A Night With The Ruthless Billionaire

"Mom, let me help you arrange them." I bent down to pick up the scattered pictures and papers. But Mom hastily held my hands, her grip weak yet insistent.

"Emma," she muttered, her eyes filled with something I couldn't quite place. "Go back to sleep so you won't be late for work. Don't worry, I'll clean it up."

I paused, looking at her tired face. She was hiding something. The weight of it was palpable, but I didn't want to push her. Not with her heart condition. Instead, I bit my lip, tears stinging my eyes.

"But Mom," I whispered, my voice wavering, "when you're ready to tell me, I'll be ready to hear it." A tear slipped down my cheek.

She avoided my gaze, busying herself with the papers. Her silence only made the pit in my stomach grow. But for her sake, I couldn't press it. She was too fragile.

Just before leaving, I catch sight of an old photograph on the corner of her dresser. The edges are yellowed, though I can't make out the details. 

I see my mother, much younger, standing close to a man in a suit - a man who looks disturbingly familiar. I don't have time to ask her about it now. But the question swirled in my mind as I headed to my room. 

....

The next day, I arrived at work with a heavy heart, still reeling from the police's refusal to help. Every step I took through the hotel lobby felt heavier than the last.

My hands shook as I went about my duties, the weight of everything pressing down on me. Alex. The police. Now Mr. Thatcher. It felt like the whole world was against me. No matter how hard I tried to focus on my work, my thoughts kept drifting back to Alex and the overwhelming power he wielded.

I barely noticed when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder.

"Emma?" One of the hotel's front desk clerks stood behind me, her voice hesitant. "The manager wants to see you in his office."

My stomach dropped. I couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen.

I wiped my hands on my apron and followed her down the hall, every step echoing loudly in my ears. When I reached Mr. Thatcher's office, I took a deep breath and knocked.

"Come in," he barked from inside.

I pushed the door open, stepping inside with my heart pounding. Mr.Thatcher stood behind his desk, his eyes blazing with fury. His fingers drummed impatiently on the wood as he glared at me.

"You," he growled, his voice low and filled with contempt. "What do you think you're doing?"

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my voice. "I… I don't understand, sir."

He slammed his hands into the desk, the sound echoing through the room. "How dare you!" He shouted, his voice thick with anger. You should be careful, and stop causing trouble."

I blinked, confusion washing over me. "What… what do you mean?"

His eyes narrowed as he stepped around the desk, towering over me. "You went to the police," he hissed, practically spitting the words at me. "Do you realize what you've done?

I flinched, my heart racing. "I… I didn't ask for that. I… he…"

Mr. Thatcher cut me off, his tone dripping with venom. "You stupid girl. Do you think anyone cares about what you say happened? You're a nobody, Emma. Nobody will ever believe such a thing ever happened."

Tears stung in my eyes, but I forced them back, refusing to let him see how much his words hurt. I opened my mouth to protest, but he didn't give me the chance.

"And now," he continued, "you've made things worse by running to the police. The Cardwells are untouchable, Emma. They own this city. They own the police. Did you really think your little story would change anything?"

"I'm… I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He scoffed, turning his back on me. "Sorry won't save your job. If I lose my position as manager because of you, I'll make sure you're blacklisted from everywhere in this city."

I'll do anything," my voice laced with desperation. "Please, don't fire me," I stammer, my mind flashing to my mother's frail figure in bed, her medications that I can barely afford. The thought of losing this job terrifies me, not for myself, but for her. Without this, without any income… I can't think about it. I need to keep her safe.

"Good," He dismissed me with a wave. "Now, get out of my sight."

I was halfway out the door when a receptionist burst in, looking flustered. "Sir, someone is requesting to see Emma in Aria's suit."

My blood turned to ice. "The Aria suit?" That's reserved for the hotel's most exclusive guests.

Mr. Thatcher's smile widened. "Well, it seems your luck hasn't run out just yet. Don't keep your admirer waiting."

My legs felt like lead as I made my way to the elevator. The ride up to the Aria's suite was agonizingly slow, my pulse quickening with each passing floor. What does the person want from me?

When the elevator doors finally opened, I stepped out into the dimly lit halfway, my heart hammering against my ribs. 

The door swung open, and I found myself staring into the eyes of Alex Cardwell.

He gestured for me to step inside. I hesitated, but the sharp look in his eyes left no room for argument.

I stepped in, my heart pounding, my pulse echoing in my ears like a war drum.

"I don't have much time," he said, his voice low but dripping with authority. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, tossing it onto the table between us. "This should be enough to take care of any... concerns you have."

My stomach twisted as I stared at the envelope. Money. Is this what he thought it would take to make everything disappear?

"I don't want your money," I said, my voice shaking but steady. "You can't buy your way out of this, Alex."

His eyes darkened, jaw tightening. "You think money is all I have?" His eyes bore into mine, icy and cold. "If you make this difficult, you'll lose more than just your job, Emma. People who defy the Cardwells don't get to walk away unscathed."

Before I could respond, the door creaked open. Mr. Thatcher stepped in, his eyes narrowing on the envelope. Without hesitation, he strode forward, snatching it off the table, sliding it into his jacket pocket.

"Well, well," he sneered, voice mocking. "It seems Emma here doesn't know how to appreciate a generous offer. But don't worry, Mr. Cardwell. I'll make sure this little incident is forgotten."

Fear gripped me, tightening around my chest. "What… what are you doing?"

Mr. Thatcher shot me a warning look. "You don't need the money, do you? I'll handle this. And as for you," he stepped closer, his breath hot against my skin, "I don't want to hear another word about what happened. Do you understand me? No one will ever know."

The room felt smaller, like the walls were closing in on me. I could barely breathe. The two men loomed over me, their presence suffocating. All I could do was nod, my body trembling from head to toe.

"Good," Mr. Thatcher said, his smirk widening. "Now get back to work. And remember - if I hear so much as a whisper about this... incident, you'll regret it."

As I exited, I could overhear Mr. Thatcher on the phone with someone saying, "Yes, Mr. Cardwell, it's handled. She won't be a problem anymore."

I rushed out of the suite, my heart hammering in my chest. My legs felt weak, barely carrying me down the hallway. I couldn't think, couldn't focus. The world spun around me.

I needed air. I needed to escape.