Fake dating my enemy, The playboy billionaire

I pull into the location Mr. Cyrus sent me on WhatsApp. My eyes flick from one corner to the next, and a cold dread seeps into my veins. This place—it’s worse than I imagined. No wonder downtown has a reputation for being the seediest part of the city.

Abandoned buildings tower over me, half-finished, half-falling apart. Graffiti scrawls across walls like desperate warnings. Broken windows leer like hollow eyes. There are empty condom wrappers, used syringes littering the ground. Grass pokes through broken asphalt like nature’s last attempt to reclaim the decay.

I grip the steering wheel tightly, staring at the desolate scene, every alarm in my body ringing loud, warning me not to get down the truck and go back.

What the hell am I doing here?

This isn’t what the client showed me on our video call. That had been a well-kept office space in a pristine building near a park. There’s no park here, no office, just danger. Pure, unfiltered danger. I never thought it would be this deep in downtown.

My heart races, and I reach for my pepper spray, the expired one I haven’t bothered to replace. High chance this is going to do fail if something goes wrong.

But I need this money. I don’t have a choice. Mr. Cyrus agreed to pay the full advance.

I think about Bruce’s warning, about how I should not go to downtown. I almost give listened and said no the client until this emergency come knocking at my door. Ning needs this money for the surgery. I can’t go back to the hospital empty hand—that will mean signing death certificate of my sister and her unborn child. I take a deep breath, trying to steel my emotions. This isn’t the time to be weak.

Maybe it’s just a mistake. Maybe I got the address wrong.

I grab my phone to double-check the location, but it’s dead. The screen is as black as my mood. Of course. Of all the times for my phone to die.

I curse under my breath, slipping it into the charging point in my truck while I get down to look for any signboards or anything helpful. My pulse quickens with every step as I scan this place. The stench of decay and rot is high. The sooner I get out of here, the better.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel reaches my ears. I stop. My heart slams against my ribs, adrenaline shooting through my veins. I glance around, trying to pinpoint the source, but all I feel is the weight of eyes on me.

Someone’s watching.

I force myself to keep walking, faster this time, toward my truck. Just three steps more. Three steps to safety.

"Ms. Moritz."

The voice stops me dead in my tracks.

I spin around, my heart hammering in my chest, ready to bolt, but then I see him—Mr. Cyrus, the client who reached from Instagram. Relief floods me for a brief second, though something about his grin sends a shiver crawling up my spine.

"Mr. Cyrus!" I force a smile, trying to calm my racing heart. "Thank God you’re here. I thought I had the wrong address."

His grin stretches wider, but it doesn’t feel right. His eyes are cold and calculating. "No, Ms. Moritz," he says slowly like he’s savoring every word. "You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be."

A sinking feeling grips my stomach.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice wobbling slightly.

He takes a step closer, his eyes darkening. "You fell quicker than I thought. It’s going to be fun."

My heart plummets.

Before I can say another word, movement catches my eye. More men step out of the shadows, their faces hard and unreadable, and suddenly, I’m surrounded.

Panic claws at my throat.

It’s a trap.

I turn on my heel, running for my pickup, my only chance of getting out of here. But before I can make it, a gunshot echoes in the air. A searing pain explodes in my leg as a bullet grazes me, sending me stumbling forward. I catch myself against the truck, gasping for breath.

My eyes widen as I realize what’s happened. The front tire hisses as air escapes. The bullet lodged in the tire, scrapping my calf. Now, I cannot leave.

"Don’t think I missed," Cyrus says, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Next one will be your knee."

Fear pulses through me, a hand clamps over my mouth, muffling any sound I could make, and I feel a sharp pinch in my neck.

The world blurs and darkness swallows me whole.

*******

I wake up slowly, groggy and disoriented, with a splitting headache that pounds like a hammer inside my skull. My vision is blurred, everything around me sways, and I can’t tell if it’s day or night.

The only thing I know for sure is that I’m in a hell of a lot of trouble. And Kai is waiting for me in the hospital for money.

My hands are tied behind my back, the coarse rope biting into my wrists. There’s cloth over my mouth, and my ankles are taped together.

I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. I have to get out of here for Ning. The air smells foul, like something decaying... a mixture of blood and rust. My stomach twists in disgust. I try to move, to wiggle my fingers or shift my legs, but the bindings are tight. I feel weak, too—probably from whatever drug they injected me with.

maldita sea. ¿Qué quieren?

Why did they take me? I’m not rich, I don’t have ties to anyone powerful or influential. This doesn’t feel like a regular robbery or kidnapping for ransom. My mind races, trying to figure out their motives.

Human traffickers? Sex racket?

A sickening fear settles in my chest at the thought.

I force myself to stay quiet, listening to the room around me. My vision is still blurry, but I can make out a few figures sitting around a half-broken table in the distance. They’re talking, and it takes all my willpower to stay calm and listen.

"This chick is gorgeous," one of them says, his voice low and vile. "I haven’t seen a beauty like this before."

Another one chuckles darkly. "I’m itching to strip her down and enjoy her for the night."

"Then what are we waiting for, let’s do it."

"Don’t even think about it. Cyrus will kill us if we touch her. She’s our money bank."

"He isn’t here. By the time he return, we’ll be done with it. Just a quicky, bro."

"F**k Cyrus," the first guy mutters, standing up. He walks toward me with a predatory grin, and I feel every muscle in my body tense.

His eyes are locked on me like I’m a piece of meat he wants to devour, his hand pulling down the cloth covering my mouth. "This beauty," he murmurs, touching my lips with his dirty fingers, his other hand slipping to touch himself.

Disgusting. Sick bastard.

I grunt, struggling against my bonds. In a flash of adrenaline, I twist my head and sink my teeth deep into his arm, biting down with everything I’ve got. He screams, trying to yank his hand away, but I don’t let go. I bite harder, tasting blood.

He hits my face violently, snapping my head to the side with a sharp sting at the back of my skull.

Pain shoots across my nose, and I taste blood in my mouth, but I don’t let go. The bitter taste of his skin fills my mouth, the coppery tang of his blood mixing with the rage burning inside me.

He howls, wrenching his arm back with all his strength, but I keep my jaws locked, refusing to give him the satisfaction of breaking me. His other hand comes up again, this time aiming for my throat.

His fingers clamp down, squeezing as my vision starts to blur. My lungs scream for air, and my body fights against him, desperate to survive, but the edges of my world begin to darken.

’Ning....’

’I’m sorry for failing you.’

’I’m sorry Ning....’

*****