

The mention of the painting he had wanted eased Henry's expression a little. "Send it to the Hartwell. Go in person. Have it framed and put up in the sitting room."

Ashton gave a nod. "Understood. I'll take care of it immediately."