Chapter 62
Myra’s face, once pale due to her dislocated elbow, now burned with feverish heat. As the warmth spread through her, she reached for Tony’s hand and pressed it gently against her flushed cheek, seeking comfort. His cool skin seemed to soothe her, and with a quiet moan, she guided his hand down along her neck, the sensation drawing out a vulnerable response from her.
The three men in the room stood frozen, their discomfort palpable as the situation unfolded. Myra, still wearing her evening gown, had no layers beneath, and as Tony’s hand inadvertently brushed her chest, the softness was undeniable. Tony’s gaze darkened instantly, his restraint hanging by a thread. His eyes shot a warning glance at Elliot and Philip, who, sensing the rising tension, awkwardly turned away to give them space.
“Tony…” Philip hesitated, rubbing his nose uneasily. “I don’t think Miss Stark’s fever is natural. It seems like she’s… taken something.”
The implication was clear. At high-society events like this, it wasn’t uncommon for some guests to have ulterior motives, and Myra might have inadvertently fallen victim to one of them.
A flicker of anger passed through Tony’s eyes. “Look into it,” he ordered sharply.
Philip quickly exchanged a look with Elliot, who reluctantly left the room to follow through with Tony’s directive.
“Tony…” Philip asked cautiously, noting the intensity with which Tony was watching Myra. “Do you need me to… help you take care of her?” The suggestion hung in the air, unspoken, but the tension was unmistakable. Myra’s condition was precarious, and if Tony chose to act on his desires, it could be an opportunity that some might say he couldn’t refuse.
Tony’s silence was his only answer as he kept his gaze on the woman before him, his expression unreadable.
Myra, still disoriented and feeling unbearably hot, clung to Tony’s arm. She shifted, seeking more than just a comforting hug. In a desperate, uncoordinated attempt, she pressed her lips against his, her lack of experience making the kiss awkward and uncomfortable. Her lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes as the overwhelming sensation of desire mixed with her confusion.
The desire that flickered in Tony’s eyes was unmistakable—his restraint slipping with every passing second. The internal conflict raged in him, but he couldn’t fight it anymore. He kissed her back fiercely, unable to hold himself back any longer.
Behind them, Philip and Elliot exchanged uncomfortable glances. The kiss was hard to watch, but it was clear Tony had made a decision. Just as Philip began to silently withdraw, Tony’s low voice stopped him in his tracks.
“Come over here and take care of her,” Tony instructed, his tone hoarse and filled with urgency.
Philip turned to find Myra now lying beneath the blanket, her body wracked with quiet sobs. Tony’s face was stormy, but his eyes were locked on her. Philip rushed over, grabbing the medical kit from the corner and administering the medication she needed. Slowly, Myra’s condition stabilized, her flushed skin returning to a more normal hue.
“Stay here and take care of her,” Tony muttered, his voice strained. “I’m going to the bathroom for a moment.” His gaze lingered on Myra, a mix of worry and something deeper in his eyes.
Tony left, the sound of the shower faintly heard moments later. Philip, knowing exactly what that meant, shook his head slightly. Tony has truly fallen for her, he thought. But this woman’s identity… His thoughts were a tangled mess, uncertain of what would come next.
Meanwhile, backstage, Lyla was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief. The performance had gone well, and the praise from the audience had been more than she expected. Playing at Old Master Hart’s birthday banquet had been an unexpected honor, but now she saw an even bigger opportunity—capturing the attention of the Hart family and marrying into it.
But just as she was reveling in her success, a waitress came running toward her, panic in her eyes.
“Miss Fisher,” the waitress gasped, “the champagne… someone else drank it!”
Lyla’s eyes darkened, and for a brief moment, she glared at the woman. How incompetent, she thought but quickly composed herself. “Go invite Director Hart to Room 1024,” she instructed with a cold smile. “This isn’t the end. It’s just a setback.”
Before she could continue, the waitress interrupted her, her voice trembling.
Lyla’s gaze snapped up, and her body stiffened. Walking down the hallway toward her was a figure she hadn’t expected to see. Her breath caught in her throat as Sean came into full view, his stern expression an instant reminder of the past. The man she had once known, but who seemed so different now.
“Sean…” Lyla’s voice faltered, but the complexity in her eyes was quickly masked. She clenched her fists, forcing the words from her lips. “W-Why are you here?”
Back in the presidential suite, Myra slowly regained consciousness. Her body ached, as if every muscle had been stretched beyond its limits. Her head was spinning, and the unfamiliar surroundings made her heart race.
She glanced around, panic rising as she realized she wasn’t in her room. This isn’t my room, she thought, her mind scrambling to piece together the events of the previous night. She tried to remember the banquet—the conflict with Sean, the strange appearance of Lyla… And then the champagne. The sudden dizziness, the hot rush that followed…
She pressed her hand to her forehead, trying to push the fog from her mind. I don’t remember anything after that, she thought.