Drugged

Serena walked away from the infuriating stranger, her heart pounding frantically against her ribs with every step she took across the sticky club floor. She forced her legs to move, but she was fighting a losing battle against the lingering, heated physical awareness of his touch. She could still feel the phantom weight of his hands on her, the iron grip he had wrapped around her waist, and the dangerous, murderous glare that had sent a completely inappropriate jolt straight to her core.

How dare he invade her personal space like that? And worse, how dare her own body react so positively to his aggressive dominance? He had been nothing but a rude, judgmental bastard to her from the second they collided, yet a traitorous part of her brain couldn't stop replaying the sheer, unapologetic strength of his hold. It was a grip firm enough to completely immobilize her, but carefully restrained enough not to leave bruises.

"Stop it, Serena," she muttered under her breath, aggressively pushing the sensation away and digging her fingernails into her own palms to ground herself.

She could not afford a single distraction tonight. This evening was entirely about Corbin Vance. It was about reclaiming her stolen life.

Taking a sharp, deep breath, she swallowed the rising tide of absolute disgust and pasted on a fake, seductive persona. She adjusted the neckline of her dress, squared her shoulders, and made her way toward the elevated, heavily guarded VIP section where Corbin was holding court. Her chest tightened with every step she took closer to the booth, a suffocating mixture of cold fear and pure revulsion crawling up her throat.

Corbin Vance. He was notoriously known as one of Hollywood’s most dangerous, vindictive, and influential men. He was also the man who had systematically destroyed her rising modeling career.

Her life had taken a violent nosedive the exact moment she had the misfortune of crossing paths with him months ago. He had cornered her in a private changing room after a high-profile fashion event, completely ignoring her lack of consent as he aggressively tried to assault her. Serena hadn't hesitated for a single second. She had whipped out her pepper spray, blasted him directly in the face, and driven her knee hard between his legs before sprinting out of the venue.

It was a victory that cost her everything. Since that night, Corbin had made it his petty, ruthless mission to ruin her. Doors that had once been wide open to her were violently slammed shut. Modeling agencies, elite photographers, and brand directors suddenly stopped answering her calls or emails. Her once-blooming career had been completely flushed down the drain in a matter of weeks, all because of Corbin’s bruised ego.

Failure to fix this massive disaster was simply not an option. If she failed tonight, she would be forced to return to her hometown and become her controlling father’s property again. He had an arranged marriage waiting for her—a lifetime bound to a wealthy, older man she despised. It was a fate Serena absolutely refused to accept. She would rather die than go back to being a pawn in her father's twisted financial games.

As she approached the private booth, she saw Corbin lounging on the leather sofas, surrounded by a bunch of sycophants who laughed too loudly and drank too much. His pale green eyes locked onto her, and they instantly lit up with predatory triumph.

"Serena," Corbin drawled, his voice dripping with false sweetness. He stretched his hands out toward her, his smile as fake and slimy as his well-known charm. He looked her up and down, making no effort to hide his absolute disrespect. "I didn’t think you’d really show up."

Forcing a coy, overly sweet smile that made her stomach churn, Serena stepped into the booth and slid onto the leather seat right beside him. She deliberately ignored his blatant stares, which were aimed directly at her chest.

"Corbin, I figured it was time to make amends," she purred, hating herself for every single word that left her lips. Her voice was smooth, carrying a practiced, seductive edge. "I’ve been thinking about how I overreacted before, and… well, I wanted to apologize."

Corbin’s smirk widened into something truly sinister. He leaned in, his cologne thick and suffocating. "Overreacted? Is that what you call what you did?" he whispered darkly directly into her ear.

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand. Hard. He dug his manicured nails painfully into her soft skin, applying enough pressure to draw a wince she barely managed to mask.

"I was… emotional," she lied smoothly, swallowing the bitter taste of defeat. "You know I was caught off guard."

Corbin’s free hand dropped heavily onto her waist, pulling her flush against his side. Serena fought the violent urge to recoil, forcing her muscles to remain relaxed. "You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man," he stated, his grip on her waist tightening possessively. "Another man would’ve destroyed you for what you did."

*Forgiving man, her ass,* Serena thought viciously. The bastard had already destroyed her career.

