"Sis."
Olivia Morgan, dressed in a white dress and wearing a sweet smile, handed over a glass of milk. Her eyes glimmered with concern. "It's warm—drink this and try to get some rest."
Sophia Morgan smiled faintly at her younger sister, taking the glass without a second thought. She drank it down in one go. "You've been running around with me all day. You should rest too."
Olivia's smile deepened as she watched her. "I'm not tired. After all, today was my engagement party with Ethan. Of course I should be busy."
"What?" Sophia blinked, her head suddenly dizzy. Had she heard that right? Did Olivia just say her engagement party with Ethan?
But… wasn't today supposed to be Sophia's engagement party with Ethan?
Sophia pinched her palm with her nails, trying to force herself awake. "Olivia, you—"
"Don't call me Olivia!" The gentle smile on Olivia's face twisted into pure disgust. "You're just an illegitimate child. You're not worthy of calling yourself my sister!"
Sophia stared blankly at her. This was the same girl she had adored and protected since childhood, the one who had always followed her around calling her 'sister.' And now she was sneering at her, saying she wasn't worthy?
The absurdity of it nearly made Sophia laugh. "So… all this time, you were just pretending?"
Olivia curled her lips into a smirk. "Exactly. I had to act like I cared about you—call you 'sister,' act all close—because Dad said so. But you really thought it was real?"
Her tone dripped with venom. "Ever wonder why Dad brought you back home in the first place?"
Sophia didn't answer. She couldn't. Her mind was clouded, her limbs heavy—just staying upright was already a struggle.
Olivia leaned in, her beautiful face twisted with jealousy. "It's because of your face."
Her gaze turned hateful as she looked at Sophia's flawless features. For years, Sophia had been pampered like a delicate rose. But that was about to end.
"Mr. Mars—the man our family's been doing business with—has had his eye on you. He offered Dad a very generous deal in exchange for your first night. And guess what? Dad agreed."
Sophia's face drained of all color. For a business deal? Her own father—the man who had always treated her with such kindness—was selling her to some older man?
And not just any man, but one notorious in high society for his violent, sadistic tastes?
Her chest tightened, her vision spun, and she stumbled before collapsing onto the plush carpet.
The strange weakness spreading through her body made it all click. Sophia bit down hard on her lip, desperate to stay conscious. "You drugged the milk."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement.
Olivia didn't even bother denying it. "Of course I did. I slipped in a whole packet. By the time Mr. Mars gets here, you'll be too far gone to resist. You'll… enjoy it."
Her tone was almost sing-song, the words vile enough to make Sophia's stomach turn. This was the sister she had loved and trusted?
"Olivia, Mr. Mars is on his way," a tall figure announced as he stepped into the room.
Sophia's gaze snapped upward—Ethan Trump. Her fiancé.
Yet at this moment, he wrapped his arm around Olivia's waist without the slightest hesitation.
Olivia leaned into him, her eyes flashing with open provocation as she looked back at Sophia. "Oh, did I forget to mention? Ethan was always mine. "
She tilted her chin proudly. "Ethan being with you was nothing but a game."
There was no trace of the warmth Ethan once showed. The way he looked at Sophia was as if she were nothing but trash.
"That's right. The only one I love is Olivia. And you? A bastard like you has no place in the Trump family."
Sophia felt as though a gaping hole had torn open in her chest. Her voice cracked. "So… you were part of this tonight too?"
Ethan nodded without hesitation. "Yes."
After tonight, Sophia would be branded as Mr. Mars's woman. No one outside would ever know the truth. The story had already been written: Sophia Morgan, reckless and shameless, sneaking into another man's bed on her engagement night. She'd be caught red-handed. And when the scandal exploded, the Morgans and the Trumps—eager to protect their wealth and reputation—would let Olivia, the polished, elegant daughter, step in and take her place in the marriage alliance.
A bitter smile tugged at Sophia's lips. Sophia, you really were blind—living in this den of wolves all these years and never seeing their true faces.
"Let's go, Ethan," Olivia said coolly, not even sparing her another glance.
"Alright," Ethan replied gently, his tone soft only for her.
He took her hand and started walking away. But after a few steps, Olivia turned back. She crouched down beside Sophia, smiling sweetly, and whispered:
"Oh, one more thing I forgot to tell you. Your dear mother? She didn't die of a sudden heart attack."
Her smile sharpened, her voice low and venomous. "She was poisoned—by our father."
With that, Olivia rose gracefully and walked out, leaving Sophia on the floor, her hand reaching helplessly for nothing but air.
Her chest heaved violently. Shock. Disbelief. And finally—a burning hatred.
Andrew Morgan. That hypocritical monster had murdered her mother. He was nothing less than a killer.
Sophia tried to stand, but the drug in her veins sent waves of heat crawling through her body. A broken moan slipped past her lips. "N-no…"
She couldn't let them win. Not like this.
Digging her nails so deep into her palm that blood pricked the surface, Sophia forced herself into a moment of clarity through the pain.
Shaking, she dragged herself to the window. As she pushed it open, the night wind roared inside, whipping her long hair across her face.
A conversation could be heard outside the room:
"The girl I ordered—she's inside?"
"Yes, sir. She's been drugged. She won't disappoint you."
Sophia's heart clenched. She stared down at the dizzying drop below. Think, Sophia. Think.
