Lost Heiress Tempts Comatose Billionaire

Nora's POV

The VIP room at Vibe was a goddamn black hole when I shoved the door open. The text had been clear: Room 7, midnight.

“Hello?” I whispered, squinting into the suffocating darkness.

A tall shadow shifted on the couch across the room. Even in the pitch black, I could clock those broad shoulders, that commanding vibe. My breath hitched. Holy shit, he’s here. He actually showed up.

Before I could get another word out, the figure rose and closed the distance in three powerful strides. Strong hands clamped onto my waist, yanking me against a rock-hard chest.

“I need you. Now,” a deep, gravelly voice growled, sending a shiver straight down my spine to pool between my thighs.

His voice hit different—rougher, more primal than I remembered—but fuck, I didn’t give a damn. After months of this hot-and-cold bullshit, we were finally here.

I answered by surging up on my toes, crashing my lips into his. The dress slid off, leaving me naked before him.

He steered me backward until my legs hit what felt like a bed. His mouth claimed me, exploring with a skill that ripped a moan from my throat, his hands finding every spot that made me arch into him, desperate for more.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet for me,” he rasped, voice dripping with lust as he slid two fingers inside, stretching me, making me gasp and clutch at his shoulders.

“More,” I begged, my voice a broken whisper, hips rocking against his hand. “I need you inside me.”

He didn’t make me wait. When he finally pushed into me, his thick cock filling me to the hilt, the sensation was fucking overwhelming. He was huge, stretching me in ways I hadn’t expected, each thrust raw and relentless, like he was claiming every inch of me. I didn’t know if it was the darkness or something else, but he fucked like a man possessed, each movement dripping with a desperate need.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” I moaned.

“Take it all,” he growled, his pace brutal, hips snapping against mine, the wet slap of our bodies echoing in the dark. His mouth crashed into mine when I tried to speak again, his tongue dominating mine as he fucked me harder.

I screamed into his shoulder as my orgasm ripped through me, my pussy pulsing around him, milking every last drop as he spilled inside me. He collapsed against me, our sweat-slick bodies tangled, chests heaving. I could feel the sticky warmth of him leaking out of me, a raw reminder of what we’d just done.

“Never felt anything like this,” I whispered, curling into his heat, breathing in a scent that was unfamiliar yet intoxicating as hell.

He grunted, a low, satisfied sound, his breathing slowing as exhaustion took over. I pressed a lazy kiss to what I thought was his shoulder, a stupid smile tugging at my lips as sleep dragged me under too.

Sunlight stabbed through my eyelids like a fucking knife, hauling me back to reality. The delicious ache between my thighs screamed that last night was no fucking dream.

I reached across the bed, expecting warm skin, but found only cold sheets. “Sam?” I croaked, sitting up and clutching the sheet to my chest.

The room was empty. No note. No text. Just the messy evidence of our night—crumpled sheets, the faint scent of sex, and the dried remnants of his cum on my thighs.

Was I fucking dreaming? I wondered, until the soreness hit me again. Hell no, that was real.

“Sam?” I called louder, my voice bouncing off the empty walls. He fucking left. Again. Why the hell did I think this time would be different?

I grabbed my phone from my discarded purse, fingers hovering before typing: “Why the fuck did you leave without a word?”

Message delivered. No reply. Five minutes turned to ten. Nothing. I gave up, dragging my sorry ass out of bed to gather my clothes.

The Frost family residence stood at a quiet suburban. I pushed open the front door, bracing for the lecture about staying out all night.

Instead, my mother, Mable Frost, barreled toward me with a smile. “Darling! You’re finally home!” She hugged me, fucking hugged me. In over twenty years, I could count her hugs on one hand.

“Mom?” I stepped back, eyes narrowed. “What the hell’s going on?”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” my father, Greg Frost, emerged from the dining room, actually smiling. “We’ve got amazing news!”

In the dining room, all my favorite foods were laid out: French toast, eggs Benedict, fresh fruit salad, even my beloved iced mocha.

"What's going on?" I asked, approaching the table slowly.

Dad pulled out a chair: "Sit down, princess. We're celebrating!"

"Celebrating what exactly?" I asked, sitting down warily.

He lifted his coffee cup with a mysterious smile: "The Claflin family has chosen you. In one week, you'll be marrying Alexander Claflin."

My fork clattered against my plate: "WHAT? Alexander Claflin? The vegetative billionaire? Are you fucking insane?"

"Nora, language!" Mom scolded, though her smile remained.

"You know I have a boyfriend—Sam!" I protested, "How could you even consider this?"

Mom waved dismissively: "Don't be silly, darling. The Claflins are far wealthier than the Nortons. Sam's family never accepted you because of our modest background, but now you'll be marrying into the Claflins! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Wonderful? You're selling me off!" I stood up, trembling with rage.

Dad's expression hardened: "The Claflin family offered us one hundred million dollars, Nora. If we back out now, not only do we lose the money, but we'll be blacklisted in this city for life!"

"I don't care!" I shouted, "I'm your daughter! Even if you don't love me that much, you can't just sell me to a vegetative man!"

Mom let out a cold laugh: "My dear sweet daughter, I think it's time I tell you something. You're not actually our biological child. We adopted you when you were two. We've raised you for twenty-two years—you should be grateful. Marrying into the Claflins, bearing an heir, you'll become the most respected woman in this city."

Her words hit me like a slap. The world spun around me as sudden dizziness struck. I'm not their biological child? Years of questions suddenly made sense: why I never felt I belonged, why they always kept their distance...

Without another word, I ran upstairs to my bedroom and slammed the door. I collapsed onto my bed, tears blurring my vision. Hands shaking, I grabbed my phone—I needed Sam. He’d know what the fuck to do.

Still no reply to my earlier text. Pissed, I opened Instagram for a distraction from this fucking nightmare.

The first post stopped my heart cold.

Sam. My Sam. Arm around some stunning blonde, her diamond engagement ring flashing like a goddamn spotlight. Caption: “Counting down to forever with Emily Hamilton. #engaged #Europetour”

My phone slipped from my numb fingers, hitting the bed with a thud.

If Sam’s in fucking Europe with his fiancée… then who the hell did I fuck last night?