The Heat of Jade

Arla-Rosa’s steps staggered as she reached the door labeled 809. Her fingers trembled as she slid the keycard through the slot. A soft click. The door opened.

She barely managed to shut it behind her before leaning against it, breathing heavily. Her vision spun, her skin burned, and her heart galloped like a wild horse. A strange fire roared through her blood, coiling through her veins with merciless intensity.

She didn’t know what was happening, only that she needed… something. Or someone. Then she saw him. A tall figure emerged from the shadows near the closet. Duke Fleming stepped into the dim light, his face tight with restrained fury and deeper, something that unsettled him.

“Arla,” he said, reaching her in two strides. His hands braced her arms. “You’ve been drugged. That bastard....” “Duke…” Her voice was small, and strained. She looked up at him with glassy eyes full of confusion and heat. “Why… are you here? Why do you look so… good?”

“Damn it,” he muttered. Her pupils were dilated, and her skin was burning up. She was swaying toward him like he was the only stable thing in a spinning world. He knew the symptoms. Not just any sedative, it was a potent mixture laced with a rare aphrodisiac strain. If not neutralized or burned through safely, it could cook the mind. Leave her empty. Brain-dead.

He had come to protect her and had not expected this. “Arla,” he said again, more firmly. “You need to lie down. You’re not thinking clearly.” But she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered, “Don’t leave me. Please. I… I feel like I’ll shatter.” Her lips found his jaw, trembling. Her touch was clumsy, and innocent even in its desperation.

He clenched his fists, battling his own rising heat. “You don’t know what you’re doing.” “I do,” she said, brushing her lips over his, “I want you.” She kissed him. And he shattered.

Just a taste, and he was undone. The drug's effect wasn’t limited to her. Her lips, infused with that infernal toxin, passed it to him like wildfire. Desire, raw and scorching, surged into his veins, threatening his iron self-control.

He tried to pull away but ultimately failed. Instead, he crushed her against him, devouring her mouth with his own. Her whimpers only fueled the flames. His coat dropped. Her dress was a whisper of silk. Buttons scattered. Lips bruised. Breathless kisses. It was chaos. Heat. Need. Fire licking skin.

They lost themselves in each other,no schemes, no heirs, no titles, just two bodies, burning until there was nothing left to burn. When the room fell into silence, their breaths were the only music left. Arla-Rosa fell asleep in his arms, curled like a kitten, soft and flushed.

Duke stared at the ceiling, one arm tucked behind his head. He hadn’t planned this. He hadn’t wanted it. But gods… he hadn’t regretted it either. He exhaled slowly and shifted carefully from beneath her.

Elsewhere, in a luxurious suite on the tenth floor, Seth Robinson smirked as he lay tangled with Aretha, sheets rumpled around their naked limbs. “Well,” Aretha purred, tracing lazy circles on his chest, “your little virgin fiancee should be having the night of her life.” Seth laughed. “If she even remembers it in the morning.”

“She won’t,” Aretha said confidently. “Those thugs are professionals. Paid extra to film it all. Once the footage leaks, she’ll be disgraced, and you’ll be free.” He reached over to pour another glass of wine. “Perfect. I marry her, get the dowry rights to the Hernandez fund shares, and then we ‘divorce’ after a scandal. I end up with everything.” Aretha leaned in to kiss him. “And me?” “You get me, babe. The man behind the empire.” They clinked glasses and toasted to their perfect crime.

Back in Room 809, dawn had barely tinted the sky when Duke slipped out of bed. He stood beside the sleeping Arla-Rosa for a long moment. She looked peaceful now, no trace of the agony from hours earlier. He ran a thumb lightly across her cheekbone. He shouldn't have touched her. But he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

A strange pang bloomed in his chest. One that was both foreign and familiar. Guilt and protectiveness tangled like vines. From his coat pocket, he pulled a delicate jade pendant. Oval-shaped, smooth as moonlight, with a faintly glowing phoenix etched at its center. It had belonged to his great-grandmother, the duchess who had once led her troops into battle with a blade in one hand and this jade hanging from her neck.

No Fleming heir had ever parted with it. Until now. He fastened the chain around Arla-Rosa’s neck and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “You probably won’t understand this right away,” he murmured, “but I’m not giving this to you just as a token of last night.” He looked down at her again. “This is a promise. I’ll come back before breakfast. And I’ll take responsibility.”

He smiled faintly, then turned toward the door. The moment he stepped into the hallway, his smile vanished. The Duke was back. He had a plan to dismantle. And enemies to destroy. He made it his mission to unravel the mastermind behind Arla-Rosa's drugging and those thugs would spill it all, if he exerted enough pressure. With determination, he made his way to the underground casino where his assistant took the bastards.