The Billionaire's Stubborn Genius

In the room at the Palace Hotel, the sound of running water emanated from the bathroom, and the frosted glass door faintly revealed a sturdy figure.

A man was showering, his features obscured by the dispersing water vapor. Yet, from his perfectly sculpted back forming an inverted triangle, the smooth lines of his leg muscles, his firm chest, and defined abdominal muscles, it wasn't difficult to discern his physical perfection.

His name was Jeff Howard, the president of the Howard Group. Reflecting on the events of the previous night, a smirk played upon Howard's lips. The woman had mistaken him for a "male stripper" and "utilized" him throughout the night.

Silence enveloped the room until a cell phone abruptly shattered it. The woman, still in bed, stirred awake.

An arm emerged from beneath the covers, revealing skin adorned with hickeys—marking her back, breasts, neck, and even the insides of her thighs. Signs of their passionate encounter were scattered across the bed.

With effort, she retrieved the cell phone from the bed and answered it with a weary voice, "Meet me at the entrance of the Palace Hotel to pick me up. Bring a change of clothes, and there's something else I need you to check..."

With that, she ended the call.

At that moment, the bathroom door creaked open, releasing a rush of mist. A tall figure emerged from the dissipating fog.

A man stood before her, naked. His physique, his muscles, and his generously endowed "asset" were all too apparent. Such a captivating sight caught the woman off guard, quickening her heartbeat.

Last night's fervor had prevented her from scrutinizing him closely, but now she realized he resembled the finest male stripper in all of New York.

What puzzled her most was his commanding presence and unique aura, far beyond that of a mere stripper. His countenance was strikingly handsome, as if he were a model custom-made by the gods themselves. His eyes conveyed deep affection, his lips exuded a seductive allure, and he regarded her with intense curiosity.

The memories of last night flooded Kourtney's mind, accompanied by the soreness throughout her body.

Prior to last night, she had been a virgin.

Yet, she faintly recalled how the male stripper had impatiently and roughly torn off her clothes at first, only to freeze upon seeing blood flow from her. Then, his thrusts became gentler.

His lean, firm body boasted pronounced muscular lines, and he moved with such skill, continuously altering his technique to tantalize her senses. Each thrust hit just the right spot, eliciting moans and screams of pleasure from her.

Flushed with embarrassment, Kourtney averted her gaze to the sheets, now stained with various fluids.

Twelve hours earlier...

Arriving in New York in Elijah's family car, Kourtney had been instructed by the driver to wait in the guest room for someone important.

A waiter had entered with refreshments, and after only a few sips, Kourtney realized she had been drugged. How careless of her! How could she have let her guard down so easily?

Her head spinning, three men barged into the room. Reading their intentions, Kourtney summoned her last ounce of strength to dart into the bathroom, locking the door behind her before activating the emergency alarm.

Seeing the situation escalate beyond their control, the men hastily retreated. However, the effects of the drug left Kourtney yearning for a man's touch, for sex.

Faintly hearing the waiter mention a "male stripper" in the neighboring room, Kourtney seized upon the idea like a lifeline. Bursting into the adjacent room, she coerced the man into providing her with sexual relief.

But the male stripper was too vigorous, and now her body was utterly spent.

The absurdity of it all was too much for her to bear.

Approaching the man, she withdrew a card from her pocket. "The password is six one. This is your payment."

Examining the bank card in his hand, the man smiled wryly. "Miss Kourtney Elijah, what exactly are you implying?"

Kourtney eyed him with hostility. "How do you know my name?"

She was certain she hadn't disclosed her identity to him earlier.

Closing the distance between them, she pressed him against the wall. "You better tell me the truth!"

Calmly, the man responded, "While you were asleep, someone knocked on the door asking for Miss Kourtney Elijah. I presume it was meant for you."

She stared him down. "What did you say?"

"I told them I hadn't seen her," he replied evenly.

She continued to scrutinize him, ensuring he wasn't deceiving her.

"Get dressed. Today was an accident, and there's a million on that card as your payment," Kourtney instructed. "Keep your mouth shut and don't breathe a word to anyone."

The president of the Howard Group, treated as a male stripper and threatened by a young woman. How intriguing...

Had it not been for the blood on the sheets, he might have mistaken her for the type who frequently entertained male strippers.

Yet, her demeanor was anything but casual.

Even amidst the haze induced by the drugs, their lovemaking had been strangely intimate.

The man remarked, "It appears you were quite pleased with my services last night. I'll uphold my professional ethics and maintain discretion. Shall I have the honor of serving you again, my countess? That's what you requested last night."

"Shut up!" Kourtney snapped, slipping into a bathrobe without another glance at him, and headed for the door.

As Kourtney vanished from the room, the man's phone rang.

After listening to the message, a smile crept onto his face. "I'll be seeing you soon!"