"That’s why I came tonight," she replied, leaning in closer to play the part of a submissive, regretful woman. She fluttered her eyelashes, looking up at him. "To show you how sorry I am… and, maybe, to make it up to you?"

Her real, desperate plan was terrifyingly simple, yet highly illegal. She just needed to pretend to be ready to give him exactly what he wanted and lure him up to a private hotel room. Once they were isolated behind locked doors, she was going to inject him with a mild sedative she had acquired on the black market, knocking him out completely. Then, she would strip him naked and take heavily compromising photos of him with various illegal narcotics she had stashed in her purse. Armed with that undeniable leverage, she would blackmail him into restoring her career and leaving her alone forever.

Just then, one of the burly men at the table reached over with an expensive bottle and poured her a drink, sliding the crystal glass directly in front of her.

"Wonderful, let’s have some drinks to celebrate!" Corbin announced gleefully. "Come on, Serena, we both know you're not shy when it comes to alcohol." He squinted his pale green eyes at her, his casual tone suddenly shifting, holding an unmistakable, underlying order. "Come on, darling, drink up!"

Knowing it would be highly suspicious to refuse, and forced to comply to maintain her carefully constructed cover, Serena picked up the glass. She tipped her head back and drained the entire contents, the amber liquid burning a harsh trail down her throat.

Corbin’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight. He immediately poured her another full glass. "I knew you’d see reason eventually. Once we finish these, we should get out of here. The private suite upstairs is far more… accommodating for our reconciliation."

"That sounds perfect," she murmured softly, raising the second glass to her lips.

But right as the rim touched her mouth, a sudden, intense prickling sensation washed over her exposed skin. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It was the heavy, undeniable sensation of being watched.

Serena turned her head slowly, looking past Corbin's shoulder and across the expansive, pulsating club.

Standing on the elevated, dimly lit VIP balcony on the opposite side of the room, looking down at the crowd like a predator evaluating his hunting grounds, was the asshole from earlier. Dominic.

He stood there with one hand gripping the metal railing, his posture exuding a terrifying, quiet authority. His dark, ice-blue eyes were locked directly onto her. They were hard, cold, and completely unyielding as he assessed her every single move with Corbin. Even through the flashing strobe lights and the distance separating them, Serena could feel the immense, suffocating weight of his stare.

His displeasure was etched deeply into his sharp jawline. He was watching her press herself against a known scumbag like Corbin Vance, and his judgment was practically radiating across the room. He thought she was a gold digger. He thought she was just another cheap, desperate escort throwing herself at a wealthy man.

The suffocating, heavy tension stretching between them across the loud club felt like a physical wire, pulling tighter and tighter. Serena couldn't look away. It was as if his icy glare had trapped her in a paralyzing trance.

The intense staring match only broke when a burly guard dressed in an all-black suit leaned in and whispered something urgently into Dominic’s ear. It prompted the mysterious, dangerous man to finally break eye contact. Without sparing her a single backward glance, Dominic turned and disappeared swiftly into the thick, dark crowd of the second floor.

Serena let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Relief washed over her, instantly followed by a deep, burning wave of frustration. How dare he judge her? How dare he look at her with such open disdain without knowing the horrifying truth of her situation? He didn't know she was fighting for her freedom, fighting to stay out of a forced marriage that would essentially make her a slave.

She needed a moment to clear her head, steady her shaking hands, and prepare for the final phase of her daring plan.

"Corbin, I've got to use the restroom. I'll be right back," she said, plastering her fake smile back on as she stood up from the leather booth.

"Hurry back up. You’ll love the suite," Corbin leered up at her. As she turned, he reached out and disrespectfully slapped her ass hard.

Serena gasped, biting down brutally on the inside of her cheek to physically stop herself from turning around and shattering his jaw with her fist. She forced out a strained giggle instead, grabbed her small designer purse, and quickly navigated her way through the sweaty, grinding bodies on the dance floor until she reached the women's restroom.

Pushing through the heavy door, she found the tiled space thankfully empty. The ambient noise of the club was reduced to a muffled thudding bass. She dropped her purse on the counter, turned on the faucet, and furiously splashed freezing cold water onto her flushed face.

