The Billionaire's Second Option

Henrietta’s POV

*"I don't love you."*  

Those four words shattered everything I thought I knew about love, about loyalty—about Jason.  

I could still see it, the way his lips curled as he said it. The way he didn’t even look guilty as I stood there, frozen, watching him tangle himself around another woman like I never existed. My heart had pounded so hard that night I thought it would explode. But nothing hurt more than the way he dismissed me, like I was just another inconvenience in his life.  

*"I don’t love you."*  

Even now, standing behind the bar, pouring drinks for men who probably didn’t love the women waiting for them at home, those words clung to my skin like a bad omen.  

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to be spending my nights in a dimly lit bar, serving overpriced liquor to men who looked at me like I was something to consume. I wasn’t supposed to be exhausted every night, smelling like whiskey and smoke, my feet aching from hours of standing.  

But life didn’t care about what was supposed to be.  

Liam needed surgery. That was the only thing that mattered.  

I adjusted the loose sleeves of my worn-out uniform, feeling the fabric slide against my tired skin. The bar was packed tonight, as it always was. Laughter mixed with the low hum of music, the clinking of glasses echoing through the air. Some men leaned against the counter, flashing charming smiles, hoping to get something more than just a drink. Others sat in dark corners, drowning themselves in liquor, lost in their own regrets.  

“Whiskey. Straight,” a deep voice said.  

I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.  

He was a regular. The type of man who never said much but tipped well. He always came in with his bodyguards, always ordered the same thing, and always left before the night got too wild.  

But tonight was different.  

Instead of waiting for his drink at the bar, one of his bodyguards stepped forward. “My boss would like his drink delivered to his room,” he said.  

I hesitated.  

I had never been inside the VIP rooms. They were off-limits to bartenders, and for good reason. Women went in and rarely came out looking the same. Some left giggling, fixing their skirts. Others left looking like they’d lost something they’d never get back.  

“I—”  

“He’s willing to tip extra,” the bodyguard added, cutting off whatever excuse I was about to make.  

Tip.  

That one word sealed my fate.  

I needed the money. Liam’s surgery wasn’t going to pay for itself.  

Swallowing hard, I grabbed a tray and poured the whiskey, my fingers gripping the glass tighter than necessary. My heart pounded as I stepped out from behind the counter and made my way toward the private suites. The farther I walked, the quieter it got. The music faded into a low hum, the voices turning into distant murmurs.  

Each step felt heavier than the last. The corridor stretched endlessly before me, dimly lit by golden sconces casting eerie shadows on the walls. My throat tightened, a prickle of unease creeping up my spine.  

I stopped in front of Room 306. My fingers curled into the tray as I stared at the number on the door.  

Something about this felt wrong.  

I swallowed hard, raising my fist to knock.  

Before I could, the door creaked open slightly.  

A shiver ran down my spine.  

"Hello?" I called softly, peering into the darkness beyond.  

Silence.  

The air inside the room felt thick, suffocating. I couldn't see much past the doorway—only the faint outline of furniture in the dim lighting. My pulse hammered against my ribs as I shifted the tray to one hand and stepped forward.  

That was when it happened.  

A strong arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me backward.  

A sharp gasp tore from my lips, but before I could scream, something was pressed against my face.  

A cloth.  

A sickly-sweet scent flooded my nose, thick and overpowering.  

No. No. No.  

I struggled, kicking wildly, my tray slipping from my grasp. It crashed to the ground, the sound of shattering glass splitting the silence like a gunshot. My nails dug into the arm holding me, but my strength was fading, my movements growing sluggish.  

The hallway blurred, the walls stretching and shifting like a dream I couldn't escape. My head felt too heavy for my body, my limbs weak and unresponsive.  

I fought to stay awake.  

I fought to breathe.  

The last thing I heard was my own heartbeat, pounding frantically against my ribs.  

Then—nothing.  

---  

Pain.  

It was the first thing I felt when I woke up. A dull, throbbing pain in my head, like someone had cracked it open and left it to bleed.  

I groaned, my fingers digging into soft fabric. My body felt heavy, my thoughts sluggish. I tried to sit up, but the room spun, making my stomach churn.  

Where am I?  

The air smelled different—rich, expensive. Not like the bar, where the scent of alcohol and cigarettes clung to everything.  

I forced my eyes open, blinking against the dim light filtering through thick curtains. The room was unfamiliar. Large. Luxurious. Satin sheets covered the bed I was lying on, and the air was thick with the scent of musk and something else—something I didn’t recognize.  

Panic gripped my chest.  

I wasn’t in my bed. I wasn’t in my apartment.  

Memories flooded back in pieces—the bodyguard, the drink, the hallway, the arm around my waist.  

I sucked in a shaky breath and turned my head. That was when I saw him.  

A man.  

Lying beside me.  

Shirtless.  

I froze, my pulse skyrocketing. His dark hair was messy from sleep, his breathing deep and steady. The sheets were tangled around his waist, his bare chest rising and falling with each breath.  

Oh, God.  

My fingers trembled as I pulled the sheets closer to me, my stomach twisting painfully. The soreness in my body, the strange heat lingering on my skin—it all pointed to the same horrifying truth.  

I slept with him.  

A stranger.  

My breathing turned shallow, panic setting in like a wildfire spreading through my veins. I wanted to scream, to run, to erase whatever had happened between us. But my body refused to move.  

What had I done?  

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying that when I opened them, this would all be some twisted nightmare.  

But when I opened them, nothi

ng had changed.  

The weight of reality crashed down on me, suffocating and unrelenting.  

*"Christ. I just slept with a stranger!"*