Reborn Heiress: Claimed By The Ruthless Boss

The heat in her veins did not feel like a fever. It felt like liquid magma.

Giana gasped, her eyes snapping open. Her vision blurred against the stark white ceiling of the hotel suite. She tried to pull her hands into fists, but her fingers felt like wet sand.

The drug was fully in her system.

Memories of her past life-the cold floor, the sound of her own ribs cracking, the final agonizing breath-stabbed into her brain. She bit down on her lower lip. She bit hard. The sharp, metallic taste of blood flooded her tongue, forcing a sliver of clarity through the chemical haze.

She needed to move. She rolled to her side, pushing against the heavy velvet comforter, but her arms gave out. She collapsed back into the pillows. The fabric smelled of the clean scent of soap and a sharp, masculine sandalwood from a heavy body wash.

The frosted glass door of the bathroom swung open.

Thick steam rolled into the bedroom. Cornel Stark stepped out. He wore a black robe tied loosely at his waist. Water dripped from his dark hair onto his broad shoulders.

Giana's heart spasmed. Her chest tightened so fast she couldn't pull in oxygen. She scrambled backward on the mattress until her spine slammed hard against the wooden headboard.

Cornel stopped. His gray eyes locked onto her. He expected to see a drugged, compliant woman. Instead, he saw the raw, pulsing terror in her chest, followed instantly by a cold, calculated clarity.

He narrowed his eyes.

He tossed the damp towel into a single armchair. He walked toward the bed. Every step he took seemed to suck the air out of the massive room.

Giana's lungs burned. She remembered fighting him in her past life. She remembered how her screams only made him more brutal.

She forced her hands to uncurl. She let them rest open on the sheets. She relaxed her shoulders, exposing the long line of her neck.

Cornel placed one knee on the edge of the mattress. The bed dipped violently under his dense weight. Gravity pulled Giana's body down the slope, sliding her directly toward his chest.

His large, rough hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her jaw. The pressure was immense, grinding against her bone.

"Get out," he said. His voice was a low, gravelly threat.

Pain shot through her face. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she didn't thrash. She didn't scream. Instead, she leaned into his grip. She tilted her chin up higher, offering herself to him.

Cornel froze. The muscles in his jaw ticked. His grip on her face loosened just a fraction of an inch.

It was enough. Giana fought through the heavy nausea of the drug. She lifted her trembling arms and wrapped them around his thick neck.

Her skin was burning. The moment her feverish hands touched the cold silk of his robe, Cornel's entire body went rigid. His muscles locked like steel. His gray eyes darkened to