And then she remembered the news she'd overheard earlier: a powerful, untouchable elite had taken the penthouse suite at the top of this tower.
If she could reach him, if she could get into that sanctuary, even these devils wouldn't dare create a scene in front of him.
Her eyes darted over the ledge. Between the floors, there was only one narrow platform she could possibly use to climb across.
The howling wind slapped her cheeks, jolting her closer to full awareness. One slip, and she'd shatter into pieces on the pavement far below.
But after two seconds of brutal calculation, Sophia made her choice. She hauled her body over the windowsill, clinging to the edge with trembling hands.
She would carve out her own way—or die trying.
And for once, it felt like the heavens hadn't completely abandoned her…
...
The room was pitch black when Lucas Hilton caught a faint sound coming from the balcony. His cold, sharp eyes shifted, expression unreadable.
A drone? Someone spying on me?
His gaze flicked toward the wheelchair parked by the balcony doors. His recovery was still a secret—no one could know he could walk again. Quietly, he slipped out of bed, pulling on his robe, and crossed the floor with light, controlled steps until he lowered himself into the chair.
The moment he settled into it, a figure leapt onto his balcony.
Bathed in silver moonlight, the girl looked like a fragile mermaid washed ashore—so breathtakingly delicate that it made the air catch in his lungs.
For the first time, a faint ripple stirred in Lucas's otherwise placid gaze. His voice was cool, detached.
"Who are you?"
The low, magnetic timbre of his words snapped Sophia back to herself. She let out a weak gasp. "Help… me."
Lucas didn't catch the whisper. He rolled closer, eyes narrowing.
Her face was flushed, beads of sweat dotting her forehead. Heat consumed her, her body crying out for anything cool to anchor her.
Her trembling hand reached for the metal frame of the wheelchair—but instead closed around the belt of Lucas's robe.
The knot gave way. The robe slipped open. Hard muscle, sculpted abs, the deep cut of his V-line—everything was suddenly revealed.
Lucas's jaw tightened, his face darkening instantly. But before he could react, a soft, fevered body collapsed against his.
"Please… save me…"
Her burning breath fanned across his neck, sending a jolt through his rigid frame. His gaze, sharp as a blade, locked onto her face.
"And how," he murmured, voice low and dangerous, "exactly do you want me to save you?"
Sophia shifted restlessly in his lap, the drug burning away the last of her reason. The only words left on her lips were the same broken plea. "Save me…"
His large hand clamped around her slender waist, pulling her closer. A warning rumbled from his throat.
"Don't regret this."
And then his mouth crushed against her flushed lips.
Moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains, spilling across the balcony in a hazy glow.
In the dim light, Sophia straddled Lucas's lap, her soft lips parting, tongue tracing along the line of his throat as if she were desperate to drink in his coolness.
She was burning up—too hot, unbearably hot.
Lucas was not a man who easily lost control. But the woman in his arms writhed like a siren, her body moving against him with shameless insistence. Her curves ground against the hard length straining beneath his robe, her tongue teasing his neck like a serpent's flicker. Heat coiled low in his body until restraint began to splinter.
Sophia shifted, wide-eyed and dazed, her voice tremulous yet innocent. "What… what's that hard thing pressing against me?"
Her small hand slid downward, curious and reckless, until her fingers brushed the rigid evidence of his arousal.
A fevered whisper thundered through her mind: Take it… it's the cure. Once you take it, the fire will go away.
Lucas's jaw clenched, veins standing out on his forehead. The last of his patience snapped. With a rough pull, he tore the delicate fabric of her dress, burying his face against her heaving chest.
Sophia didn't shrink back. With trembling urgency, she hooked her fingers under the edge of her panties and pushed them aside. Slick heat coated her thighs, her body more than ready, and when she shifted, his length slid against her damp skin, wetting him instantly.
Her hips lifted, aligning herself with him. In the same heartbeat, she sank down as he thrust upward, their bodies colliding in a raw, desperate union.
"Ah—" Her moan was breathy, broken with pleasure.
"Damn—" His groan was dark and guttural.
Though it was her first time, the drug flooding her system and the natural wetness of her body dulled the pain, leaving only a dizzying wave of pleasure that made her scalp tingle.
Knowing he was supposed to be bound to a chair, Sophia took control—rocking her hips, driving him deeper, her voice trembling with every thrust. But each time she tried to pull away, his strong hands gripped her waist, forcing her back down onto him. Slowly, inexorably, he took over.
She clung to his neck, her cries spilling between gasps. "Ah— I… it feels so good—"
With a sudden motion, Lucas rose from the wheelchair, lifting her effortlessly. Desire burned through the revelation—his strength had never left him. Carrying her across the room, he didn't stop, each step punctuated by another deep thrust.
By the time her back hit the bed, Sophia was lost in him, too far gone to realize the battlefield had shifted. Only when he pressed her down and claimed her lips in a punishing kiss did a flicker of clarity pierce her daze—he was supposed to need a chair, yet here he was, holding her as if she weighed nothing.
Lucas caught her chin, refusing to let her drift, his mouth devouring hers as their bodies moved in relentless rhythm.
And when he drove into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt, heat spilled deep inside her, searing, claiming. But even then, he didn't relent. He turned her over, pressing her onto her knees, taking her again—harder, deeper, over and over…