What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger novel Chapter 62

The hotel's grand ballroom buzzed with my father's business associates, all gathered for my birthday celebration.

After countless toasts and social niceties, my feet aching in their Louboutins, I snuck away to the quiet sanctuary of my suite.

I'd barely sunk into the plush bed when I heard movement in the ensuite bathroom. My heart jumped.

"Hello?"

Silence. Curiosity overcame caution as I approached the door.

Suddenly, I was pulled inside, a startled gasp dying on my lips as I found myself pressed against cool marble by a very wet, very masculine form.

His eyes, fighting to focus, studied my face intently before he breathed out my name. "Aveline Blackwood?"

I managed a small nod, hypnotized by the droplets trailing down his sharp jawline.

He released his grip only to sway against me, his expensive suit soaked through.

"What a coincidence," he murmured, his accent a cultured blend of British and something else. "I'm your arranged fiancé. Mind doing me a favor?"

"I... what?" I caught myself. "How do I know you're really...?"

A low chuckle warmed my neck. "Cautious. Good. Check my wallet, phone - verify with anyone you like."

I steadied him enough to retrieve his wallet. The ID confirmed it - Alexander Sterling, my mysterious husband-to-be.

"Are you ill?" I studied him properly now - tall, elegant features, pale skin that spoke of good breeding. If he wasn't nearly passing out, I'd barely reach his chin.

"Drugged," he managed. "Business... rivals."

"What?"

My step toward the door halted as his long fingers circled my wrist. In one fluid motion, he pulled me toward the bed.

"Too late to run," he murmured, tumbling us both onto bed.