Just One Orgasm!

Adrian remained awake long after Emilia had drifted to sleep.

The suite was quiet.

Only the muted hum of the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows disturbed the silence.

She lay tucked against his side beneath the duvet, with one hand curled loosely against his chest, her breathing slow and even.

His gaze lingered on her face for a long moment. His thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand.

"You lied to me," he murmured, so softly that even he barely heard the words.

She hadn’t wanted to interrupt his evening yesterday. She hadn’t wanted to burden him, so she told him she was fine. That bothered him far more than the stain itself.

Adrian carefully eased himself from the bed, taking care not to wake her. The mattress shifted only slightly.

Emilia stirred.

Her brows knitted together for a moment before relaxing again.

He waited until her breathing settled. Only then did he cross the suite.

His jacket still hung neatly over the back of one of the dining chairs. He reached into the inside pocket and retrieved his phone.

4:42 a.m.

Early enough that most people would hesitate to make a business call.

He didn’t.

The call connected to the second ring.

"Good morning, Mr Belmont," came the voice of Belmont Global’s head of corporate security.

"I need last night’s surveillance."

There was a brief pause.

"Certainly, sir. Which section?"

"Everything from the gala ballroom."

"Is there a concern?"

There was another pause.

Adrian looked through the glass doors toward the bedroom. From where he stood, he could still see Emilia sleeping peacefully.

"Someone approached my guest."

The security chief’s tone sharpened immediately. "I’ll have the footage prepared."

"I don’t want prepared footage." He warned. "I want every camera."

"The entire archive?"

"Every camera."

"Yes, sir."

"I also want the recordings from the service corridors, loading bays, staff entrances, kitchens and lifts."

"Understood."

"There should be no edits." He exhaled. "I’ll review them myself."

The call ended.

Adrian remained standing by the window.

His expression never changed. Outside, the city was beginning another ordinary morning.

He replayed the gala evening with clinical precision. Then he remembered Emilia smiling beneath her mask.

The champagne, and her insistence that the ballroom had simply felt crowded.

He very much remembered the way her fingers had trembled so slightly when she’d reached for his hand outside the restroom, and the look in her eyes.

There was fear in her eyes.

He closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were colder. He wasn’t angry.

Anger clouded judgement.

He preferred clarity. And he needed to know what got her so tense in just a space of six minutes.

A soft vibration broke the silence.

An encrypted notification.

Belmont Security: Files uploaded.

He carried his phone to the sitting area, lowered himself into one of the leather chairs, connected the video to his laptop, and pressed play.

The first camera overlooked the ballroom entrance. There was nothing suspicious there. The second covered the orchestra, and there was still nothing.

There was no one suspicious.

The third followed the main floor with guests laughing, as champagne flowed. He watched the board members greet one another.

Then, the frame captured Emilia standing alone exactly where he had left her, with a champagne glass in hand.

Adrian stopped the recording.

He watched again. Slower this time.

A waiter entered the frame.

The man’s attention wasn’t on the tray. His expression shifted once, across the ballroom, and toward someone outside the camera’s centre.

The waiter gave the smallest nod, then continued walking. Adrian rewound the footage, again, again, and again.

The movement was unmistakable.

Someone had signalled him.

His finger rested on the pause button. His face remained perfectly composed. Only the silence in the room seemed to deepen.

He still couldn’t see the face of the other person being nodded to.

"It wasn’t an accident," he said quietly.

The words disappeared into the silence of the suite.

He rewound the footage once more. The waiter entered from the west side of the ballroom at a normal pace, and a professional posture.

Frame by frame, the man’s gaze lifted toward someone standing beyond the camera’s immediate focus.

Adrian paused the recording.

He enlarged the image.

The quality deteriorated slightly, but it was enough.

The waiter received the unmistakable smallest nod, as permission. Only then did he continue walking.

Adrian watched without blinking as the man approached Emilia.

The tray tilted, and the champagne poured directly across the front of her gown. Not the glass, but only the drink.

It was a practiced movement.

The waiter never attempted to steady the tray. He never apologised properly. He never reached for a napkin.

He simply walked away.

Adrian let the recording continue.

He watched Emilia look after him in confusion. His expression tightened as he noticed her head turn.

He watched her look across the ballroom.

The camera caught only part of the exchange.

Someone stood among the guests, half-hidden behind another conversation.

Even from a distance, that smile was unmistakable, cold, measured, and satisfied.

Adrian froze the image. His eyes settled on the person. "You." He cursed, fury rising into his eyes.

He enlarged the frame again, and the face blurred. His thumb tapped the armrest once.

A vibration broke the silence.

Another encrypted message followed.

Security Chief: Additional camera angles have been uploaded.

Adrian opened them immediately.

He watched the service dork, and every angle the video could offer. He watched each recording in sequence.

Twenty-three minutes before the spill, the same waiter disappeared into one of the service corridors.

Another camera picked him up moments later.

Someone stepped into view.

The person’s face remained hidden beneath the angle of the camera.

Only an elegant gloved hand appeared. They exchanged hands, and a folded envelope was passed to the waiter.

The waiter slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket without counting it.

He nodded, then walked away.

Adrian stopped the footage. His phone was already in his hand before he consciously reached for it.

He immediately dialed Christian.

The line rang three times before connecting.

The roar of motorcycle engines exploded through the speaker, followed by cheers, tyres screaming against asphalt, and laughter.

Christian’s voice arrived over the noise.

"If you’re calling about work, I’m busy."

Adrian ignired him. "I need every camera from Belmont’s gala secured. I want not a second removed."

A brief pause.

"I’m at Black Ridge Raceway." Christian breathed. More engines thundered in the background. "I told everyone that today belongs to me."

"Christian."

"I’m taking one night off." His response came without hesitation, as he walked away from the crowd. He laughed lightly. "Whatever empire you’re protecting can wait until tomorrow."

Adrian looked once toward the bedroom.

Through the partially open door, Emilia remained asleep, completely unaware of the investigation unfolding only a few metres away.

His voice remained calm.

"She’s back. And she targeted my woman."

Silence settled between them. The engines still roared, and the crowd still cheered. Christian no longer laughed.

"Repeat that."

"She’s back. She visited me in my office a few days back and now, she targeted my woman."

The pause this time was longer.

Then the background noise shifted abruptly, as though Christian had begun walking further away from the crowd.

His next words were colder. "Is she hurt?"

"No."

"Scared?"

Adrian’s jaw tightened. "Yes." His hand folded into a fist. "Also, Rowan showed my woman the burns."

The response on the other end was immediate.

"I’ll leave now."

"You said work could wait."

"She waited six years to return. We can’t wait a day." Christian’s tone had lost every trace of amusement. "This stopped being work the second her name entered the conversation."

A motorcycle revved nearby.

Someone shouted after him.

"Race starts in two minutes!"

Christian didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke quietly into the phone. "Do you want the waiter?"

Adrian’s gaze remained fixed on the frozen image of the unidentified woman.

"No."

"You want whoever paid him."

"Exactly."

Christian exhaled once.

"I’ll have every copy of the footage before midnight." He pinched the bridge of his nose at the other end. "I hope we’re wrong, and you were hallucinating in your office."

The call ended.

Adrian looked back at the paused frame. The woman was still smiling. He rested one hand against the edge of the laptop.

His expression never changed.

"You made one mistake," he said into the quiet room. "You chose the wrong person to frighten."

Behind him, Emilia shifted slightly in her sleep.

Adrian’s eyes softened for only a heartbeat as he looked toward the bedroom. Then they returned to the frozen image, and the softness disappeared.

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