"Get it together," she whispered to her reflection, gripping the edges of the porcelain sink until her knuckles turned white. Her chest heaved. It wasn’t just her career on the line tonight; it was her entire life. She had to stay sharp. She had to drug him, get the photos, and get out.

She reached up to wipe the water from her chin, but out of nowhere, a sudden, incredibly violent wave of dizziness slammed into her brain.

Serena stumbled backward, her tall heels clicking erratically against the tiles. The bright fluorescent lights above flickered, and the entire room began to spin sickeningly. She grabbed the edge of the sink again, missing it on her first try as her depth perception failed her.

An unnatural, heavy heat flushed rapidly through her entire body. It wasn't the warmth of alcohol; it was a deep, burning fever that made her skin feel too tight. Her legs turned into useless, trembling weights, threatening to buckle beneath her at any second.

*What is happening?* she thought wildly, splashing more water on her face, but the liquid felt detached from her skin. The heavy heat only intensified, pooling in her stomach and radiating outward.

Pure, unfiltered panic set in as the horrifying realization suddenly dawned on her. The drinks. Corbin hadn't poured her drink from the open bottles on the table. One of his men had brought the bottle over, and now that she was actively thinking about it through the rising haze, Corbin hadn't taken a single sip from that specific bottle.

He had drugged her.

"No, no, no," Serena cried out, her voice sounding incredibly distant to her own ears. Her plan was entirely ruined. There was absolutely no way she could execute a calculated blackmail plot while heavily under the influence of whatever synthetic narcotic was rapidly hijacking her nervous system.

Before she could even begin to process the impending disaster, the heavy restroom door swung open with a loud bang.

Serena froze, her blurred vision struggling to focus. Two of Corbin’s massive, suited men stepped inside. The man in the rear calmly reached back and clicked the deadbolt, locking the door behind them.

Adrenaline violently clashed with the drugs in her system. Subtly, fighting the numbness in her fingers, she slipped her trembling hand into her open purse on the counter. Her fingers frantically dug past her lipstick and wallet until they wrapped tightly around the familiar, cold metal canister of her military-grade pepper spray.

"Gentlemen, can I help you?" she asked, trying to sound authoritative. But her words betrayed her instantly, slurring heavily together, her tongue feeling thick and uncooperative in her mouth.

"You're keeping the boss waiting," one of the men grunted, his voice a low, threatening rumble. He cracked his knuckles, closing in on her with a menacing, predatory smirk. "Come on, let's get you upstairs."

As the massive men violently invaded her personal space, reaching their thick hands out to grab her arms, Serena’s survival instincts took over completely. She whipped her hand out of the purse, raising the canister, and pressed her thumb down hard on the actuator.

A thick, potent stream of orange chemical sprayed directly into the first man's eyes and nose.

"Fuck you, bitch!" the man roared, screaming in absolute agony as his hands flew to his burning face. Blinded, he began wildly swinging his heavy fists in her direction.

Serena ducked, a massive fist missing her jaw by mere inches, the sheer force of it ruffling her hair. But her drug-addled reflexes were too slow. The second man lunged forward and managed to blindly grab both of her wrists in a crushing, painful grip, slamming her back against the sink counter.

"Got her!" the man grunted, trying to wrestle the canister from her fingers.

Fighting fiercely through the drug's heavy, suffocating haze that was desperately trying to pull her into unconsciousness, Serena refused to be a victim again. She twisted her right wrist, managing to angle the nozzle upward, and sprayed the canister again, catching the side of the second man's face.

He flinched, his grip loosening just a fraction of an inch.

It was all the opening she needed. Serena lunged forward and viciously sank her teeth directly into the thick, meaty part of the man's restraining hand. She clamped her jaw down and bit as hard as humanly possible, tasting salty sweat and the immediate metallic tang of blood.

The man let out a guttural groan of sheer agony, instinctively yanking his hand back and completely releasing his grip on her.

Free.

Serena didn't waste a single millisecond. She tore her wrists away, shoved her shoulder hard against the blinded man blocking her path, and stumbled toward the exit. She fumbled with the deadbolt with uncoordinated fingers, finally clicking it open. Shoving the heavy door wide, she bolted out of the restroom into the chaotic, flashing corridor.