The CEO's Dept: One Night with the Merciless Emperor

The rain in Celios had been relentless for three days, washing over the neon-lit skyscrapers like a shroud. Inside the gilded corridors of the Lavetric Hotel, the air was thick with the scent of expensive lilies and the underlying stench of menace.

Gabrielle Daniels stumbled against the velvet-lined wall, her breath coming in shallow, jagged gasps. Her vision blurred, the gold-leafed wallpaper swirling into a nauseating vortex. She could feel a terrifying heat radiating from her core — a fire that didn't belong to her.

That tea.

Her stepmother, Baraneil Smith, had been unusually kind that evening. "Drink this, Elle. It's for your nerves. Your father's debt is a heavy burden for a girl your age."

Gabrielle had been a fool to trust her. Now she knew exactly what "paying the debt" meant.

She was the currency.

"Where is she? Find her! President Brute is losing his patience!"

The voice of her stepmother's hired thugs echoed from the end of the hallway. The heavy thud of leather shoes on the carpet sent a jolt of adrenaline through Gabrielle's veins, momentarily clearing the drug-induced fog. She couldn't go back. President Brute was a sixty-year-old man known for his appetite for young women. If she fell into his hands tonight, she would be doomed.

She pushed off the wall, her legs feeling like lead. She needed somewhere to hide. Any door. Any lock.

She reached for the handle of Room 882. Locked. Room 884. Locked. Room 886. Locked.

The footsteps grew louder. "I think she went that way! Check the suites!"

Desperation clawed at her throat as her hand landed on the heavy handle at the end of the corridor: Room 888. She pressed down, expecting another cold rejection. Instead, the door clicked and swung open with a silent grace. Gabrielle didn't think — she slipped inside, slammed it shut, and leaned her full weight against it as she engaged the deadbolt.

Silence.

The silence of the room was immediate and oppressive. Unlike the gaudy gold of the hallway, this suite was a sanctuary of deep charcoals, cold marble, and the sharp, clean scent of cedarwood and expensive scotch.

Then she felt it. A presence.

The air chilled, as though the temperature in the room had dropped ten degrees. Through the haze of her vision, she saw a figure silhouetted against the floor-to-ceiling window. The city lights of Celios twinkled behind him, framing a tall, broad-shouldered man in a charcoal-grey vest. He held a crystal glass, the amber liquid swirling slowly.

He didn't turn around. But his voice cut through the dark like a blade.

"I don't remember ordering a delivery."

His voice was a deep, resonant baritone, carrying a weight of authority that made Gabrielle's knees tremble. This was not a man you simply stumbled upon.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking as another wave of drugged heat surged through her — making her skin itch with a desperate, shameful need for contact. "Hide me. Just for a moment."

The man turned slowly. As the city light struck his face, Gabrielle's breath hitched. He was devastatingly handsome — sharp, angular features, a jawline carved from granite, and eyes like frozen obsidian. Eyes that had seen everything and been impressed by almost none of it.

Ethan Shore.

She recognized him. Everyone in the country knew that face. He was the Emperor of Shore Corporation, a man whose family wealth could purchase small nations. He was also a man rumoured to be as cold-blooded as he was brilliant.

Of all the rooms in this hotel, she thought wildly, I had to walk into his?

Ethan's gaze travelled slowly down the length of her. She wore a simple white silk dress, now wrinkled and damp from the rain she'd run through earlier. Her hair was a wild halo of dark curls. Her face was flushed with a deep, unnatural rose.

"Fad Daniels' daughter," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. It was not a question. He knew precisely who she was. "Did your father send you here to settle his accounts? I told him his company wasn't worth the effort of a takeover."

"No." Gabrielle took a step forward, her balance failing. She grabbed the edge of a marble side table to keep herself upright. "I was drugged. Please. They're outside."

Ethan set his glass down with a controlled clack and moved toward her. As he entered her space, the raw, masculine energy radiating from him acted like a magnet to her drugged senses. Her body screamed at her to close the distance, to press against that cold skin and extinguish the fire burning her alive.

He stopped inches from her. He was much taller than she had realized. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze, her eyes glassy with a volatile mixture of terror and the drug's treacherous warmth.

"Help me," she gasped, her hand instinctively reaching out, her fingers fluttering against the fine wool of his vest.

The moment her skin touched his, something shifted. Ethan's expression changed — just a fraction — as a dark, dangerous hunger replaced the boredom in his eyes.

He seized her wrist, his grip like a vice. His skin was ice-cold, and Gabrielle let out a weak, pathetic sound of relief at the contact.

"Help you?" he repeated, his voice dropping an octave into a low growl. "Miss Daniels. I'm no hero. I don't save for free."

Outside, a fist hammered against the door.

"Open up! Hotel Security! We have reports of a thief entering this room!"

Gabrielle froze. That wasn't security. Those were Baraneil's men. If she walked out that door, she was a lamb delivered to slaughter. She looked up at Ethan, her eyes wide and pleading, every wall she had ever built stripped down by the drug and the fear and the terrible knowledge of what waited for her in the hall.

She hated being helpless. She hated it with every fiber of who she was. And yet here she was - dependent on a stranger.

"Then name a price," she whispered. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

Ethan looked at the door. Then back at the trembling woman in his grip. A cruel, elegant smile touched the corner of his mouth. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear, his breath warm against her flushed skin.

"The price is high, Miss Daniels." His arm slid to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. "If I keep that door closed — you'd belong to me tonight. And, I might not want to share what has been mine."

The banging grew more violent. "Open this door!"

Gabrielle felt the heat in her blood crest. She reached up, her arms winding around the back of his neck, drawing him down.

"Deal," she breathed against his lips.

Ethan didn't hesitate. He kicked the deadbolt harder into place and lifted her in one fluid motion. As he carried her toward the massive bed, Gabrielle's phone tumbled from her pocket. The screen lit up on the carpet, displaying a message.

'Enjoy your night with President Brute, Elle.'

But Gabrielle was not with Brute.

She was in the arms of a man far more dangerous.

As Ethan set her on the silk sheets and began to unbutton his vest, his gaze pinned her — cold, possessive, promising ruin.

"Remember this moment, Miss Daniels," he murmured. "Tomorrow, you'll realize the devil you knew was nothing compared to the one you just invited into your bed."

There, in Room 888, the Emperor claimed his prize.

And neither of them would ever be the same.